The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

She turned and left the chamber without another word.

  RANULF SMILED AT BEATRICE fidgeting nervously at the door of the stable. “Is there something I can help you with, my lady?”

  Beatrice looked around as if she were afraid of being seen. “May I speak with you?”

  His first instinct was to say that he had something more important to do, which would include almost anything else. But she looked so worried, he decided to indulge her. After all, he could always walk away.

  “Certainly, my lady.” He tossed his horse’s reins over the wall of the stall and joined her in the doorway. “I gather it’s something important.”

  She nodded and glanced about furtively. “Yes.”

  If she was trying to be subtly secretive, she was failing miserably.

  “Can we not go to the chapel, or somewhere more private?” she whispered. “What I have to say is not for servants’ ears.”

  Ranulf wondered if she thought to flirt with him the way she had with Henry, or even had something more intimate in mind. If that was her only aim, he’d quickly disillusion her. Henry had been amused and acted the honorable gallant; Ranulf had no patience for giddy girls who wished to try out their powers on men. He’d been the butt of that sort of sport once, and it would be the last time. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  Her eyes widened. “But I don’t want…that is, it’s about…” She dropped her voice so that he could barely hear her. “It’s about Constance and Merrick.”

  “What about them?”

  Beatrice blushed and bit her lip. Then she glanced around again and whispered, “Constance is very unhappy.”

  This wasn’t news to Ranulf. Anyone with half a mind would have realized that something was seriously amiss between Merrick and his bride.

  “Is Merrick unhappy, too?” she asked.

  “Merrick doesn’t speak to me about his feelings.”

  “But you know him better than anybody else. Can’t you tell?”

  Of course he could, but he wasn’t keen to discuss his concerns with Beatrice, who probably couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. “Whatever is between them, is between them, my lady.”

  Beatrice’s bright eyes filled with tears. “I only want to help,” she murmured, sniffling. “I can’t bear to see Constance so miserable. She’s endured so much already, and she was so happy on her wedding day and now…”

  The last thing Ranulf wanted was for anyone to think he’d made Beatrice cry. After a quick glance around the yard to ensure no one was watching, he hustled the girl into the lane between the stable and the armory, so they couldn’t be seen from the yard or the wall walk.

  “I would help if I could,” he told her honestly, “but Merrick hates advice, no matter how well-meaning.” He wondered what had prompted Beatrice to speak to him about the troubles between the lord of Tregellas and his wife. “Has Lady Constance said anything to you about what’s happened?”

  Beatrice mournfully shook her head. “Not a word. It’s like when Wicked Will—I mean, Lord William was alive. She wouldn’t say much about him, either.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears again. “I thought those days were behind us.”

  Her shoulders started to shake as she began to sob in earnest.

  Ranulf reached out and awkwardly patted her on the arm. “There, there. I’m sure it will be all right. Husbands and wives quarrel all the time. My parents certainly did.”

  “I don’t remember my mother,” she offered. “She died when I was very small.” She sniffled and regarded him piteously. “It’s been days since the hall moot and it’s just as bad as ever between them. Merrick barely speaks to Constance.”

  Hoping to make Beatrice feel better, Ranulf tried to make light of the situation. “Merrick barely speaks to anybody.”

  That earned him a teary glare from Beatrice. “It’s not funny and if you think it is—”

  “No, I don’t,” he hastened to assure her, slightly ashamed that he’d given the impression he didn’t care about his friend’s happiness.

  “Then what can we do? There must be something,” she pleaded, looking up at him with her big blue eyes, her lips half parted, her high rounded breasts rising and falling.

  Feeling like a disgusting old lecher for noticing that, he tried to concentrate on the issue at hand. “I think we should leave Constance and Merrick to sort out their own troubles. However well-meaning, I doubt any good can come of us interfering directly. The best thing you can do is stay close to her, so she knows she has a friend nearby.”

  “As you’ll stay by Lord Merrick?” she asked softly. “So that he knows he has a trusted friend nearby, too?”

  As if against his will, his gaze fastened on her full, soft lips. He leaned toward her, then remembered who they were, and where, and drew back as if she had the plague. “I won’t leave Tregellas until Merrick has a trustworthy garrison commander. Now I give you good day, my lady.”

  With that, he headed for the armory, getting away from Lady Beatrice and her big blue eyes as quickly he could.

  Before he again forgot that he was Merrick’s trusted friend, and she was sweet and pure.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  OVER A FORTNIGHT HAD PASSED by the time Constance stood beside her husband on the dais in the great hall and watched Lord Osgoode saunter toward them. He was not a small man, but tall and broad, with iron-gray hair and a wide and smiling face. His clothes, like his accoutrements, were colorful and expensive, as befitted a man of great wealth and influence at court.

  Merrick was not nearly so finely dressed, although he wore his best clothes: a rich, black-and-gold brocade tunic that she’d made for him in the first happy days of their marriage, a white linen shirt laced at the neck, fine woolen breeches and polished black boots.

  She wore a gown of emerald cendal, embroidered heavily at the neck and down the long cuffs. Beatrice, who seemed like a shadow of herself these days, had pleaded an aching head and begged to be excused. Ranulf was leading a patrol at the north end of the estate.

  “Greetings, my lord,” Merrick said as the nobleman reached the dais. “Welcome to Tregellas. Please sit and take your ease.”

  Lord Osgoode smiled expansively, so that his eyes were nearly invisible in his fleshy face. “I thank you, my lord.” He turned to Constance. “And this would be your bride, I assume?”

  “I am, indeed. You must forgive my husband his lapse of manners. We are but newly wedded, my lord, and I think he sometimes forgets me.”

  “If I had such a wife as you, my lady, I would be unable to put her from my mind for even a moment,” Lord Osgoode replied with the smooth flattery of a courtier.

  The vein in Merrick’s temple started to throb.

  Ignoring her husband, Constance gestured at a high-backed chair near the hearth. “Please, do tell us how the earl is faring.”

  “He’s very well,” Lord Osgoode replied as he sat on the cushioned seat. “And very pleased by this marriage, as well as the reports he’s received of your rule, my lord.”

  Merrick’s eyes narrowed a little. “Reports?” he queried as he, too, sat on a chair facing their guest.

  “Naturally the earl’s concerned about his vassals and how they’re managing their estates. He’s been in communication with your uncle, and yours, too, my lady. They’ve both spoken very highly of your management, my lord.”

  “I’m pleased I meet with their approval.”

  Lord Osgoode chuckled and reached for the wine proffered by Demelza. “Come, man, surely you’re clever enough to realize that even if the earl of Cornwall is not in Cornwall, he keeps himself apprised of what transpires here. He would be a lax overlord otherwise.”

  Merrick inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  “But let’s not speak of politics when there’s a lovely woman with us,” Lord Osgoode said, smiling at Constance.

  She didn’t want the conversation to lapse into mere meaningless gossip. “I’m always happy to hear the news from court.”

  “Ala
s, I’ve not been paying attention to the latest fashions,” Lord Osgoode said with a chuckle. “I haven’t taken stock of what fabrics are in favor, and which are not, or how veils and wimples are being worn this year.”

  Constance clenched her teeth and reminded herself that most men thought as Lord Osgoode did.

  “That’s not what my wife meant,” Merrick said. “She’s well aware of the tensions at court. Anything of note you wish to say to me, you may say in her presence.”

  This was so unexpected, Constance started, then tried to act as if that was perfectly normal.

  Lord Osgoode frowned. “But she’s a woman.”

  Merrick’s expression didn’t alter by so much as the lift of an eyebrow. “I’m well aware of that, my lord.”

  “Women do not understand the business of men.”

  “This one does.”

  Lord Osgoode laughed again, and the tension drifted away. “Ah, you newly wedded husbands! How quick you are to believe the best of your wives.”

  Constance clasped her hands tight in her cuffs. “My husband is a shrewd and generous man, my lord, who appreciates that to make a wise decision, one should hear many opinions, even those of a woman. It makes no sense that women who are capable of managing a large household should be considered unable to comprehend the conflicts and problems that arise in running a kingdom.”

  Lord Osgoode regarded her with a mixture of awe and surprise. Then he smiled again, as an indulgent parent would to a child who’s said something unexpectedly clever. “A kingdom is somewhat larger than a castle, my lady, and servants are hardly comparable to lords and knights.”

  “If the king is allowed to ignore Magna Carta, there would be little difference.”

  Lord Osgoode sucked in his breath and turned amazed eyes to Merrick.

  “My wife enjoys a spirited debate,” he said evenly, “and sometimes seeks to arouse dissent in order to ensure a lively discussion. I assure you she does not necessarily speak for me, or that her opinion will be the same tomorrow.”

  She was about to refute his lie when a glance from him silenced her. And from the expression on Lord Osgoode’s face, she decided she would do well not to boggle his mind further with her political observations.

  The nobleman reached into the pouch attached to his belt. “The earl summons you, my lord, to his seat at Tintagel. Will you go?”

  Merrick accepted the sheepskin scroll and answered without breaking the seal. “Of course.”

  Then he opened the letter and, after reading it, passed it to Constance without comment.

  As she perused the missive that was both congratulatory and an order to attend the earl in Tintagel without delay, Merrick addressed Lord Osgoode. “I see you’re surprised that my wife can read, my lord. As it happens, my father came to depend on Lady Constance a great deal in his final days, so it was a good thing that she learned.”

  Although these were the first complimentary words he’d spoken since their quarrel, she kept her eyes on the parchment before her.

  “I’d heard something of that,” Lord Osgoode said, and there was an implication in his tone that was all too clear. She could easily guess the sort of rumors that had traveled to the earl of Cornwall’s household about Wicked William and his ward.

  “My father was a terrible and despicable lecher,” Merrick said, his voice stern, his expression even more so. “That is no secret to anyone. But if anyone claims he had improper relations with my wife, I’ll gladly meet him on a field of combat.”

  He was so quick to defend her honor, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak to her, and when he made love to her, it was as if his mind had left his body, leaving only his passionate desire to spur him to do his duty.

  Lord Osgoode clearly wasn’t sure what to make of Merrick’s brusque defense. She feared he’d made a mistake upsetting the earl’s envoy, until his shock turned into an indulgent smile.

  Whether this signaled a true change of heart or was merely diplomatic tact, however, she wouldn’t care to wager.

  “Forgive me if I’ve offended you, my lord,” Lord Osgoode said with an apologetic nod of his head, his deep voice soothing. “Youth sees slights where none were intended. I assure you, my lord, no one suggests your wife is anything but beautiful and virtuous.”

  Constance finished reading the earl’s letter and handed it back to her husband. For a brief moment their fingers touched—hers trembling, his cool—and she had to fight the desire even that slight contact elicited.

  “The earl commands us to be there in a fortnight,” she noted. “Are all his loyal vassals summoned, too?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Lord Osgoode replied.

  “That will be quite a large number, then. I wonder where the earl intends to house us all and who will be responsible, as he has no wife…yet.”

  Lord Osgoode’s brows rose.

  Constance smiled sweetly. “A great lord like the earl cannot go without a wife for long. I thought he might be promised to another by now.”

  “No, he’s not,” the nobleman replied, “although there are many noblewomen being offered to him. I believe there may even be those attempting to bribe the king to order him to marry their sisters or daughters.”

  “The king’s brother would be a great prize, especially as he has the king’s ear,” Constance agreed. “I can only hope the wife he chooses will be good for him, and thus good for England.”

  Lord Osgoode’s narrow eyes narrowed even more. “I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

  Merrick shifted in his chair. Obviously he wasn’t pleased with her comments, or perhaps he was concerned that she was saying the wrong things to this man.

  She realized he might be right. What, after all, did she know about Lord Osgoode, other than that he represented Richard? Perhaps Merrick had met him before and was trying to warn her.

  Perhaps her pride had led her to say too much already.

  Seeking to avert any danger from Lord Osgoode’s assumptions, she gave him a bright smile. “I merely meant that if Earl Richard is happily wed, he will be more content, and thus more likely to remain at home, and that’s surely better for England.”

  She patted Merrick on the knee. He stiffened beneath her touch, but she ignored his response to concentrate on the earl. “I wish all men and women were as happily married as my husband and I, or the king and his queen. Henry and Eleanor are very happy, are they not?” She gave Lord Osgoode a flirtatiously pert look. “And he informs her of the affairs of state, does he not? And asks her opinion, too, or so I’ve heard.”

  Lord Osgoode laughed. “Touché, my lady! Yes, he does, although some would say she is too involved in the affairs of state—but then, he is young yet and, as you say, happily in love.”

  “So of course he wishes to please her in all things,” she said brightly, like the happiest of brides.

  Having played her part long enough for now, she decided to decamp and leave Merrick to deal with Lord Osgoode. “As delightful as it is talking to you, my lord, I must beg your leave to be excused to see that your chambers are ready. I thought you would be too fatigued for a feast tonight in your honor, so I’ve planned one for tomorrow. I hope you approve, my lord?”

  “That sounds most excellent, and I appreciate your concern for my fatigue,” Lord Osgoode replied.

  “Would you care to bathe?”

  “That, too, would be most welcome after my long ride.”

  “Then a bath shall be prepared, and a maid sent to serve you.”

  Lord Osgoode’s eyes gleamed. “I give you my thanks for your kind hospitality, my lady.”

  Obviously he had one opinion of what the maid’s service would entail; Constance had another, which is why Demelza would be sent to attend him and not one of the younger maidservants.

  Nevertheless, she acknowledged his gratitude with a nod of her head and left the hall to see that all was ready.

  “HOW ARE YOU FEELING NOW?” Constance asked Beatrice as she entered her bedchamber after she had s
een to Lord Osgoode’s comfort.

  Beatrice moved to sit up against the head of her bed. She was pale, and had dark circles under her eyes. She’d been listless and very quiet the past few days, and hardly touched her food. Today she’d taken to her bed. Being busy with her duties and preparing for Lord Osgoode’s arrival, Constance had assumed it was nothing serious, but now fear hardened into a knot in her stomach. “Would you like me to send for your father? Or Maloren?”

  Beatrice immediately shook her head. “Maloren’s chatter would only make me feel worse. I think a good night’s sleep would cure me completely. The willow bark potion helped. The ache in my head is nearly gone. What’s Lord Osgoode like?”

  Somewhat relieved, Constance shrugged and sat on the bed at her feet. “A bit too smug for my liking, as many courtiers are.”

  “What news did he bring?”

  “Merrick’s been summoned to Tintagel.”

  “Will you go, too?”

  “I have too much to do here,” she replied, although that wasn’t precisely true. Under Alan de Vern’s supervision, the household could run quite smoothly for several days. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you to make you feel better or rest more easily?”

  Beatrice looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I can’t fall asleep, and when I do, I have terrible dreams. Then I wake before dawn and can’t get back to sleep.”

  Perhaps her poor cousin was merely exhausted from a lack of sleep, Constance thought hopefully—although that was also worrisome.

  “What’s troubling you? What’s upset you so much that you can’t sleep?” she asked gently, hoping it wasn’t anything to do with the absent Henry, even though she’d kept a close eye on Beatrice and seen nothing to make her suspect there was any need to worry about her honor.

  Beatrice raised her eyes, and the look she gave Constance was so adult and so shrewd, Constance instinctively tensed.

  “What’s happened, Constance?” she asked. “You were so happy after your wedding, but now—”

  “There’s nothing the matter with me,” Constance lied. Beatrice wasn’t normally so perceptive, or at least, she hadn’t been.