The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  “You mean he might have been outside the law?”

  His lips traveled from her cheek to her shell-like ear. “It wouldn’t be the first time a thief or murderer has hidden in the ranks of foot soldiers. The king of France regularly empties his prisons when he has a war to fight.”

  “Maybe my uncle or yours could send someone from their castle.”

  “I’ll consider asking,” he murmured, not wanting to think about soldiers and fighting and the deeds of kings while they were alone.

  “If we were in difficulties, I’m sure we could get money from our uncles.” She sighed and tipped her head back as he continued to kiss her. “But I’m glad they’ve gone home.”

  “I’d be more glad if Beatrice had gone with them.”

  Constance sat up straighter. “She’s not so very much trouble, is she?”

  Merrick couldn’t resist teasing her. “Not when she’s quiet.”

  Constance clearly wasn’t amused. “She’s not talking nearly so much these days,” she noted, frowning. “I never thought I’d miss her chatter, but I must confess this new reticence makes me worry. She used to tell me everything, no matter how unimportant and now, well, she doesn’t.”

  Merrick wished he’d never mentioned Beatrice. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed over his head…or almost, for Constance still rested on his lap. “That could simply be a sign she’s getting older, or has learned how to behave more like a lady and less like a giggly little girl. She is old enough to be married, Constance.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I just hope she’s not hiding something serious from me while she’s in our care.”

  Merrick hated to see Constance worry. He kissed her furrowed brow, as he would kiss away all her troubles if he could. “I know that you love her, and fear for her. But let me say again, you have no reason not to trust Henry.”

  “I never said a word about Henry.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’ve seen the way you watch him whenever he’s talking to Beatrice, but I assure you, he’d never attempt to seduce a young woman in my family or under my protection.”

  “I’m trying to be less suspicious.” She hesitated and he wondered what else was bothering her, until she spoke. “Is it true he has a mistress in London?”

  God’s blood, how had she…? “Who told you that?”

  “Beatrice.”

  “How did she hear it?”

  “She guessed from things Henry’s said in conversation.”

  Henry should learn to keep his mouth shut, especially when in the company of so inquisitive a young lady. “He’s never actually told me that he has,” Merrick admitted, “which is not to say he doesn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t he confide in you?”

  “All men have secrets, even the best of friends,” he replied.

  But this conversation was veering in a dangerous direction, so he sought to turn it elsewhere. “For instance, I would never tell Henry you came to my solar today and most brazenly seduced me away from my duties,” he said as his hand meandered toward her breasts and he again pressed his lips to the bare skin of her neck, hoping to distract her.

  “I’m relieved.”

  She was annoyed.

  He stopped kissing her and regarded her warily. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She was a woman and a newly wedded wife. They had just been discussing another man’s illicit liaisons. It didn’t take a seer to figure out what was upsetting her. “I don’t have a mistress, Constance, and never have,” he said truthfully. “No other woman has ever held my heart.”

  She smiled happily, then with seductive intent as she wiggled suggestively on his lap. “You accused me of attempting to brazenly seduce you, my lord, but I must point out, we’re married,” she purred as she ran her hands up his broad chest. “I don’t think we can call it seduction, then…do you?”

  “Whatever we’re doing, it’ll be our secret,” he murmured as his breathing quickened and his shaft eagerly responded to her words, her tone and the movement of her warm body against his.

  His hand glided along her arm, then upward to her breast. She shifted, and the friction of her body against his hardened shaft made her whimper and shift again, while he continued to gently knead her breast and explore her mouth with his tongue.

  She broke the kiss and he groaned like one severely wounded. “What’s wrong?” he gasped.

  “We had best cease for now, my lord,” she said as she ran her finger over the plane of his cheek and down to his jaw. “This is not the place for what I have in mind.”

  He could think of no better place for what he had in mind. Well, for what he had in mind, almost anywhere would do, as long as they were alone.

  “The table is large and strong, and not liable to break,” he offered, his voice husky with yearning. “Or we could stay in this chair,” he suggested, caressing her.

  “Really?” she whispered as the excitement took her. “It seems a sin….”

  “I recall, my lady, that we’ve sinned before.”

  “So we have,” she agreed, her eyes shining with anticipation. She ran her tongue lightly over her lips as if in silent invitation—and he needed no other.

  He set her on her feet and, with one swift motion, swept the parchments from the table. Holding her around her waist, he pressed kisses to her lips and cheeks, guiding her backward.

  As his tongue teased and tormented, drawing forth her desire, his hands cupped her buttocks and lifted her so that she was sitting on the edge of the table. Her arms around him, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him forward, until his manhood was against her, ready for the pleasure to come.

  He pushed up her skirt and shift, and in a whisper, his breathing already ragged with need, asked her to untie his breeches. She needed no second urging, but quickly did as he requested. When he was free, she grabbed his broad shoulders to steady herself.

  This was no leisurely, gentle coupling. With one swift thrust he was inside her, encircled by her moist warmth, tight around his shaft. She pressed her mouth against his neck, muffling the cry of exultation as he drove home. Then again. Withdrawing a little, he plunged inside once more as the sensations spurred him.

  She clenched her teeth and, breathing hard, stifled the cries of ecstatic completion as they came together, the tension snapping and their muted cries filling the air.

  Leaning against her, spent and sated, he closed his eyes and held her to him. Constance. His love. His wife.

  His weakness.

  THAT NIGHT, A HAND COVERED the old man’s mouth, waking him instantly. Unable to see, Peder immediately started struggling and trying to bite, kick or punch whatever stinking thief was holding him down.

  “It’s me!” a voice he hadn’t expected to hear again hissed in his ear. “Talek.”

  When Peder stopped struggling, Talek cautiously removed his hand. Peder sat up, peering in the dim light from the glow of what was left of his fire in the hearth. Talek’s clothes were stained and soiled and torn in places, as if he’d lived rough on the moor or in a cave, and he reeked of ale.

  “What are you doing here?” Peder demanded. “What if somebody’s seen you?”

  “Nobody saw me,” the former garrison commander mumbled as he hunched by the fire, his arms wrapped around himself, his hands filthy, his nails broken. “By God, I wish I’d gone to France when I had the chance. I could have met Pierre at the cove last time he came. But now that bastard in the castle’s got patrols all over the road and in the woods since the fire. I can’t get near the sea.”

  Peder shifted so that he was warmed by the heat from the hearth, and so that he could see Talek better. “He didn’t need to smell him any better to guess part of the man’s trouble. Talek’s hands also trembled like a sot’s, and his eyes were bloodshot. “I thought you were going to stay close by in case Lady Constance needed your help.”

  “And I did, didn’t I?” Talek grumbled. “But she’s gone and married the
bastard, hasn’t she? No point in staying here and risking my neck for her anymore. So now I need your help. I’ve got to get a ship to France or somewhere—anywhere—else.” He scowled darkly. “If that bastard finds me, I’m a dead man for sure.”

  “He didn’t kill you before.”

  “Likely because he didn’t want to upset Lady Constance more than he did. But now that she’s his wife, he probably doesn’t give a damn if she’ll be angry or not. He’ll kill me as soon as look at me.”

  “I would have believed that once, but now…?” Peder shook his head. “He’s not given us any cause to think he’s a heartless brute like his father.”

  Peder tilted his head to regard his friend. “Where exactly were you when the mill was set on fire?”

  “Nowhere near,” Talek answered. “I was in the wood, in the cave where you hide your tin.”

  “No, you weren’t,” Peder slowly replied. “I was there making sure my cache was still safe when I saw the flames.” The old man’s eyes seemed to bore into those of the former garrison commander. “I’m only going to ask you this once more, Talek, and you’d better tell me the truth. Where were you when the mill caught fire?”

  “All right…I was drunk,” Talek muttered, looking away. “Drunk as a lord, drunk like Wicked William. Aye, and I was angry, too. Angry and stupid.” He bowed his head and mumbled, “I never would have done it if I’d’a been sober. I just wanted to make a bit of trouble for him before I left, that’s all. I swear on my sainted mother’s life.”

  Peder got to his feet and glared at Talek. “You did it? You set the mill on fire?”

  “No!” Talek cried, jumping up. “Just the shed. That’s all. It just…it just got out of hand and—”

  “Out of hand!” Peder retorted. “Out of hand? You destroyed it, man, and it’ll be weeks before it’s right. What the devil got into you?”

  “I wanted to pay him back! Twenty years—twenty years I served Lord William. Did his dirty work. Guarded his brat of a son. Twenty years and he sends me away—”

  “You drunken fool! You hurt everyone in Tregellas more than him. He can buy what he needs, but the rest of us can’t. What about all the farmers who lost their grain? All the women who have to grind their family’s wheat by hand if they’re to have any bread? I should take you to the castle and throw you into the dungeon myself.”

  Talek’s hand went to his sword and his eyes gleamed fiercely. “I wouldn’t try it, if I were you. And I wouldn’t tell anybody you seen me. In fact, old man, you should help me get clear away, because if I get caught, it’ll be the noose for you. I know where your cache is, and all about Pierre. If I have to, I’ll tell that bastard in the castle everything I know.”

  Peder’s hands, calloused and still powerful despite his years, balled into fists. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? You’d betray us all.”

  “If I had to. Now give me what money you’ve got and get me out of Tregellas.”

  Peder shook his head. “I won’t lift a finger to help you.”

  Talek drew his sword. “You’d better, old man, or I’ll run you through.” He stuck the point of his sword on Peder’s chest, then reached out to grab Peder by the arm. “If you won’t help me flee willingly, I’ll just have to take you with me.”

  The old man twisted away and dived for his bed. From under his pillow he pulled out an Italian dagger Pierre had given him, long and sharp and thin. As Talek raised his arm to strike with his sword, Peder turned and shoved the dagger upward with all his might into Talek’s stomach.

  The sword fell to the ground with a clang. Clutching at the dagger, Talek staggered backward, stumbling over a stool and falling against the wall of the cottage.

  Shaking, Peder rose and went toward him, keeping well away from his feet.

  “You bloody bastard,” Talek whispered, blood bubbling on his lips. Then he smiled—a terrible, cruel smile. “Now I’ll never tell you where your grandson’s bones lie.”

  With a cry of despair, Peder threw himself down beside the wounded man. “Where is he? For God’s sake, tell me! Let me bury him in the churchyard. If you’ve an ounce of pity…”

  “What pity did you have for me?” Talek demanded as the blood trickled down his chin and stained his tunic.

  “No churchyard for him, like your daughter. The daughter you think’s such a saint. She’s burning in hell now, though, isn’t she? She probably would have anyway. She was a whore—or as good as. She didn’t put up much of a fight when I held her down so Wicked William could have her.”

  Another cry issued from Peder’s lips as he rose and grabbed the hilt of the dagger protruding from Talek’s gut. He yanked it out, then plunged it into the man again, right through his heart.

  Talek’s legs kicked once before he lay still.

  Panting, Peder staggered back. He ran a quivering hand over his sweating forehead, then dropped the bloody dagger on Talek’s body. He made his way to a cupboard and found the bit of wine he kept for special occasions. He pulled out the stopper and drank deep. Then he wiped his chin and leaned back against the cupboard. He closed his eyes and waited for his racing heart to slow, his mind to clear.

  What was he going to do? He felt no guilt for what he’d done. Talek had met the fate he deserved and he was glad he’d been the instrument to mete it out. God would surely understand and forgive. But how was he to explain Talek’s presence in his cottage? The lord of Tregellas would wonder why the man would come there, unless he knew Peder would give him help or sanctuary. Even if he explained that he’d killed Talek because he’d been threatened, and that Talek had set the fire, would he be believed? Lady Constance would trust him, but that Merrick?

  His hatred for the lords of Tregellas was too well-known. Merrick might even believe he had set the fire, either alone or with Talek, and was using the man’s death to cover his own guilt.

  Besides, why not leave the lord to puzzle over who had done it? Let it trouble his mind for as long as possible, as his mind was forever troubled by the disappearance of his grandson—and never more than now, when it seemed it was no accident after all.

  Peder spit into the fire to clear the bitter bile from his mouth.

  Lady Constance, though…she didn’t deserve to live with the dread that they had an unknown enemy, perhaps in their very midst. If he could find a way to tell her, she could keep a secret…

  But would she? Maybe she’d feel duty bound to tell her husband.

  No, better to keep Talek’s death and crime a secret, known only to himself.

  Peder opened his eyes, and the first thing to meet his gaze was Talek’s bloody face, his lips twisted from his death throes.

  As Peder started forward, he prayed. Not for forgiveness. Not for mercy.

  That God would someday show him his grandson’s remains, so he could bring them home for a decent burial. And for the strength to move the body of a lying, treacherous snake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE DAY OF THE HALL MOOT, THE sky was a dull gray ceiling of clouds. If the weather worsened, they would go inside, Constance knew, but otherwise, the hall was too small for the crowd now waiting with hushed expectancy for the proceedings to start. Even Beatrice was quiet, although that was getting to be far from unusual. Henry had declared he would be bored with such business, and had gone off to hunt. Ranulf was in the ward, working with the new troop of archers. Merrick had decided that Welsh long bows could be an asset, and had set about finding a man to teach a select group, as well as getting the bows and arrows for them.

  Constance slid a glance toward her husband as he sat beside her on the dais erected in the courtyard where he would make his judgments, and grant or refuse requests. Just as she’d always hoped, they’d talked at length about the conflicts likely to be brought before him. He’d asked her about the people involved and sought her advice.

  She knew him well enough now to see the signs of tension in his neck and jaw. In a way she was glad, for that implied a lack of certainty, not an ove
rweening arrogance and belief that he was infallible.

  She put her hand on his forearm and gave him an encouraging smile. His grave expression didn’t change, but his muscles relaxed.

  Fortunately, all the serious cases were swiftly dealt with. Merrick listened carefully to those with complaints and those who sought to defend themselves against them, then rendered his decisions quickly, and with firm purpose. This was a far cry from the stannary courts of the tinners, which were notorious for longwinded speeches and a longer wait for judgment. Perhaps in future, Constance mused, some of the personal disputes that could be settled by stannary courts would be brought here for a speedier resolution.

  Finally all that remained was Merrick’s approval of Annice and Eric’s marriage. Since there was no question that Merrick would give his consent, Constance anticipated a quick conclusion to the hall moot. Then she and Merrick could—

  A flicker of movement in the shadows of the stable caught her eye, and a glimpse of a familiar face made her catch her breath.

  What in God’s name was Kiernan doing here? As a neighbor, he would have been welcome to witness the proceedings, so why would he hide like an outlaw or thief?

  This was Kiernan, she reminded herself. He was young and passionate and, she knew from long acquaintance, stubborn. It could be that he still harbored feelings for her and merely wanted to see her again. Or maybe his presence had a more sinister motive…

  Eric came forward, holding Annice’s hand. Annice flushed with a becoming modesty, and didn’t raise her eyes as Eric announced, “My lord, I’ve come to ask your permission to marry Annice, the chandler’s daughter.”

  Constance glanced again at the alley. There was no sign of Kiernan. Maybe she’d been wrong, and it wasn’t Kiernan at all. The alley was dark. It could have been someone else.

  Even if Kiernan was still angry and unhappy, he would surely never resort to violence. He would sulk and mope and glare, but he would never burn a mill or…

  She suddenly realized the yard was completely silent and that Merrick hadn’t yet given his answer to Eric.