by Jackie Ivie
“Marriage to me is punishment? Is that what you say?”
“Oh. I have no doubt. The longer I am in your company, the more certain of it I am of it, too.”
“What did you do to get punished for?”
“I was delivered to her at the age of three. I grew into a woman, and then I won’t stay married off like a good little girl. What else?”
“Careful. You will lose your sewing.”
Devon plucked the article from the floor and held it up. He was looking it over when Bessie snatched it from him.
“It appears to be a trifle small, although you are so shrouded, that is a guess at best.”
“That is a christening gown.” Her voice was tight. It matched how her chest felt.
“For a babe?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the reason you wed with me? You’re with child? Who is the unlucky fellow?”
“I’ve a light enough opinion of your wits as it is, Devon. You needn’t ask questions a child could answer in order to prove it. I must not have been clear. I’ll explain again, and this time I’ll use much smaller words. I did not have any time to refuse your suit. I was given the length of the walk to the queen’s private chapel to decide whether I would wed with you or not. It was an easy choice.”
“Truly? Why...next you will be telling me you don’t harbor a grand passion for me. And then you will probably expect me to believe it.”
Bess choked. Her first words carried it. “I...agreed to wed with you because I already told you the results of my last conflict with Her Majesty. Unlike you, I am leery of life at her Tower.”
“You were forced? Where are the marks of it, then?”
“It was not that kind of force. I do not get a choice whenever the queen arranges a marriage. Why do you think I avoid court?”
“You avoid it, when everyone else pleads for the chance to be near her?”
“Is it me, or is it dreadfully difficult to get you to understand anything I say? I am not just anybody. I am the queen’s ward. I have been since I was a small child.”
“You truly didn’t wish to be wed to me?”
He leaned forward, looming larger somehow. More masculine. More sense-stirring. The reaction in her breathing and heart beat were palpable. And painful.
“Is it...really so difficult to believe?”
“Why did you threaten me last eve? Why not let me be? I’d have granted you the same.”
“I have been asking myself the same thing all day.”
“And what was the answer?”
“I was stupid. Pure and simple.”
To her surprise, he chuckled. The movement made his too-small tunic shift. Oh dear. It appeared his face wasn’t the only place he didn’t grow hair.
The instant observation made her jerk. The sewing project fell from her fingers again. If she weren’t wearing the brown dress with its wide skirt, her project would have clattered to the carriage floor again.
“Where...are we stopping for the evening?” she asked. She was trying for a light conversationalist tone. It failed. She didn’t need his sharp glance for verification. Nor, the long pause before he answered.
“I do not believe we are.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t reach Sharen today.”
“You know where Castle Hilde is?”
Bessie had to look away from the sudden change in his expression. “I have...heard mention of it.”
“I’d no idea I interested you before this. I vow, I cringed whenever you happened across my path,” Devon responded.
“Must we start that again?”
Devon ignored her question and spread his legs across the width of the carriage. Bessie moved the brown satin of her skirt to one side and tried to look at anything except him. The view from the window was as uninspiring as it had been all day. Bessie kept her eyes on the landscape as he adjusted his legs right beside her.
“You needn’t flinch away. I have no designs on you at present. I am merely accommodating myself for the ride ahead. Unless of course, you know of suitable lodgings again? You’ve some coin hidden away that might see us put up with an obliging homeowner for the night?”
“I do not believe there’s enough coin to make certain of a welcome for you, Devon. No doubt word of your temperament precedes you.”
“In that event, I believe I shall share your bench.”
Devon scooted down, as if making himself comfortable. It wasn’t possible to act unconcerned when he was stretching his legs right beside her and revealing more than she wished to see of the inadequacy of his clothing.
“You have neighbors, haven’t you?” she asked. “Why...I have heard of an estate not three leagues from yours.”
“Your reference to Stansbury Hall shows your ignorance. That family would rather see me starve before tossing me a crumb of their bread.”
“Truly? Such distinction raises them in my esteem.”
She shoved his feet from the bench. It was difficult to keep from laughing aloud as he landed on the carriage floor, making a thump that should have alerted their driver.
“Oh. You have my word that I will repay that in kind, Mistress. No matter how long it takes. It is clear why I was warned from you. It would take more bravery than I possess to bed you. I was told you were capable of dealing death to any man foolish enough to try. Now, I know you slice your men to their doom with a lash of your sharp tongue.”
“Who would tell you such a thing?”
“Anyone I asked.”
“You...asked of me? When?”
“All night. While they held me, of course. I had to make up my mind, didn’t I?”
If Bessie could have taken back the light, breathless voice she’d used, she would have. The only thing that made it possible to bear the humiliation, was the fact he’d missed it completely.
“That should give you some satisfaction. I was warned. And I still chose you.”
“Having it undone is the only thing that would do that.”
“Too late now...unless you can cast a spell and turn back the hourglass?”
“I am no witch, Devon. I already told you as much.”
“That you have. And a true witch would have spirited me home already. I would not have to abide you any longer than I already have.”
“You should have thought of that before planning on driving through the night with me.”
“My new lot in life is to suffer, I’ve decided.”
“You may suffer alone, then. I’ve a certain welcome at Stansbury Hall. Instruct the coachman on the route, if you know it.”
“What spell can you cast that they’ll allow a Hildebrand within their walls? They have hated us since the plague. Tell me. I am curious.”
“I am already aware of your stupidity, my lord. It is a shame to know of your hearing difficulties, too. I happen to be a Stansbury. It was noted when we wed. During the ceremony, I believe it was mentioned. Thrice, in fact.”
“You are one of those Stansburys? The very same?”
“Through my late husband, I assure you.”
His eyes lit. “Why, I never thought—I had no idea. This is excellent. It will be a pleasure to force this allegiance on the entire throng of them. I think you should have mentioned this earlier. Last night might have had a different ending.”
Pleasure coated his face. Bessie looked away. She’d wanted him to desire her, but now that she had him actually thinking about it, her heart pained worse. The calculating expression on his handsome face made her long to sob. It was her fault. She shouldn’t have threatened him. She gathered a breath.
“I really do wish you would spend some time understanding what is being said to you, my lord. I may be welcome at the Hall, but they may lynch you on sight before I can explain.”
“We will not give them the chance. If you’ve a welcome, your devoted husband does, too. Why. I should like to see them try and separate me from my newly-wedded wife.”
“You think them as stupid as y
ourself, not to see a play of that sort for what it is?”
“I’m not fond of your continual references to my wits, Mistress. Were it that you’d been dowered with Stansbury Hall and all its riches, I would not like you or your tongue any-the-more. Be forewarned. I will not tolerate it much further.”
He’d given off his indolent pose and regarded her from his superior height across the carriage. Bessie tried to keep her gaze on him, but failed. She lifted her arm and pulled some of the tan silk fabric further through a slash as she answered.
“Very well, Devon. What is it you wish and I shall arrange it.”
“To be a widower. Can you arrange that?”
CHAPTER SIX
Stansbury Hall was the jewel of her assets. As always, Bessie felt pride fill her as they drove over the moat. She wasn’t worried about her reception here. She’d sent her maid, Roberta on ahead. Devon’s expression of awe told her everything his words couldn’t. Bessie smiled at his reaction. If he’d but known the entire countryside they’d been traveling belonged to him now, there was no telling what he might do.
She wouldn’t think it.
She refused to be another of his conquests. It was apparent all women were too easy for him. If she told him of her wealth, she’d get him into her bed, all right, but it would be the same as his disgraceful offer last eve. She didn’t want Devon Hildebrand under those circumstances.
She watched Devon’s eyes in the light thrown from the torches, and knew she was fooling herself.
She was glad when they reached the portcullis separating the lower bailey from the middle one. She’d take Devon anyway she could get him. She’d take him under any pretense, even the auspices of her wealth.
He wasn’t watching her at that moment, or she’d have told him everything. She’d have listed Bargerelle’s keeps, Crump Castle, Stansbury Hall, the size of her treasury...she’d have told him everything. He was flicking his emerald gaze over the gray stone around the front portal, obviously finding it of more interest than his wife.
Bessie sighed, as their coach stopped. “I’ll send for you when I’ve made certain of your welcome, Devon.”
“Don’t make it over-long, Wife. You’ve responsibilities to your husband to see to.”
Bessie snorted in an unladylike fashion and stepped out the door.
~ ~ ~
Bessie’s Sergeant-At-Arms, Sir Geoffrey Cobert, made short work of her instructions. Bessie was lucky to have him. His grandfather had been knighted, as Devon’s had, but unlike her new husband, Sir Geoffrey was content with his lot in life. Knights weren’t normally sent to court to curry favor.
Bessie knew exactly why Devon had been sent. Without the queen’s favor, the Hildebrand’s lot in life would stay exactly as poverty-stricken as it was. Bessie was rather glad Sir Geoffrey preferred the quiet life at Stansbury Hall. She was also grateful he had no dependents that would change it. She’d have missed his devotion, otherwise.
Bessie knew Sir Geoffrey’s leanings by his actions. It was in the way he second-guessed her needs. She’d known when he’d stepped in and championed her against the late earl’s elderly core of relations. Sir Geoffrey’s emotion had shown itself by the way he and his men had protected Bessie’s claim to Stansbury when the earl had first died. Sir Geoffrey’s continuing regard for her was in all he did. His inherent respect and honor toward her were there when he’d held her weeping form after the earl had suffered his attack and she’d been unable to do anything about it.
Bessie shuddered in the warmth of her Hall.
The horror of her wedding night overwhelmed her for a moment. She had to fight it off. The earl hadn’t been a pretty man when he’d lived. He’d been an even uglier corpse.
The main rooms of Stansbury Hall were still furnished as they had been in medieval times, back when the first earl and his lady had resided over the fief. Rows of wooden tables neatly intersected the room, while mounted game heads looked down at her. Dark green banners hung from the ceiling, three stories above her head. Their color was disconcerting. Blackened beams split the area above her head, telling their own story of the fire that had gutted the keep shortly after its completion. Bessie knew the history, for it was a fascinating one. She didn’t know why the Stansburys hated the Hildebrands, though, but she suspected it had something to do with what she now knew: a severe case of roving eyes.
Bessie crossed to a collection of chairs that stood before the fireplace. Devon wouldn’t like to be kept waiting, but he’d like the absence of a complete staff, less. She wondered if she had the courage to assist him with his bath, and knew she didn’t.
Bessie sighed, looked into her fire, and wished she’d brought her sewing case with her.
A carved fireplace split the wall before her. It could hold an entire tree. The two logs burning there were sufficient for warmth, however, if not much for light. A grand staircase had been added in the thirteenth century. It led to the earl’s chambers. Bessie wondered if she had enough bravery to use her own rooms, but she didn’t dare test it, yet. If Devon learned who Stansbury Hall belonged to, he’d accept her into his bed. The wealth would sway him.
And that would never do.
“My lady?”
Sir Geoffrey approached from behind her, startling her. Her Sergeant-At-Arms was a sturdy fellow, withal his shyness. He’d make any woman a solid husband. He wasn’t the type to send her heart racing, though. That was a shame. Actually, Bessie hadn’t known her heart could race until she’d been with Devon.
“You’re certain you wish MacClaren to serve your new lord? The man’s gotten slower on his feet than he was before. Anyone he services will be uncomfortable.”
“Sit a moment, Geoffrey.”
She avoided noticing his blush and waited while he did as she asked. He didn’t look comfortable to be at her side. Bessie supposed if she longed for that, she’d never cease waiting. He might be harboring a secret longing for her, but he’d never voice it. He’d not consider himself important enough. The contrast between Sir Geoffrey and her new husband was instantly apparent. Devon was actually entertaining to trade words with, while Geoffrey wouldn’t argue anything she said.
Nor would he call her ugly, she reminded herself.
“Have the preparations been made?” she asked him.
“You should learn to trust me.”
“It was short notice.”
“As any one of a hundred men would tell you. I, however, can work small miracles, if given enough funds.”
“You found enough participants?”
“Every one of the men, most of the shire, and probably myself, will do their utmost at your fest. We haven’t had a showing of this type since the earl took ill. I’ve been settling newcomers in the towers, since we put out word this morning.”
“You truly have enough knights to pull it off?”
“With a purse of a thousand pieces of sterling? They’ll travel all night to be at your little fair. And have a chance to joust. Is that what you wished?”
“I’m afraid to think what I was wishing for.”
“Will your new husband want to participate?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“What if he’s injured?”
Bessie was grateful for the veil. She knew it hid her instant pallor. She knew exactly what it felt like, too, as her lips grew cold and the bridge of her nose tingled. “He told me he was a trained knight. He won’t be injured.”
Sir Geoffrey shrugged and narrowed his eyes on her. “That would depend on what the purse is for.”
“The purse is for the winner. Nothing more. It would upset me if Hildebrand is harmed. I won’t have it said otherwise. Perhaps he’d best not participate, after all.”
“If he’s a trained knight and he’s unaware of your wealth, he’ll joust. It’s too tempting a purse. That’s what you wished, isn’t it?”
“I already told you I didn’t know what I wished. I wish it undone. That’s what I wish.”
“You’ll
have an entire keep in revolt if you try. I’ll find him a squire and armor. What size is he?”
“You’ll see soon enough. He’s large, though.”
“Portly?”
“No. Just large. A bit over six feet. Wide at the shoulders. I reach to his chest when standing beside him.”
“He sounds a more fit man than the earl, to be sure.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Sir Geoffrey didn’t reply, but his look said it for him. Bessie had to look away. She knew she had her color back, though.
“I’ll use John of Arragon’s suit. It should fit. I’ll give your husband access to the stables in the morn. Is he a good horseman?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll let him decide his mount, then.”
“If he has no horse, he can’t fight. Perhaps, that’s best. He can sit on the dais with me.”
“If he’s young and manly, he’ll joust.”
“Let’s leave him in ignorance about the entire affair, shall we? I won’t allow anyone but MacClaren to attend him, and he won’t be told until it’s time to attend on the morrow. He won’t be prepared.”
“Don’t you want to see how he fares?”
“He’s a braggart, true, but he’s also young and healthy. It would be a shame if he was felled and I had a hand in it.”
“Allow your contestants to be unknown, then. If none know he’s jousting, he won’t be such a target.”
Bessie’s thoughts stalled. She hadn’t thought of that. “He’d be a target? Why?”
“It would be a feather in a man’s cap to unseat the new Lord of the Hall.”
“Devon doesn’t even know, though. That would be so unfair.”
“That would bother you?”
She unhooked her veil from one of the sapphire hooks and let it fall against the side of her face. “I suspect how he feels. He was no more willing than I, but at least, I’ve had practice with the queen’s heavy-handedness.”
“She didn’t give you the choice again?”
“She never gives me the choice!”
Bessie watched the conflicting emotions crossing his face. She also knew Geoffrey was quick-witted. A smile split his bearded face.