The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  AS CONSTANCE WAS DOING HER best to discourage Merrick, Lord Carrell made his way to a secluded corner of the courtyard, followed by Lord Algernon. Algernon was so agitated, a private conversation seemed the best way to calm him down.

  “What were you thinking, asking him about Henry and the queen as soon as we entered the solar?” Algernon whined as they came to a halt in the shadow of the wall walk.

  Carrell pulled a small chunk off the nearest block of stone and rubbed it between his fingers as he shrugged. “Why wait to find out where he stands? Better to know before we say something to make him doubt our loyalty to the king. Now we know that we mustn’t give him any reason to suspect we aren’t as loyal as he is.”

  “And I say you should have waited. You could ruin our plans if you aren’t patient.”

  “Patient?” Carrell sniffed, tossing the stone aside. “God’s blood, man, you don’t have to tell me to be patient. I’ve been patient for fifteen years.”

  “I’ve been waiting for longer than that to get what I deserve,” Algernon complained, “and I don’t want to lose it because you have to push yourself forward and ask a lot of questions.”

  “If you’d taken the trouble to visit your nephew on occasion, I wouldn’t have had to ask,” Carrell retorted. “We’d have already known that he’s loyal to the king.”

  “If I’d tried to see him, what do you think my detestable brother would have done?” Algernon grumbled. “He’d have assumed we were conspiring against him and had me killed.”

  “Not if you killed him first.”

  Algernon gave Carrell an incredulous look. “How could I have done it, with those guards of his? He didn’t even leave his castle most of the time.”

  “Yes, it would have been very difficult,” Carrell agreed, his tone appeasing.

  It was a pity William’s other brother had been sent north with Merrick and killed instead of this one. Egbert had been a far more ruthless fellow, especially where his own interests were concerned. Algernon was a greedy, weak, stupid man, although he had his uses, for now.

  Algernon moved closer and, after surreptitiously ensuring that no one could overhear, lowered his voice and asked, “Have you had news from London? Any word of when the king or his brother will return to England?”

  Carrell shook his head. “No news. The queen and her husband are enjoying Bordeaux too much to be in any hurry to return to England and face their disgruntled nobles. I believe the earl of Cornwall has his reasons for staying with them.”

  “To keep Henry from making any more unwise decisions,” Algernon agreed.

  “To spend more time with the queen’s sister,” Carrell replied with a smirk. “Now that Richard’s wife is dead, he needs another, and Eleanor’s sister is a beauty, and pliable. You can be sure Eleanor will be doing all she can to promote a marriage between them. Richard’s the only person who can influence her husband as much as she, and he’s got the support of far more nobles. To her, he’s a rival, and must be neutralized. How better than to have him wed her sister?”

  “God save us from that woman,” Algernon muttered. “She’ll be the ruin of England.”

  “Which is why the king must be overthrown, and his brother, the earl of Cornwall, too, if it comes to that. But we’ll let Merrick be lulled into believing all is well. Indeed, let’s hope my niece can keep him so busy with lovemaking, he grows lazy and lax, and lowers his guard. Then it’ll be easier to kill him.”

  “What about Constance? You assured me she was in favor of the marriage, but she certainly didn’t sound like it today. I’ve never heard her speak in such an impudent manner.”

  Carrell fingered the jeweled hilt of the dagger stuck in his belt. “Of course she’ll marry him.”

  “How can you be so certain? Have you ever before heard her speak to any man that way? I nearly swooned, she was so impertinent.”

  Carrell frowned. “Of course she’ll marry him, for the people’s sake if not her own. You’ve seen how she dotes on them. She was always like that, from a child. Any dead puppy or kitten would have her in tears for a day.” His tone made it clear he considered this a great failing on her part, yet it was one he would happily exploit if it helped achieve his ends. “Leaving her here with your brother was one of my more clever moves. This is her home now, and these peasants are like her family. She’ll never desert them, especially if she fears they’ll come to harm under their overlord.”

  Carrell’s frown became a smirk. “Even if she had any reservations, can you doubt that they were likely done away with the moment she saw him? What woman wouldn’t be tempted to share your nephew’s bed? If he didn’t have the look of your brother in his face, I’d swear he’d been sired by Zeus. No wonder he’s won all those tournaments. I was sure he’d paid off the other knights for the privilege until I saw him ride in.”

  “Constance is made of sterner stuff and not likely to be ruled by lust,” Algernon said doubtfully.

  A gleam of unhealthy curiosity sparkled in Carrell’s blue eyes. “Knowing your brother for the lascivious scoundrel he was, do you think there was ever anything of that sort between them?”

  “God’s wounds, no,” Algernon retorted, “and I would have known if there was. William wouldn’t have been able to keep from bragging about it.” His features made no secret of his scorn. “I got to hear about every conquest he ever made, in disgusting detail, from the time he was twelve years old.”

  “I suppose that’s just as well,” Carrell said. “I don’t think Merrick would care to wed his father’s mistress.”

  “Not the Merrick we just met, anyway,” Algernon agreed.

  He looked away, out into the courtyard toward the stables. “Must we kill Constance?”

  “If Constance is not dead, the king may decide to marry her to someone else, and Tregellas will be out of your reach. Merrick and his wife must both die if you’re to inherit. And then you’ll marry Beatrice, joining our families and our power as we’ve planned all these years. We’re allies, Algernon. I don’t forget that, and I hope you won’t.”

  “No,” his companion assured him. “I’ll abide by our plans.”

  “Good. Now we should go back to the hall before our absence is noticed. And don’t worry. Soon enough, you’ll have Tregellas, and my daughter.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  A FEW DAYS LATER, CONSTANCE and Alan de Vern stood in the buttery adjacent to the kitchen, looking over the wine that had arrived before a storm blew in from the ocean. Straw covered the floor of the chamber to catch any spills, and bits of chaff floated in the air. Over the years, spiders had created a vast array of cobwebs in the seams between the walls and the vaulted ceiling of the chilly chamber. At the moment, raindrops beat against the stone walls as if they were demanding entrance.

  “Lord Merrick says we must have the best wine for your wedding feast,” Alan said, his accent marking him as a native of Paris. “Wine from Bordeaux for the entire company in the hall, even those below the salt, and plenty of ale for the village.”

  “That will cost a small fortune!” Constance exclaimed, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

  It would also make a very fine show of generosity, she added in her thoughts. Just as that kiss had surely been a demonstration of his vain belief that he could overwhelm her with his manly…masculinity. But he’d simply caught her by surprise; otherwise, she would have slapped his face.

  She should have slapped his face.

  “It is quite expensive,” Alan agreed. “But he told me he had done well in his last tournament. He also said exactly how much I was to offer at first, and how much I was to spend altogether. Fortunately, the merchant settled for less than we expected.” The steward grinned. “Lord Merrick has a head for figures. I doubt he’ll ever spend as recklessly as his father.”

  “I hope not,” Constance replied, thinking of all the times she’d heard Lord William screaming at Alan and the bailiff about money.

  “Gaston is delighted with the menu for the weddin
g feast, too. A true chance to show his skill, he claims. Mind you, his first proposals were too extravagant by far, until Lord Merrick managed to get him to be reasonable. To hear Gaston tell it, they debated for hours.”

  “Lord Merrick debated?”

  In answer to her incredulous response, Alan gave her a wry smile as he crooked his elbow and leaned against one of the large butts of ale. “I think we can both guess how it went. Gaston made his suggestions, Lord Merrick shook his head, Gaston made more suggestions, Lord Merrick shook his head, Gaston was finally reasonable, and Lord Merrick nodded his head.”

  Constance had to smile at that probably accurate description. “Yes, I daresay you’re right.”

  Alan’s gaze wandered to the shelf holding smaller casks of English wine across the room. “A lady could do much worse for a husband than Lord Merrick,” he reflected.

  Although Alan was a trusted friend, and she’d often turned to him when there was trouble with the tenants, Constance wasn’t about to share her innermost feelings with him. And a man who impressed a steward wouldn’t necessarily be a good husband, even if he’d also apparently impressed the garrison commander, the soldiers and the servants in the time since he’d arrived.

  “What of the fodder for the wedding guests’ horses?” she asked, trying not to shiver.

  “Well in hand, my lady,” Alan said. “All we’ve invited have already sent notice they’ll attend.”

  She hadn’t expected their potential guests to respond so swiftly. “Including Sir Jowan and his son?”

  “Yes, my lady. I believe they plan to visit before the wedding, too, to pay their respects to the new overlord of Tregellas.”

  “They haven’t far to come,” Constance replied, keeping any hint of dismay from her voice, although the last thing she needed or wanted was the distraction of Sir Jowan’s son.

  Beatrice burst into the buttery as if propelled by a gust of wind. She skittered to a halt in a most unladylike way, her face flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. “Demelza said I’d find you here. Have you heard? Lord Merrick has decided there should be a foot ball game as part of the celebrations for May Day. The garrison against the men of the village. Sir Henry says the garrison is sure to win, but I told him not to be so confident. Some of the villagers are very good. He said Merrick was going to choose a Queen of the May, too.”

  He was going to—what?

  As Constance and Alan exchanged shocked and dismayed looks, Beatrice frowned, her enthusiasm somewhat dimmed. “What’s wrong?”

  How was she going to tell Beatrice the reason for their horror at this news? Her cousin wasn’t ignorant of some of Wicked William’s abuses; nobody who lived within fifty miles of Tregellas could be. But she’d always tried to shield Beatrice from the worst.

  “I’m sure he’ll pick you for the Queen of the May, Constance,” Beatrice ventured, as if Constance’s silence was based on a worry far different from the one she was actually experiencing. “After all, he’s going to marry you.”

  “It’s not that,” Constance replied. She searched for an explanation that wouldn’t require her to go into sickening detail. “Being a new-made lord, Merrick probably doesn’t appreciate all the complications that may arise from such events. I shall have to enlighten him. Right away. Good day, Alan. Until later, Beatrice,” she finished as she hurried to the door.

  She carried on quickly through the kitchen, nodding briefly to Gaston and the busy servants, then through the corridor to the hall, where she looked for Merrick. At least—since she wanted him to hate her—she need not couch her words with care. That held some danger, too, but she was on her guard now. Just let him try to kiss her!

  Servants trimmed the torches and added wood to the hearth. Sir Henry and Sir Ranulf were playing chess, Sir Ranulf studying the board with care while Sir Henry laughed and said something about making a move before night fell. The uncles, deep in discussion, sat near the central hearth.

  Merrick wasn’t there.

  She didn’t want to ask anyone where Merrick was; Lord Algernon would smirk as he had lately taken to doing, her uncle would ask her why she wanted to know, and his friends would regard her with that unnerving curiosity.

  The bailiff came scuttling down the steps from the solar. He looked even more pale than usual and licked his lips as if he wanted a drink.

  “Ruan!”

  He checked his steps and then, smiling in that obsequious way that he had, rushed toward her.

  Everything about the man reminded her of a crawling, slimy thing—his pale skin, as if he’d just climbed out from under a rotting piece of wood; the way he stood with his head thrust forward as if he was either about to bow or just rising from one; his clasped hands that would have done credit to a shy maiden; the pleading tone of his voice, as if every utterance was made with regret and against his better judgment; and especially the shrewd gleam in his watery blue eyes that, in spite of his posture and manner, betrayed a clever and, she was sure, devious mind. “Is Lord Merrick in his solar?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Has he told you of his plans for May Day?”

  Ruan’s eyes shone with curiosity. “Yes, my lady. Didn’t he tell you?”

  A blush heated her face. “How do you think the villagers will take the news?” she asked, not answering his question.

  Ruan frowned and ran his hand over his moist lips. “I think they’ll be wondering if they’ve got to hide farther back in the woods when he chooses the Queen of the May.”

  That was what Constance was thinking, too.

  “I’m sure he’ll want to please you, my lady,” Ruan said quietly, and in a way that seemed to imply all manner of unsavory things. “If you tell him—”

  “Good day, Ruan,” she interrupted, turning toward the stairs to the solar.

  “Good day, my lady,” he muttered under his breath as he watched the beautiful, haughty lady hurry on her way.

  They thought themselves so fine and clever, all these lords and ladies.

  Well, he was clever, too.

  CONSTANCE RAPPED SHARPLY on the heavy wooden door to the solar, then entered without waiting for Merrick to answer. “I understand you have made certain plans for May Day.”

  The lord of Tregellas sat at the trestle table, which was now covered with scrolls. As the wind howled outside the walls, the tapestries swayed in the draught that made its way through the linen shutters that couldn’t keep out the rain. Droplets ran along a jagged path across the sill, then trickled down the wall to puddle on the floor.

  “I have,” he said gruffly as he raised his head to look at her. The flame of the plump tallow candle on the table flickered, altering the shadows on his face. The planes of his cheeks. His brown eyes, so dark they were nearly black.

  She took a step back, then berated herself for acting like an addlepated ninny. The lord of Tregellas was, after all, just a man.

  He gestured at the stool in front of the table that Ruan had likely just vacated. “Will you sit, my lady?”

  This might take some time, so perhaps she should. As gracefully as she could, Constance lowered herself onto the stool and arranged her skirts. “You should have consulted with Alan de Vern or me.”

  His hands resting on the table before him, Merrick leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily. “Why? I remembered such activities from my boyhood here and assumed they still continued.”

  “There have been some changes since your boyhood, my lord.”

  He ran a swift gaze over her. “Yes, so I’ve noticed.”

  She frowned. “My lord, this is a very serious matter, and you’d do well to listen to me.”

  Furrows of concern appeared between his brows. “Very well, my lady. Explain what has changed.”

  How could she possibly make him understand? she wondered as a blast of wind sent another barrage of rain against the tower walls. The tapestry nearest her billowed, as if someone was hiding behind it, although that was impossible. There was no room; she
’d supervised the hanging of it herself.

  Nevertheless, she shivered and wrapped her arms about herself as she began to explain why there should be no competition between the villagers and the garrison, and especially why he should have nothing whatsoever to do with the Queen of the May. “The men of the garrison are hardened soldiers and they can be brutal when their blood is up. That may serve you well in battle, but can lead to trouble during such sport. The last time there was a foot ball game between the garrison and the villagers, the smith’s son was nearly killed by one of your father’s bodyguards.”

  Merrick wordlessly rose and brought the brazier full of glowing coals closer to her chair. She was grateful for the added warmth, and as he moved, she tried not to notice the lithe, athletic grace of his actions, or the power of those broad shoulders and the arms that lifted the heavy iron brazier as easily as another man would a slender branch.

  When he went to the small side table that bore a silver carafe of wine and some goblets, her gaze traveled to his equally powerful thighs encased in snug woolen breeches, and his muscular calves.

  “Wine, my lady?”

  Blushing like a silly girl caught ogling a soldier or servant, she looked quickly up at his face, then away to hide her foolish reaction. “No, thank you.”

  He poured himself some wine before strolling back toward the table, bringing the goblet with him. “Such activity is good for my men. It encourages camaraderie between them, and given what I remember of the games in my boyhood, should ensure a healthy respect for the abilities of the villagers—whose blood, I believe, is just as swift to rise. I recall they were fierce competitors. Has that changed?”

  She hesitated to answer, because he was right. If the young Eric hadn’t been so keen to get the inflated pig’s bladder through the sticks at the west end of the village, he wouldn’t have collided with that mercenary and subsequently been struck so hard that he’d been knocked cold.