The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Merrick leaned back and regarded Ranulf through bleary, bloodshot eyes. “I don’t want her. I never have.”

  “More than one wouldn’t blame you if you did. She’s a pretty woman.”

  Merrick stood up so fast, his chair fell over backward, and he had to hold on to the table to steady himself. “I don’t want her!”

  He reached for the hilt of his sword and tried to draw it out, but the damn thing stuck. “I’ll kill any man who says so!”

  Ranulf watched as his friend struggled for a moment, then gave up.

  “I don’t want her,” Merrick muttered, splaying his hands on the table, head bowed. He drew in a ragged breath. “Why won’t anybody believe me?”

  “I don’t think Henry would accuse you of wanting that woman when you’re married to Lady Constance,” Ranulf said.

  Merrick went to sit down and nearly fell before he realized his chair wasn’t there. Ranulf hurried to right it, and when it was back in place, Merrick sat heavily.

  “He said that’d be how it’d look to everybody,” Merrick grumbled.

  “Everybody who doesn’t know you well,” Ranulf agreed. Yet that alone wouldn’t be enough to make Merrick over-imbibe after all these years. “Did he suggest it might look that way to Constance, too?”

  “He didn’t have to. She’d already said so.”

  “So you quarreled with your wife over this woman and then argued with Henry, and now he’s left Tregellas.”

  Merrick glumly nodded. He thought of the accusations Henry had leveled at him with regard to Ranulf, then told himself Ranulf wouldn’t have to suffer being garrison commander much longer. Soon he’d find somebody trustworthy enough to fill that place. Eventually.

  “It’s not surprising to me that people aren’t sure what to make of that decision. You offered no explanation, and you’re a damned cipher most of the time.”

  “I can’t tell you why,” Merrick muttered.

  “Have I asked? I’m sure you had good cause, and one that didn’t begin and end with lust. But I’ve known you since we were both ten years old—they haven’t.”

  “They shouldn’t accuse me of lusting after other women.”

  “Plenty of men do, and then there’s your late, unlamented father.”

  “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “Apparently I do. You may be asking too much of your wife and these people if you expect them to accept you on faith so quickly.”

  “That’s what Henry said.”

  “He’s right.”

  “I didn’t want Henry’s advice and I don’t need yours, either,” Merrick growled.

  “Because you’re doing such a fine job on your own.”

  The last thing Merrick needed was Ranulf’s sanctimonious sarcasm. “You can go, too.”

  “If I do, who’ll lead your garrison?”

  “Somebody,” Merrick mumbled, frowning.

  “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. As it happens, I’m enjoying myself—and as you yourself said, you need a man you can trust in charge of your soldiers. I also swore an oath of loyalty to you, and I intend to keep it.”

  “So did Henry,” Merrick reminded him.

  “I’m not Henry’s keeper.”

  “You’re not mine, either.”

  “No, I’m not. But I am your friend, and until you tell me to my face that I’m not needed here any longer, I’ll stay.”

  Merrick leaned forward and buried his head in his folded arms on the table as his eyes filled with weak, foolish tears of gratitude.

  “Am I still your friend?”

  Merrick nodded in response, afraid his voice would betray him.

  “Good. Now stop drinking and when you’re sober, go speak to your wife.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IN SPITE OF HIS INTENTION TO follow Ranulf’s advice, Merrick didn’t seek out Constance until the hour grew late and he could find no more excuses not to retire. Instead, maintaining his usual stoic demeanor, he checked the new swords the armorer had made. He gave the guards the watchword for the night, paying no heed to their attempts to avoid his gaze. He got some food from the kitchen and ignored Gaston’s wary expression and that of the servants cowering in the corners.

  By the time he headed for their bedchamber, he was perfectly sober and capable of having a rational discussion with his wife, if she wasn’t already asleep.

  If she was? He’d crawl into bed beside her warm, soft body, conquer the needs of his own and deal with the trouble between them in the morning.

  He walked slowly up the stairs, as if he bore a great weight on his back. Images of his bride danced in his head as he lifted his feet. Her bright eyes. Her smile. That look of sultry invitation. The low growl as the moment of ecstasy took her and she writhed and bucked…

  She wasn’t asleep. She sat at the table bearing the polished silver plate that acted as her mirror, combing her long, marvelous hair that fell about her like a golden drapery. Her thin white shift hid nothing and stretched tight across the curves of her breasts.

  His breath caught in his throat, as if he were a boy again beholding the girl he would never forget. She was so beautiful, so perfect.

  And he was so undeserving. He always had been.

  “Close the door, please. There’s a draught.”

  Commanding himself to remain calm, to remember that if anyone was in the wrong, it was he, he silently did as she asked.

  She rose and faced him, her expression almost a blank as she ran her gaze over him.

  Almost.

  Whatever she thought of his decision, she still wanted his body.

  It would be enough. It must be enough. He’d done what he’d done, and there was no way to undo it without telling her the truth. What good would that do now? They were married, man and wife, for good or ill.

  She untied the drawstring of her shift and let it fall to the floor. Her nipples tightened in the cool air, but otherwise, her skin seemed to glow with heat in the light of the candles as she stood motionless, her eyes telling him…nothing.

  If she stayed still, he would interpret that as rejection. If she made no effort to close the distance between them, he would go.

  She stepped over her discarded shift and bent to pick it up, her hair flowing about her luscious body in a tantalizing curtain. Straightening, she laid her garment over the stool. “Are you staying, my lord?”

  God help him, how could he tear himself away when she stood before him naked and beautiful?

  “Do you wish me to?” he managed to say, his voice hoarse as he tried to control his growing desire while betraying nothing of his feelings.

  She started toward him. “This is your bedchamber, my lord. You have every right to stay.”

  Yes, he did, and as she came closer, he felt his control slipping away with every step.

  She was his wife. She hadn’t barred the door, or ordered him to go. She was offering her body to him.

  But even as his reason drowned beneath desire, he knew things were far from right between them. The perfect union they’d shared since their wedding had been marred. Tainted.

  She stopped inches from him. She was so lovely with her shining blue eyes. Her lustrous hair. Her warm, full, rosy lips.

  With a moan of surrender to the longing he couldn’t overcome, he tugged her to him and kissed her, his passionate need unleashed.

  She made no effort to resist as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She uttered no sound of protest as he set her down.

  If this was the only way he could show his need for her, so be it. Because he did need her. More than she would ever know.

  But there were no soft words, no gentle caresses, in spite of his intentions. Seemingly, she wanted none as she clutched at him with frenzied passion, her hunger spurring his own. Hoping this meant she did trust him, he tried go slowly, to be tender.

  He couldn’t, not when she moved as she did, pulling him to her and into her as if she couldn’t wait. Or didn’t want
to.

  It was over in a moment, yet not before her cries of ecstasy filled the chamber, as did his own. He fell against her, breathing hard, when he was finished. Perhaps now all would be well again…or so he hoped, until she squirmed and twisted so that he had no choice but to move away from her. Then she turned her back to him.

  Oh, God, had she offered herself only because she craved his body?

  He rose abruptly and dressed. Without a word he left the room.

  Once outside their chamber, he splayed his hands against the cool stone wall and hung his head. Then he let his breath out in a long, shuddering sigh before pushing himself off the wall.

  He was the lord of Tregellas, not a little boy alone and frightened in a wood. And Constance was the lady of Tregellas, whether that pleased her.

  Or not.

  AFTER MERRICK HAD GONE, Constance closed her eyes as another wave of shame, of dismay, of acute disappointment washed over her. Yes, he wanted her still, but not as before. Before, there had been gentleness and kindness; there had been affection and joy.

  Despite her resolution not to beg his forgiveness, she’d tried to show him that she was sorry for her accusations, but she’d been so tense, so anxious, she could hardly speak, and her words had sounded cold, even to herself. So she’d deliberately enticed him and given herself to him eagerly.

  He’d taken her as if she were the lowliest whore in London. There were no words of forgiveness, or understanding. No tender endearments, no whispers of entreaty.

  She had become his woman, to use when and where and how he pleased. She was his chattel, just as she had always feared.

  “BY ALL THE SAINTS IN Christendom, I could hardly believe it when I heard, but if you’re here, it must be so!” Lord Carrell exclaimed as he sat beside Henry in the main room of a tavern in Truro a se’ennight after Henry had left Tregellas.

  Henry gave the man a carefree smile and raised his mug of ale in a salute. “Greetings to you, too, my lord. What brings you to this cheery place?”

  He laughed softly at his own joke, for in truth, this tavern was far from the finest establishment in Truro. It had the benefit, however, of cheap lodgings and a relative lack of fleas.

  Lord Carrell looked upon him with pity. “I must say, Sir Henry, it’s a sad, sad day when a man of your birth and skill must take shelter in a place like this.”

  His pride pricked, Henry shrugged as if Lord Carrell’s observation didn’t disturb him. “It was my choice to leave Tregellas.”

  Lord Carrell gave him a sympathetic smile. “So I heard, but a man like you must have plenty of friends who will offer you their hospitality, if Lord Merrick won’t.”

  “I do,” Henry retorted. “I’m on my way to…” He tried to think of a lord who might indeed welcome a penniless but valiant knight, even one with a reputation for being less than chaste where the daughters of the household were concerned. “My brother’s,” he said, although the last place he wanted to go was Scotland.

  “Ah well, Lord Merrick’s loss will be his gain. Given the troublesome nature of the Scots, I’m sure he’ll be glad of your assistance.”

  Henry frowned into his mug. Nicholas didn’t want or need his help.

  Lord Carrell shook his head and heaved a sigh. “I fear I’ve been sadly disappointed in my nephew-in-law.”

  Henry perked up.

  “I had such hopes that under the tutelage of Sir Leonard he would become a just and honorable man, but alas…”

  Henry frowned. “What makes you think Merrick isn’t honorable?”

  Lord Carrell covered his mouth with his fingertips and looked contrite. “I fear I’ve said more than I should.”

  Henry sniffed. “Well, you don’t have to tell me he’s not.” He fixed a determined gaze on Lord Carrell’s face, barely visible in the dimness of the low-ceilinged tavern. “Did you know we swore an oath, him and me, to be brothers-in-arms and faithful to death? And what does he do but cast me out.”

  Lord Carrell drew back in surprise. “He cast you out?”

  “As good as,” Henry confirmed with a nod of his head. “And me just trying to help the ungrateful bastard.” He raised his mug and took a drink, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I tell you, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ride to his aid. He can rot for all I care.”

  “I was aware he was not winning over his tenants, but I had no idea he would actually break an oath.”

  Henry shifted uneasily. “I can’t say he broke it, exactly.”

  Lord Carrell didn’t seem to hear that qualification as he worriedly chewed his lower lip. “Now I wish we’d delayed the wedding of my niece until we knew him better. If she suffers because of him, I’ll never forgive myself. The poor girl deserves better. She spent so many years in thrall to Lord William.” He sighed again. “She deserves someone more like you.”

  Henry recognized flattery when he heard it. “I don’t think you’d have been anxious to have her marry a penniless knight.”

  “I have many castles. One could easily be given over to a relative.”

  “You would grant me a castle if I served you?”

  “I’d be delighted to have such a man as yourself swear fealty to me, and give you a castle to hold in my name.”

  Henry toyed with the mug and didn’t answer.

  Lord Carrell leaned in so close, Henry could tell he’d dined on fish that day. “I think, Sir Henry, that you’re also concerned for the welfare of my beautiful niece. This way, you would be nearby, should she require assistance.”

  Henry slid his mug from one hand to the other and back again.

  “And if, perchance, Lord Merrick should perish sooner rather than later, she would be free to wed again, to a man loyal to her uncle.”

  “Or Merrick might live to be eighty,” Henry observed. “Tell me, Lord Carrell, do I look like a man whose loyalty can be purchased with a castle?”

  Lord Carrell moved away, farther along the bench. “I meant no disrespect, and if I was wrong about your feelings for my lovely niece, I beg your pardon.” He rose. “I bid you good day.”

  Henry grabbed the man’s tunic and pulled him back down. “How large a castle and how many men would I have in my command?”

  “ALAN DE VERN TELLS ME YOU wish to see me, my lord,” Constance said coolly as she entered the solar a few days later.

  She always spoke to her husband coolly now, when she spoke to him at all. The only warmth between them came at night, when they shared a bed. Yet even though he made love with her, there was no real intimacy anymore. She was sadly sure their lovemaking served no purpose now but to get her with child so she could bear him a son.

  So far, that had not been successful, and when her flux had commenced a week ago, she’d lain awake a long time worrying about what would happen if she didn’t conceive. In spite of his vows, would he send her away and take a mistress? Even an illegitimate son was better than none. Would he be content to let his uncle and his uncle’s children be his heirs? Would he grow to hate her? Would he become bitter and resentful, cruel and vicious, as his father had before him?

  His father. How she wished he’d died when Merrick was a boy. How different things might be.

  “I’ve had a message from the king,” Merrick said, pointing to a parchment in front of him. “He congratulates me on my marriage and trusts I’ll soon have the smuggling here under control.”

  Constance stiffened ever so slightly, as she always did when he spoke of smuggling. Thankfully, no smugglers had been captured since he’d arrived, although whether it was because they’d stopped, or were waiting for him to lessen the patrols, she didn’t know. She hadn’t gone into the village recently to find out, because she hadn’t wanted to see Annice, or Eric, or even Peder.

  “What can you tell me about the smuggling activity around Tregellas?”

  “That it’s been going on for centuries and will be difficult to stop,” she replied.

  He regarded her steadily, without passion. “Please d
on’t play the ignorant woman with me, Constance. You know this land, these people too well, and they trust you. I’m sure you know who’s engaged in smuggling and what beaches they use, and when. Who are they, Constance?”

  She returned his gaze with one equally dispassionate. “As you gave your word to Annice, I gave my word to my friends—good people who feel cheated and oppressed by a king who uses their money to live in splendor, or to wage his wars in France. They would willingly pay what is honestly asked, but as it is now…”

  “They hold themselves above the law. In many ways they already are, yet that’s not enough to satisfy them.”

  “Is it so difficult to understand that when they see how men who also mine tin, yet who happen to live in Devonshire, are taxed at a much lesser rate, they feel they’re being exploited?”

  “I swore an oath to my king that I will uphold his laws.”

  “You swore. I didn’t. And my friends’ trust means as much to me as your friends’ does to you, so don’t ask me to betray them. If Henry or Ranulf broke the law—”

  “I would consider our oath broken and I would ensure that justice was done.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “If you knew who set fire to the mill, would you tell me that?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “There is no justification for such an act.”

  “Even if it was a friend?”

  “Yes.”

  His face inscrutable, he gestured at another scroll. “I’ve also received word that we can expect a visitor shortly—Lord Osgoode, who’s returned to England with the earl of Cornwall.”

  Constance’s brows rose. This was the first she’d heard that Richard was back in England. It would also be the first time they’d entertained so important a guest since she’d been married.

  “I trust you’ll do all that’s necessary to make him comfortable and his stay in Tregellas a pleasant one.”

  “As you know your duty, my lord,” she replied, “so I know mine.”

  Merrick picked up his quill and looked at the accounts on the parchment before him. “Good day, Constance.”