The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  “You asked me what I thought, and I told you,” she replied, disappointed that he was disregarding her answer.

  “Sometimes a feeling is a warning, and one worth heeding. Because of your apparent mistrust, I’ve gone over the accounts very carefully. I’ve found nothing wrong.”

  Despite her task, a little thrill of pleasure went through her at Merrick’s measured words. Lord William had openly scorned most of what she said. Her uncle ostensibly listened, but she knew that he held her observations in low esteem. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “he’s been too afraid of being caught to do anything dishonest. That’s not the best reason to trust a man, but…”

  “But it would explain why I find nothing amiss even though he appears untrustworthy.”

  “And perhaps I shouldn’t condemn a man because of his outward appearance.”

  Merrick flinched and she glanced swiftly up at his pale face, so close to hers. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “I have had worse hurts before, without so lovely and gentle a nursemaid to attend me.”

  She blushed as she tightened the last stitch, and tried not to think about his proximity. Or note his disheveled dark hair, as if it was tousled from sleep. Or be excited by the low, husky rasp of his voice so close to her ear. Or be distracted by his lips, mere inches away.

  “Very neatly done,” he observed as she finished the stitches. “I won’t refuse your aid again.”

  “How kind of you, my lord, but I point out, I didn’t let you refuse this time,” she said as she smoothed the sicklewort ointment over the stitches. “Fortunately, it takes more than a foul temper and harsh words to prevent me from doing what I believe to be right.”

  “So I gather. I shall remember.”

  As the slightly minty fragrance of the salve infused the chamber, she started to wrap his arm in a clean bandage with swift efficiency, thinking it would be best if she finished quickly. “The binding should be changed and the ointment reapplied before you sleep, and again in the morning.”

  After she knotted the bandage, he rose without speaking and went to his wooden chest. He lifted the lid and as he reached down for a clean shirt, he wobbled a bit as if he was dizzy.

  Proud, stubborn fool, she thought indulgently as she hurried to his side, regardless of his attempts to wave her away. In some ways, men could be such children.

  “Sit down before you fall down,” she commanded. “There’s nobody here to impress with your manly fortitude.”

  “Except you.”

  “I’m duly impressed. Now sit down.”

  He did, but not before he grabbed a shirt. Then he sat on the end of his bed. “Are you always this obstinate?”

  She returned to the table and started to put the unused linen bandages back inside the basket. “When I’m dealing with a stubborn man, yes.”

  “I’m not stubborn.”

  She gave him a very skeptical look.

  “I don’t like to be fussed over.”

  “So I hear.”

  She went to help him put on his shirt, which he was holding in his left hand.

  “I can do it myself.”

  “I don’t care,” she retorted, her patience wearing thin. She took the shirt from him, found the neck and put it over his head.

  This brought her breasts very close to his face.

  As she attempted to concentrate and ease his right arm through the sleeve, she reminded herself that she’d helped men dress before. Sick men. Injured men. None of them handsome, and none of them her betrothed.

  Despite her efforts to ignore his proximity, sweat started to trickle down her back. She got an itch between her shoulder blades.

  Determined to overcome her foolish reaction and to explain what might seem to be a preoccupation with the muscular male body so close to her own, she said, “I see by your scars that this isn’t your first wound that required sewing. Is it true you’ve won over twenty tournaments?”

  He nodded.

  “Even though they’re illegal?”

  He inclined his head.

  “And this in spite of all your talk about upholding the king’s laws?”

  “The king knows he can’t abolish tournaments completely. The barons would never stand for it.”

  “So if the king winks his eye at his own decree, then it can be ignored?” she asked with a hint of scorn.

  “If the king winks his eye at his own decree, so do I,” Merrick matter-of-factly replied. “If he does not, I don’t.”

  She probably shouldn’t be surprised he would subscribe to that convenient excuse. Most noblemen would. But that didn’t mean there was no risk. “Yet surely you’ve heard of all the trouble Walter Marshall’s had getting the king to confirm his inheritance after his brother died in a tournament. What if you’d been killed doing the same thing? Your family’s land might have been forfeit to the crown.”

  “If I’d been killed, I don’t think I would have much cared what happened to my family’s land.”

  Not at all amused by his answer, she frowned and let some of her disgust slip into her voice as she tied the laces of his shirt at the neck, which also closed that gaping opening that revealed his chest. “Are you really so irresponsible, my lord? Or are you so sure of the king’s favor that you saw no danger?”

  “Henry’s a capricious man,” he answered with a shrug. “One can be in the king’s favor one day, and out the next.”

  “Then why court his displeasure?”

  “Because it was my pleasure.”

  God help her! Between that slight grin, the proximity of his body and his low, deep voice, shivers of…not dread…ran down her spine.

  She quickly went back to cleaning up. She drained the newly bloodied water into the chamber pot and put the cloths used to wash his wound into the empty basin. “I hope you won’t hold what happened today against Talek,” she said, speaking of another serious matter, and one that would surely not lead to any unwelcome thoughts or images. “He’s a good soldier and very loyal.”

  “I’ll deal with Talek in due course.”

  Merrick’s deep voice was so stern and unyielding, her formerly heated blood ran cold. “What are you going to do?”

  “He must leave Tregellas before nightfall and never return.”

  She stared at him, aghast at the severity of his reaction. “But why? Because he missed his aim and struck you instead? I assure you, my lord, Talek is a good man.”

  Merrick rose and regarded her with frustrating impassivity. “A fine soldier Talek may be, but as garrison commander, he has control of the soldiers, as well as the arms and weapons, and the defense of this castle. If I have even the slightest doubt as to his abilities, his loyalty or his desire to protect me and mine, he cannot remain here.”

  “What cause would he have to harm you?” she protested.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Because he did harm me. Whether he meant to or not, I can’t let such a thing pass.”

  “But to send him away, to shame such a loyal man—”

  “What would you rather I do? Demote him? Have him become a common soldier? Would that not shame him more?”

  Constance had to admit—to herself—that was true. But even so…“He wasn’t trying to kill you. I’m sure of it.”

  “Enough to risk your life, and mine, and everyone else’s in Tregellas? Alas for you, my lady, I have no such faith. He must go.”

  Obviously Merrick had no real regard for her opinion, and Talek’s years of service meant nothing.

  The hard line of Merrick’s mouth softened a little. “I have reasons for my decisions, Constance. You may not understand them, or agree, but I don’t act on whims, or without good cause. I will protect what is mine, whether it is my life or my castle or my wife. I will guard what I hold dear.”

  Did that mean he cared for her, or only that he would fight to keep what he considered his possessions, including his wife?

  Yet as he looked at her, and
she at him, the fiery gleam in his eyes altered to another kind of fire. She tried to ignore it, and the answering flame kindling within her, but her desire was stronger than her will. Her breathing quickened. Her heartbeat pulsed with excitement. His face was inches away, his body close enough to touch. She felt her resolve slipping, melting away under the heat of his gaze.

  His steady stare still holding hers, Merrick reached out and drew her to him.

  If he kissed her again, the last of her resistance would disappear like so much mist in the summer sun. She would be surrendering, perhaps forever. Accepting her role as his property.

  She backed away.

  Merrick’s expression hardened, and once more the stone-faced commander of Tregellas stood before her. “Go and find Talek. Tell him I will speak to him in the solar. At once.”

  “I will do as you ask because you rule here, my lord,” she answered. “But I still think you’re wrong.”

  A SHORT WHILE LATER, Merrick regarded Talek with such stern, merciless eyes, the garrison commander—who was no coward—began to tremble. “Forgive me, my lord! It was an accident.”

  “Did I ask you for an explanation?”

  The lord of Tregellas didn’t shout, or even raise his voice, but the cold steadiness of his deep voice terrified Talek even more.

  Merrick walked up to the quivering commander until he was nearly nose-to-nose with him. “You didn’t want to hurt me?”

  “No, my lord!”

  “You didn’t see me?”

  Talek’s throat was as dry as if he’d marched through a desert. “No, my lord.”

  “Am I a small man, Talek?”

  “No, my lord.” The garrison commander swallowed hard. “But it was crowded around the boar, my lord, and accidents sometimes happen on hunts.” Talek dropped to his knees. “My lord,” he pleaded, “why would I try to kill you?”

  Merrick crossed his arms and raised a brow in silent query.

  “I’m your loyal servant, my lord! Remember when you was a boy? I was loyal to your father, too. Ask Lady Constance. She’ll vouch for me, my lord.”

  “She’s already assured me of your faithfulness.”

  Hope rekindled and Talek spoke with frantic enthusiasm. “I knew she would, my lord. I’ve served in Tregellas for twenty years and—”

  “I know. I remember you, Talek.”

  Talek was chilled anew, but he clung to his hope, and his history with Wicked William’s son. “I was a good friend to you when you was a lad, wasn’t I, my lord? I never questioned what you wanted, did I?”

  “Yes, you were a good friend to your lord’s son,” Merrick confirmed, but in such a way that it seemed a condemnation.

  “I’ll follow any orders you give me now without question, too,” Talek vowed.

  Merrick continued to regard the man with a stony gaze. “Any orders?”

  Talek blanched, but he answered eagerly nonetheless. “Aye, my lord, any orders.”

  “Good. Go back to the hall and tell Sir Ranulf I wish to speak with him. Then leave Tregellas immediately and never come back.” Merrick splayed his hands on the table, leaning forward and regarding Talek as he might a loathsome creature he was about to destroy. “And know you this, Talek—if any man ever tries to hurt me or my family, I’ll hunt him down and kill him even more slowly than my father would have.”

  “My lord!” Talek gasped, his pale face flushing. “Today was an accident. I swear on my life!”

  Merrick’s eyes held no pity. “Be glad I don’t have you executed for attempting to assassinate me. Now go, before I change my mind.”

  Talek obeyed, hate replacing fear as he left the solar.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “HERE I AM, MERRICK, in answer to your summons,” Ranulf said when he entered the solar. His friend stood at the window, his back to the door and his wounded arm cradled in the uninjured one. “I couldn’t find Henry.”

  The lord of Tregellas turned away from the window and faced him. “Did Talek say I wanted to speak to Henry?”

  “No,” Ranulf admitted, his brow furrowing at his friend’s brusque tone. “So what did you decide to do with the garrison commander? When he spoke to me he didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t surrounded by armed guards, either.”

  “Talek is leaving Tregellas and won’t be returning.”

  Ranulf sat without waiting for an invitation to do so. “You’re letting him go free?”

  Merrick took his seat opposite Ranulf, with the wide table between them, and explained as he had to Constance. “I have no proof that he was trying to kill me, but I won’t run the risk that he wasn’t.”

  “I understand, of course,” Ranulf replied. “Unfortunately, it seems your bride doesn’t appreciate your reasoning. She looked very upset when she left the hall. From what I can gather, Talek’s been one of the few men truly loyal to her. Perhaps she even looked upon him as a friend.”

  Although Ranulf was his boon companion, Merrick had no intention of revealing how Constance’s reaction had upset him. Given her concern for others, he had thought she would understand the necessity of his decision, and had been disappointed to encounter her anger instead. Surely she would realize he was right…eventually. “Whether I upset Constance or not, the man has to go.”

  “I’m not disputing that,” Ranulf said. “The question is, will you speak to her and try to explain, or will you let this lie between you like a different sort of wound?”

  Merrick couldn’t see that reiterating his opinion would make much difference. Nor did he appreciate Ranulf’s unwelcome advice. The quarrel with Constance had not been his fault. He was right to do what he must to protect Tregellas, and those who lived here.

  Yet even as his temper flared again, he tried to keep from betraying his annoyance in either his manner, his expression or his voice. “Are you offering me advice about women? I thought that was Henry’s province.”

  Ranulf colored and his mask of placid neutrality slipped a little. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Good, because I have a request to make of you,” Merrick replied, gladly moving the discussion away from Constance.

  Ranulf raised an inquisitive brow. “This should be…interesting. I don’t recall you ever asking a favor of me before.”

  No, he hadn’t, because like Ranulf and Henry, he had his pride. But there was no one else of whom he could make this request, except Henry. While Henry was a loyal and amusing friend, and Merrick trusted him as much as he did Ranulf, Ranulf would be the better choice. “Since Talek is leaving, I require a new garrison commander. I would like you to take that place.”

  Ranulf flushed, and Merrick knew it wasn’t from modesty. “I’m not a soldier or hireling,” his friend frostily replied.

  “I meant no disrespect,” Merrick said. Nor had he, but he had need of his friend’s help now, and he wasn’t too proud to ask for it. “Until I can decide who among the soldiers here deserves that responsibility, I need someone I can trust in that position.”

  “I see,” Ranulf replied noncommittally.

  “If you’d rather not, so be it, of course.”

  Merrick watched Ranulf as he waited for his friend to answer, hoping Ranulf would comprehend the situation better than Constance had.

  After what seemed a very long time, Ranulf gave him a sardonic smile and shrugged. “Very well, my friend. I’ll act as your garrison commander—but only until you find another, and I hope that will be soon.”

  Merrick subdued a sigh of relief, and so pleased was he, he came around the table and clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder in a rare gesture of camaraderie. “Thank you, Ranulf. I won’t forget this.”

  “Brothers to death,” Ranulf gravely replied.

  “Brothers to death,” Merrick repeated.

  “So, my lord, what orders do you have for me?”

  “I’ll tell the men myself of my decision about Talek and that you’re taking his place. I’ll leave it to you to tell Henry.”

  “As you wish, my lo
rd. Is there anything more?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m free to leave?”

  “Yes, Ranulf, of course, if there’s nothing more you think we need to discuss.”

  “No, my lord, there isn’t,” Ranulf replied. He strolled to the door with his usual easy, athletic stride, showing no sign that he was offended, yet Merrick realized he’d upset his friend. He’d known Ranulf too long to be fooled by his air of dispassionate detachment.

  After he was gone, Merrick threw himself into his chair and bit back an oath. Why could no one else see the necessity of his decisions? Why did they think he was being unreasonable? Someone had tried to kill the heir of Tregellas before and they might try again. If they succeeded, what fate might then befall his wife, his friends and everyone else here?

  It was his duty to protect them all, and by God, he would—whether anyone else approved of his methods or not.

  BACK AND FORTH CONSTANCE strode in the garden, too agitated to sit, her mind full of tumultuous thoughts about everything that had just happened, with one exception: she refused to examine the fear that had arisen, strong and searing, when she saw the blood dripping from Merrick’s arm.

  Why had he not listened to her this time, as he had about Annice? Was that to be his way—to agree in some things, but not all, and to refuse to listen to reason when he believed he was right?

  But she had lived here for years; she knew these people as he did not. Merrick was an intelligent man—why could he not see this and pay heed to her opinion? Why was he so certain Talek posed a threat?

  She thought of his sire’s fears, and the extreme precautions he’d taken for his own protection. There was one important difference, though. Lord William had never once mentioned any concern for the safety of anyone except himself, even when his son lay wounded far away in the north.

  “My lady?”

  God help her, she didn’t want to be bothered with Henry now.

  Unfortunately, and despite the look she gave him that would have told a less selfish, more perceptive man that she wished to be alone, he opened the gate and sauntered into the garden.