The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  She shrugged off her robe. “Very well…Merrick.”

  THEY MADE LOVE SLOWLY, TENDERLY, with soft words and gentle endearments. As if a gate long closed had swung open, Merrick said all the things he’d yearned to for so long. Of Constance’s sweetness. Her gentleness. Her beauty. Her knowledge of healing. Her concern for others.

  His admiration. His respect. His desire. His love.

  And she, in turn, revealed how he impressed her with his intelligence, his justice, his competence, his skill in bed and out of it.

  They spoke until their passion made all words superfluous, for their bodies, their lips, their hands said even more as they touched and kissed and loved.

  Yet afterward, although they were exhausted, neither one slept well.

  There could be no real rest until the earl of Cornwall knew the truth, and they their fate.

  RICHARD OF CORNWALL FROWNED as he looked from Merrick to Constance and back again when they stood before him in the great hall of Tintagel. “You are not the lord of Tregellas but some impostor?” he demanded. “And you’ve pretended to be Lord William’s son for fifteen years?”

  “He may not be Lord William’s legitimate son,” Constance declared, determined that Richard understand what was most important, “but he is Lord William’s son. According to the terms of his will, Lord William’s illegitimate son takes precedence over anyone else except his legitimate son, who was killed fifteen years ago.”

  The earl regarded Merrick with a steadfast gaze that was not unlike her husband’s. “Then why the ruse?”

  “Because I didn’t know the terms of my father’s will and because I was a frightened child when I first lied about who I was. Then I feared it was too late to tell the truth.”

  “But now you will?”

  “Yes, my lord. Now I will. Now I have. Would you rather I had continued to lie to you?”

  The earl leaned back in his chair. “No, I would not, and I must admit I see no reason you would come to me with such a story if it weren’t true. I’ve also heard of Lord William’s…peculiarities…and thus I can well believe he was mad enough to make such a provision in his will. And however skeptical I might be had this story come to me another way, the fact that you’ve come to me yourselves stands in your favor.”

  Constance slid a glance at her husband, whose face, not surprisingly, betrayed nothing. The tension in his body and the way he gripped her hand told her another story.

  “I’m also well aware of your loyalty to me and to the king, as well as your skill in battle,” the earl continued. “It would be foolish of me to lose such a capable commander, especially if your father’s will is as you say.”

  Squeezing Merrick’s hand, Constance started to smile with relief.

  “However, I will agree to allow you to remain the overlord of Tregellas on one condition.”

  Her smile disappeared as dread replaced relief.

  “I would ask that you tell no one else the truth. The kingdom is in enough turmoil, and I need a strong right arm. Besides, you’ve managed to keep this secret for fifteen years. Surely you’re used to it by now.”

  Merrick’s expression grew as sternly determined as she had ever seen it. “My lord, I’ve kept that secret for too long as it is. I no longer wish to bear that burden, or force my beloved wife to carry it, as well. And my grandfather yet lives. I’d like him to know me—truly know me—while he can.”

  The earl frowned. “You would disobey me in this?”

  “If I must.”

  Richard rose, and both were reminded that this man, too, was the son of a king. “You would give up Tregellas? You would become nothing more than a nobleman’s bastard?”

  “If I must.”

  “And what of your wife? Will you condemn her to a life of poverty and uncertainty, too?”

  “Whatever my husband’s fate,” Constance said without hesitation, “he already knows I’ll share it, and gladly. But I warn you, my lord, that others know the terms of Lord William’s will. There was a scribe who wrote it and he yet lives. There is Lord William’s steward, Alan de Vern, who witnessed it. If you attempt to give Tregellas to another, I’ll fight you tooth and nail in the courts.”

  The earl’s brows rose. “You will?”

  She moved closer to her husband. “With my husband’s help, of course. Other nobles who fear that the king is loath to follow the law of his own realm will surely be most interested in the outcome.”

  Richard frowned as he studied her. “Is that a threat, my lady?”

  “However you wish to consider it, my lord, you must know that I’m right. Your brother the king has already angered many of his nobles by trying to ignore the provisions of Magna Carta. Would it be wise to raise more suspicions in their minds by attempting to deny my husband his rightful inheritance?”

  The earl looked at Merrick. “Your wife is a shrewd and very well-informed woman.”

  Merrick smiled. “She’s also very stubborn and can be most determined.”

  “I can believe it,” the earl muttered. He thought a moment, then said, “Fortunately, I happen to agree with her. There’s no need to change the lordship of Tregellas—provided those are the terms of the late Lord William’s will. Therefore, I will go with you to Tregellas and see this unusual document for myself. If it is as you say, then I see no reason to disinherit you, or for the truth to remain hidden. But if it is not…” He pinned his gaze on Merrick. “You alone shall suffer for your lie.”

  Constance stepped forward. “My lord, I—”

  The earl swept past them. “I will hear no more about this until we reach Tregellas.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE NEXT DAY, EARL RICHARD rode at the front of the group traveling to Tregellas, with Merrick and Constance on either side of him. Henry and Ranulf were behind them, and then the other nobles, including Sir Jowan and his son. Lord Osgoode had elected to remain in Tintagel, cosseted by his mistress who’d been waiting there for him.

  Brother Paul had thrown up his hands when Henry insisted upon leaving and claimed he didn’t understand young people anymore. They all seemed anxious to disobey his sage advice.

  However, no priestly admonition was going to convince Henry to stay in Tintagel. He wanted to get away from that castle as soon as possible.

  “I tell you, nothing will surprise me after this. Nothing,” Henry said to Ranulf. “Next thing you know, the king will abdicate and join the church.”

  “If that happens, heaven help the church,” Ranulf replied with a wry grin.

  “I suppose it does explain a few things about Merrick, though,” Henry mused a moment later.

  “Yes, it does,” Ranulf agreed. “His confounded silence, for one thing. It also makes his refusal to even discuss rebellion against the king more understandable.”

  Henry grimaced with pain as he shifted in his saddle. “How’s that?”

  “Feeling guilty because he believed he’d already stolen one man’s birthright, he had no desire to help steal another’s.”

  Henry let out a low whistle, then winced, his lips not yet healed. “God’s wounds, you’re right.” He nodded at Constance. “At least whatever difficulties he was having with his wife seem to have abated. Do you suppose he apologized?”

  “I don’t know,” Ranulf replied. “But they’re certainly happy.”

  “Indeed they are. He’s as blissfully besotted as my brother, and that’s saying something.”

  Ranulf thought they had talked about love long enough. “So, are you still determined to leave us at the next crossroads?”

  “I’ve put off a visit to my brother long enough.”

  “Merrick’s truly sorry he accused you of betraying him.”

  “So he’s said.”

  “Do you forgive him?”

  “I’m here with him now, aren’t I?”

  Ranulf raised a skeptical brow.

  Henry frowned. “He’s no very gentle interrogator.”

  “He was upset about his wife.
”

  “That I understand, but he was so quick to believe the worst of me.”

  “Perhaps because you never seem to take anything seriously.”

  “I take our oath seriously,” Henry replied. He slid his friend a questioning glance. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  Henry gave a small sigh of relief, then said with a hint of pique, “That’s more than Merrick does. He never really trusted us, did he? Or he would have told us the truth.”

  “I think he did trust us, as far as he was able.”

  “Which wasn’t very far.”

  “Would you have told anyone such a secret, thinking you could lose everything?”

  Henry shifted in his saddle again, but this time his discomfort was mental, not physical.

  “No, I didn’t think so,” Ranulf said, “and neither would I.”

  They rode in silence for a while, each man wrapped in his own thoughts, until Henry spoke. “You’re staying on as garrison commander in Tregellas?”

  “For now.”

  “I wouldn’t wait too long before I asked for permission to marry Beatrice, if I were you.”

  Ranulf started and his horse whinnied in protest. “What?”

  Henry’s eyes shone with amusement. “You know you want to.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ranulf huffed. “She’s too young. And she talks too much.”

  Henry twisted in his saddle to look behind him at the rest of the cortege, then at his friend. “Young Kiernan seems to have gotten over his infatuation with Lady Constance. I wouldn’t be surprised if his affections started drifting to a certain talkative young lady who, I point out, is not a child and who, I believe, is beginning to resemble her beautiful cousin more every day.”

  Ranulf’s jaw clenched. “I wish you’d keep your outrageous speculations to yourself.”

  “You could lose her if you don’t put a little more effort into the wooing.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Ranulf growled, “or broken ribs or not, I’ll knock you off your horse.”

  “Oh, very well,” Henry said with a short laugh. “You have absolutely no interest in the lively, lovely little Lady Bea—and I’m going to swear off women for the rest of my life.”

  “WELCOME HOME, MY LORD, MY lady. Earl Richard, you honor us,” Alan de Vern declared as the cortege entered the courtyard of Tregellas the next morning.

  The earl dismounted at the same time as Merrick and looked around the yard. “A most impressive fortress. I think I’ve been too long in France. I should pay more heed to what’s afoot in Cornwall.”

  A pale and anxious Beatrice hurried over to Constance the moment she was off her horse. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve come here, despite what my father…despite my father,” she said worriedly, “but between Maloren’s weeping and his leman’s cursing, I couldn’t bear it there.”

  “I’m glad you did. You’ll always be welcome in my home,” Constance assured her.

  Beatrice smiled tremulously as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you. I’m more grateful than I can say. If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you for your kindness…”

  Constance gave her a warm, comforting smile. “You can promise me that you’ll always come to me when you’re troubled. I love you like a sister, Beatrice, and sisters should always help and succor one another.”

  Beatrice embraced her, weeping softly. As she stroked her cousin’s back, Constance looked for Merrick. Ranulf had his back to them, giving orders to the soldiers of their escort, but a glance over his shoulder told her he had witnessed Beatrice’s distress. She gave him a smile, too, to assure him Beatrice was welcome in Tregellas.

  Then she spotted her husband striding toward Alan, with the earl right behind him.

  “You received my message?” Merrick asked the steward.

  “Yes, my lord,” Alan replied, shifting anxiously as his gaze flicked from Merrick to the earl and back again. “Alas, my lord, I could not find the will.”

  Alarmed, Constance stepped away from Beatrice. “It wasn’t in the chest in the solar, in that cedar box?”

  Alan shook his head. “There was no cedar box, my lady.”

  Despite her dismay, Constance’s mind worked swiftly, seeking an explanation. “Perhaps one of the servants moved it when they were cleaning the solar before Merrick came home. I’ll ask Demelza—”

  “Was the box carved with a pattern of leaves and vines?” Merrick asked

  “Yes!” Constance exclaimed, relieved. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Ruan has such a box. I noticed it in his house when I was talking to him about the mill repairs.”

  The earl tapped his foot impatiently. “Who is this Ruan?”

  “The bailiff, my lord,” Merrick replied. He swiftly scanned the courtyard. “He’s not here.”

  He gestured for Ranulf to come closer. “Take ten men and go to Ruan’s house,” he said to his friend. “In the lower room there’s a shelf near the hearth. At the back of it, you’ll find a carved cedar box. Inside it there may be a sealed document. Bring them both to me—and Ruan, too.”

  “I’ll go with him,” Constance offered. “I know exactly what it looks like.”

  “We’ll all go,” the earl declared. “I’d like to get this matter settled as quickly as possible.”

  Thus it was that the villagers of Tregellas saw the lord of Tregellas and his wife hurrying through the village with another, obviously noble man at their side. Lady Beatrice, the steward and some soldiers were also in the party heading for the bailiff’s house at the end of the green. Those shopping in the market or manning their stalls immediately abandoned what they were doing to follow, each asking the other if they knew what was happening.

  When they reached Ruan’s large house, Merrick rapped sharply on the bossed door. “Ruan!”

  He listened a moment, then drew back and shoved the door open with his broad shoulder. As the crowd’s curious muttering grew, Merrick marched into the house and dragged out a struggling, protesting Ruan by the collar of his tunic.

  “Ranulf, see if you can find that box,” Merrick said as he ran a scornful gaze over the terrified bailiff.

  Ranulf disappeared inside the house. “What were you hiding under the floor, Ruan?” Merrick demanded.

  “N-nothing, my lord—only the money I’ve earned.”

  “Why were you trying to go out the back when your lord was calling for you?”

  “B-because I heard the mob and didn’t know—”

  “Why they were coming here. Did you fear your dishonesty had finally been discovered?”

  “I’ve earned everything you’ll find in my house!” Ruan protested. “Every ha’penny.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Quaking with fear, Ruan asked piteously, “What are you…what are you going to do?”

  Merrick fixed his cold, implacable gaze on the bailiff. “That will depend on what we find in your house.”

  At those words, spoken in such a tone, Ruan started to struggle more fiercely. “No! No! It’s not fair!”

  He might have been a doll for all the difference his agitated motions made to the man holding him by the collar. When Ruan realized his efforts were futile, he went limp.

  “Do you think it was easy being bailiff here, with your cursed father for a master?” he pleaded, sobbing. “Do you think I enjoyed having to enforce his orders and then listen to the tenants complain? To have mud and worse thrown at me? To be scorned and reviled?” His self-pity shifted to rage. “And for what? A few miserly coins and the back of his hand when he was in one of his rages!”

  He pointed a shaking finger at Constance. “Ask her how it was!”

  “Yes, I was here and know how it was,” she replied, sad to see any man, even Ruan, reduced to such a state. “But if you found the position so odious, you were free to go.”

  “Did you also earn the right to steal the late lord’s will?” Merrick asked with slow, stern deliberation.

  “I took no
will!” Ruan protested. “Why would I want that?”

  “Because there was more in that box than a will,” Constance replied. “Lord William kept some jewels and gold coins in it, too, as I remember.”

  Ranulf appeared in the door, an open cedar box in his hand. “There’s no jewelry or coins in here now,” he said. He reached inside and pulled out a scroll. “But there is this.”

  “Give it to me,” the earl commanded. He took out the dagger he wore in his belt and slipped it under the wax seal Constance recognized as Lord William’s. While Ruan continued to whimper, Richard unrolled the parchment and started to read.

  Constance held her breath, praying the will was as she’d remembered, fearing it wasn’t, or that what the earl held was some other document.

  After a long moment when the whole crowd seemed to be holding its breath, Richard raised his eyes. “It is just as you say, my lady. Even if he’s not the earl’s legitimate son, your husband is the rightful heir to Tregellas.”

  The villagers turned shocked eyes onto Merrick.

  “I’m not Merrick,” he announced, his voice loud in the silence. “I’m Bredon, the son of Lord William and Peder’s daughter, Tamsyn. I was taken from the riverbank and put in Merrick’s place in the cortege. He was killed, but I—”

  Suddenly a shout such as Constance had never heard, of joy and anguish, of happiness and dismay, rose from the back of the crowd. Then Peder shoved his way forward.

  “My boy! My blessed, blessed boy!” the old man cried. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he reached out and took Merrick’s face in his hands. “When you talked to me at the smithy, I thought…God help me, I thought I was going mad. But the look in your eyes…I’d seen that look a hundred times in Tamsyn’s…. Bredon, my boy—is it really you?”

  Merrick put his hands on his grandfather’s shoulders. Now she could see the resemblance between them. Their brown, resolute eyes. Their height. The shape of their jaw. “Yes, Grandpa, it’s really me.”

  “And you’re not drowned?”