The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  “No,” Constance admitted.

  “He hasn’t once spoken to me about it, either, and I’m nearly sixteen. You were betrothed when you were five.”

  Constance had wondered about this more than once, and the conclusion she’d reached had been a painful one for her. “He must intend to consult with you when it comes time to pick your husband.”

  Beatrice stared sullenly at the path. “I fear he simply hasn’t found anybody he believes has the right qualifications—lots of money and a powerful family.”

  “Many noblemen seek such husbands for their daughters,” Constance soothed, hoping she was right and that her uncle had Beatrice’s best interests at heart. “He’d be remiss if he didn’t.”

  Frowning, Beatrice looked at her. “But what about my happiness? Surely that should be important, too.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Constance replied, “or he would have betrothed you long ago.”

  As he did me.

  Beatrice’s eyes filled with remorse. “Oh, Constance, I’m so sorry. I never thought…it never occurred to me that you might resent…”

  Constance hurried to assuage her fears. “It’s all right, Beatrice. He’s not my father, after all. I can’t expect him to care for me as he does for you.”

  Beatrice shifted, and her expression grew even more worried. “Constance, since you are betrothed, I’ve been wondering…do you…do you think Lord Merrick will make you happy?”

  “I believe he could,” she answered, uncertain if this was a lie to assuage Beatrice’s fears, or the truth.

  “Is he different when he’s alone with you? Does he talk more, or less?”

  That was an odd question. It would have been difficult for Merrick to talk any less than he did when he was in company. “Yes, he talks more.”

  “I’m so relieved! I’d hate to think he was cold and aloof when you were alone.”

  “No, he’s not cold then,” Constance confirmed, thinking Merrick was anything but cold when they were alone.

  “How can I be sure about the man I’m to marry?” Beatrice asked piteously. “How will I know that he won’t make me miserable?”

  “How can any bride be sure?” Constance mused aloud. “We must all hope for the best, I suppose.”

  She thought of Beatrice being forced into an unhappy marriage. Given her uncle’s disregard for his niece’s feelings, it was possible. Although she hoped she was wrong, she decided to offer a suggestion to her cousin, in case that came to pass. “If I was convinced my husband would make my life a misery, I’d find a way to break the contract or, if there was no other way, I’d flee.”

  “By yourself?” Beatrice asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “Only as a last resort,” Constance clarified, hoping Beatrice appreciated that she would be truly desperate to do that. “You have friends who would gladly offer you sanctuary, and there is always the church.”

  “I could come to you here, couldn’t I?”

  “Of course.” If she was still there.

  Beatrice regarded Constance with unexpected and fervent intensity. “Constance, do you think I could stay here for a little while after your wedding and not go home with Father?”

  Before Constance could answer, Beatrice hurried on. “I have no one to keep me company there except Maloren, and she chatters on so, she’s like to drive me to lunacy.”

  Maloren had looked after Beatrice since she was an infant, and while Beatrice was talkative, Maloren was ten times worse. Yet although she could sympathize with Beatrice’s complaint, Constance wasn’t sure what answer to give her cousin. “I thought you liked Maloren.”

  “Oh, I love her dearly!” Beatrice cried. “But I want to learn how to be a good chatelaine like you, for when I’m married. Would you mind?”

  “It wouldn’t be up to me, I’m afraid,” Constance said slowly. “It would be up to Merrick.”

  Beatrice clasped her hands together. “Will you ask him? Please? For me? If you ask him, I’m sure he’ll say yes!”

  She was so keenly hopeful, Constance couldn’t bear to say no. “I’ll ask.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Beatrice cried, sighing rapturously.

  Then she gave Constance a sheepish smile. “I have to confess that before Merrick came, I thought that you might…that you and Sir Jowan’s son…I thought you might run away with Kiernan.”

  “I’ve never cared for Kiernan that way,” Constance answered honestly. “He’s like a brother to me.”

  A much younger one at that, even though Kiernan was nearly a year older than she. And as for what Kiernan wanted…

  Beatrice frowned. “Does Kiernan know how you feel?”

  He certainly does now, she thought. “I’ve never given him any reason to think I cared for him in any other way.”

  Suddenly a terrible dread filled her. Had Beatrice seen Kiernan coming in or going out of the chapel? “He and his father have arrived. Have you greeted them yet?”

  “No. I’ve been here since the noon meal.” She gave Constance a wistful smile. “I feel so much better having talked to you.”

  Constance felt much better knowing Beatrice hadn’t yet seen Kiernan.

  “I wish I’d spoken to you sooner,” Beatrice continued. “I can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve lost worrying.”

  “Then I wish you’d talked to me sooner, too,” Constance said sincerely.

  Beatrice sighed again. “I do so want to love the man I marry.”

  With a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Constance wondered if Sir Henry had something to do with Beatrice’s unusually melancholy ruminations.

  She shouldn’t have been so wrapped up in her own troubles that she neglected the young and impressionable Beatrice. It would truly break her heart if Henry, or anyone else, dishonored or deceived her cousin. “Is there any young man who’s come close to winning your affections?” she ventured.

  Beatrice blushed and didn’t answer—a reaction that made Constance silently curse her selfish lapse. “Henry and Ranulf certainly seem to enjoy your company,” she noted, trying not to sound overly concerned.

  “I enjoy theirs, too,” Beatrice readily admitted. “They’re both very entertaining, in different ways, of course. Henry’s been all over England, and much of Scotland with his brother, and into Wales, too. And he’s spent many days at court, meeting all sorts of important people.” This time, Beatrice’s sigh seemed to come up all the way from her toes. “I must seem dreadfully ignorant to him.”

  Constance was well aware some men of the world liked ignorant girls, precisely because they were ignorant. “He is some years older than you,” she said, “and very pleasant and charming. Unfortunately, I fear Sir Henry is also quite capable of seducing a woman merely for his own amusement.”

  Beatrice stared at Constance, amazed. “Me? You think he might try to seduce me?” she asked as a smile bloomed on her face.

  This was not the reaction Constance wanted to see. “That’s not a good thing.”

  Beatrice looked away. Constance couldn’t tell for certain, but she thought Beatrice was blushing as she stammered, “No, no, of course not. I just never thought…imagined…” She drew in a quavering breath. “You think that he was being nice to me only because he was trying to seduce me?”

  Constance put her arm around her cousin’s slender shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you, and I could be wrong about him, but you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a pretty young woman, and we don’t know much about Sir Henry—or Sir Ranulf.”

  “But they’re Lord Merrick’s friends.”

  “Even so, we can’t be sure of their morality, especially when you’re here to tempt them. It would be terrible if some charming, smooth-talking man dishonored you.”

  “Yes, I see,” Beatrice answered softly. She threw her arms around Constance and hugged her tightly. “You are so good to me—like another mother. When you’re married and busy with your children, I’m going to miss you so much!”

  Constance
gently extricated herself from Beatrice’s embrace. “I’ll be married, not dead,” she said, hoping that she wouldn’t be either any time soon. “Now, come, let’s go inside. I’m sure Sir Jowan has been wondering where you are. You’ve always been a great favorite of his.”

  Beatrice laughed, and merriment once more danced in her eyes. “I like him, too. He always listens to everything I say—even when it’s nonsense.”

  “THIS KIERNAN FELLOW,” Henry mused aloud later that evening as he sat on his cot across the small chamber he shared with Ranulf and pulled off his boots. “What do you make of him?”

  Seated on a stool with one ankle resting on his knee, Ranulf looked up from cleaning his fingernails and shrugged. “Not much. His father seems a pleasant sort, and more inclined to be Merrick’s ally than not, which is good.”

  Henry tossed his boot into the corner. “I tell you what I think. The lad’s in love with Lady Constance—or thinks he is.”

  Ranulf snorted as he put away his dagger. “Upon what evidence do you base this startling conclusion?”

  Henry’s second boot hit the floor. “The way he looks at her. He might as well wear a placard declaring his eternal devotion.”

  This was unwelcome news, but Henry was usually right about such things. He could always tell which knights and ladies were engaged in love affairs, with unfailing accuracy. “Supposing you’re right,” Ranulf said warily, “do you think she returns his affection?”

  “That’s the trouble. I can’t tell. But if she does, then obviously Merrick shouldn’t marry her, dowry or not. I won’t have him wed to an adulterous wife.”

  “And Lord knows you’ve had plenty of experience with them.”

  Henry made a sour face as he lay back on his cot, cushioning his head with his hands. “It’s because I have that I don’t want Merrick wed to a woman who’s going to betray him. Honor and duty are all in all to him, and if he’s disgraced…”

  “It would be a disaster,” Ranulf finished, nodding his head in agreement. “But you may be making trouble where none exists. What woman of any sense and taste would prefer young Kiernan over Merrick? And I see no sign that she reciprocates that young man’s infatuation, if it exists. We should give her the benefit of the doubt. She’s a beautiful woman—she can’t help it if some lovesick milksop swoons over her.”

  Henry turned on his side, levering himself up on his elbow to look at Ranulf. “I don’t trust her, and I certainly don’t trust that Kiernan, either.”

  Neither did Ranulf, but should they tell Merrick Henry’s suspicions? Was it worth causing yet more friction between his friend and his bride? For friction there certainly was. After all, what proof did they have to accuse her? What if Henry was wrong, for once?

  “If we find evidence that Lady Constance does indeed reciprocate the Cornish Kiernan’s feelings, we should warn Merrick,” he said after considering the situation. “Otherwise, I think we should keep your suspicions to ourselves.”

  Henry wasn’t pleased. “I don’t want Merrick to make a mistake and marry a woman who’ll ruin his life.”

  “Neither do I, but I don’t want to plant suspicion when there’s no cause.”

  “Because he loves her,” Henry agreed.

  Ranulf made no secret of his surprise. “Has he said that to you?”

  “No, not a word. But I’ve known the man for fifteen years and I’ve seen him around other women. He’s never been more attentive—for him. Nor has he offered to release Lady Constance from their betrothal. If he didn’t care for her, he would have.”

  Ranulf let out his breath in a low whistle. “God’s blood, Henry, I think you’re right.”

  Unfortunately, this made the situation even more complicated.

  “You may be clever in matters of war and politics, my friend, but when it comes to men and women…” Henry gave a shrug that wasn’t entirely modest.

  “I could keep a watch on her,” he suggested as Ranulf tried to decide what to do. “See if she meets Kiernan secretly or if there’s any other sign she reciprocates the lovesick lad’s adoration.”

  Ranulf tensed ever so slightly. Merrick seemed to trust Henry, but Henry’s reputation when it came to women was well deserved. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  Henry frowned. “Oh, for the love of God! She’s betrothed to Merrick, so even if I was tempted to try to get her into my bed, which I confess I would be if she wasn’t his betrothed, I’d never…” His frown deepened. “I swore an oath of brotherhood with both of you, and I would die rather than dishonor it.”

  “I trust you, and I’m sure Merrick does, too,” Ranulf replied, “but what do you think Lord Algernon or Lord Carrell or the servants will say if they see you skulking around Lady Constance? I should watch her.”

  “You’re not exactly a dog’s breakfast yourself,” Henry observed, clearly a little peeved.

  “Thank you,” Ranulf said, acknowledging the compliment and trying to defuse the tension that had arisen. “But as you’re forever telling me, I’m not nearly so charming, and thus less suspicious. Plus, I’m more subtle.”

  “I can be subtle.”

  “When you’re trying to seduce a woman,” Ranulf agreed. “We don’t want anyone to think that’s what you’re doing with Lady Constance—or Lady Beatrice.”

  Henry gave him a look that was genuinely astonished. “I have no interest of that sort in little Lady Bea.”

  “If you say so,” Ranulf replied, masking his relief. “But I would take care, Henry. Beatrice is young and not like the more worldly ladies of the court. She might interpret your chivalrous nonsense as meaning more than it does. You wouldn’t want to find yourself roped into marriage because of a girl’s misunderstanding, would you? And Merrick has enough to think about without having to defend his friend’s actions.”

  Henry scowled for a moment, then his eyes brightened with merry jubilation. “I tell you what—we can set Beatrice on Kiernan.”

  Ranulf stiffened. “What?”

  “She can keep him company and away from Lady Constance. And he’s so besotted with my lady, there’s no danger to the little chatterer’s honor.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that,” Ranulf said, annoyed. “Beatrice is a noblewoman.”

  Henry laughed and bowed his head. “Forgive my impertinence. But what do you think of my plan?”

  “You wouldn’t tell Beatrice why you were encouraging that, would you?”

  “Do I look a complete dolt?” Henry demanded with a grin.

  That grin did nothing to improve Ranulf’s mood. “You look like a man quite capable of getting a young woman to do whatever he likes for his own purpose. Maybe we should find another way to keep the Cornishman away from Lady Constance.”

  “I tell you, this is perfect,” Henry declared, too enthused with his plan to see any problems. “I’ll become much too busy to spend time with little Lady Bea and suggest Kiernan play chess with her, or go riding. That way, we can see if Lady Constance turns peevish, or welcomes his absence.”

  “I’m not convinced this is a good idea,” Ranulf said slowly.

  “Of course it is,” Henry insisted. “You want Merrick to be happy, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ve got to be sure Lady Constance won’t break his heart.”

  Ranulf didn’t disagree, or voice any further objections to Henry’s plan. But he was no more thrilled to think of Beatrice spending time with the not unattractive young Kiernan than he had been to see her with Henry.

  AT THE SAME TIME THAT HENRY was voicing his concerns to Ranulf, Sir Jowan was confronting his son in the wall chamber given over to their use while they were in Tregellas.

  “For God’s sake, show some sense!” he cried, looking at his son with both annoyance and concern. “God help us, boy, keep your feelings to yourself or the man’ll kill you.”

  An oil lamp filled with sheep tallow hung from the ceiling by a slender chain, and its flickering flame illuminated Kiernan’s
baleful face as he looked up at his father from where he sat on one of the two beds made with fresh linen and wool blankets. “Can I help it if I love her?”

  “You’d better help it,” Sir Jowan declared, sitting heavily on the cot opposite his son. “They’re going to be married, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Kiernan rose and started to pace in the center of the narrow room. “He doesn’t even pay attention to her,” he grumbled, rubbing his fist into his palm. “You saw him tonight—he barely spoke to her.”

  “He barely spoke to anybody.”

  “I don’t care what agreements have been signed—he doesn’t deserve her.”

  Sir Jowan reached out to stop his son in his agitated tracks. “Whatever we think of him, agreements have been signed, and the only people who can break them are Lord Merrick and Lady Constance.”

  “You know she won’t,” Kiernan muttered as he threw himself down on the cot. “Her family honor means too much to her, and she’s anxious to ensure that the tenants don’t suffer. Look what she endured with his father.”

  “But who are you to interfere? Has Constance ever given you any reason to think she wants to be free of the agreement? Has she ever told you, or given any sign, that she cares enough to marry you? That she loves you?”

  Kiernan couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. “She may not love me yet, but I love her, and in time—”

  “In time is not now,” his father declared. “If she doesn’t want you, you shouldn’t try to come between her and Lord Merrick.”

  Kiernan raised his head, his eyes blazing with righteous passion. “I’d rather die than see her married to that grim brute.”

  Real fear lodged in Sir Jowan’s heart as he pleaded with his beloved, headstrong son. “If you challenge him, you will die. He’s been trained by the best and he’s won tournaments all over England. He outweighs you by at least five stone. You’d have to train for a year to come close to beating him, and even then, he’d still be bigger than you.”