“The sun is ready to rise, ‘tis a fine time for a walk, aye?” Richard said.
Adam turned to Charles, who was standing up straight with his hands clasped in front of him. A swelling of fondness caught him off-guard—he’d enjoyed working with the older man these last weeks.
“Please make these men comfortable until it’s time to break their fast.”
“Of course, my lord.” Charles indicated the men should follow while Adam was left alone with Richard.
“How goes it, brother?” Richard asked as they stepped outside.
Adam pointed to the sun, which had just begun to show itself in the distance. They quieted, watching as the vibrant colors of dawn replaced the darkness.
“I don’t deserve all that your father has given me,” he said seriously.
Richard’s expression didn’t change. They watched as the drawbridge was lowered for the wagons that brought supplies to the castle each morning. Without a master, Langford had remained functional, but it could be something so much more than that. Adam hoped to make it the home he’d always desired—with his wife.
“You speak so seriously, brother. I can only hope you don’t mean it.”
With nearly the same height and build, anyone who heard their endearment would have no cause to think them anything but brothers. That Richard wore his hair to his shoulders, in the more fashionable style, was the only way some could tell them apart from a distance.
“Do you remember the morning our camp was attacked before we had time to prepare?” Adam asked.
“The first and only battle I’ve attended with no clothing. I had two swords at the ready that morn,” Richard answered.
They laughed at the shared memory of Richard emerging from the tent stark naked, sword in hand. Adam had no doubt his friend would have entered the skirmish in such a state if necessary.
“You saved me that day,” Richard sobered.
“Nay, you would have seen the man’s battle ax well before he used it to slice your skull open.”
“Mayhap. But one will never know.”
Adam said nothing.
“My father is ill.”
It took a moment for Adam to understand what Richard had just said—another for him to manage to speak. He’d never heard his friend sound so grave.
“Ill?”
“Spitting up blood when he thinks no one notices. I spoke to his physician myself.”
Adam looked at Richard’s profile. His normally affable face was drawn. Goddammit. Spencer was dying.
So, this was the reason Richard had traveled south. Not to congratulate him on his marriage but to inform him the earl was dying. He couldn’t account for it.
“You’ll come to my wedding with your new wife?” Richard asked.
“Of course, Richard. I will do anything you ask of me.”
Adam lifted his face into the cool morning air, trying to collect himself. An impossible task after hearing about the grave illness of the man who had given him a new life after he’d lost everything.
“I know,” Richard said. “I wanted you to hear the news from me.”
“I should be there.” Adam didn’t belong in the south of England enjoying his new life while Spencer’s health failed and Richard navigated the succession of the title. He had advisors, of course, but none who would tell him bluntly when he made a mistake.
“Nay, you belong here. My father wants to secure the border more than anything. Trouble brews with the Scots, and he hasn’t spent his life building Kenshire to see his legacy come crumbling to the ground. He needs you. To ensure there will always be a place of safety for his family…my family.”
“But your family has many holdings.”
“Our family has only one far away from the troublesome borders,” Richard countered.
“I will not let you down.”
If Adam lived another one hundred years, he would not know a more fierce yet loyal man than his friend. Richard was about to become one of the most powerful men in England. The earl of Kenshire, once a seat of the Northumbrian kings, wielded as much power as nearly any in the land save the King. He certainly looked the part: his black tunic was inlaid with the Caiser crest, a silver-lined mermaid at its center, the effect almost regal.
Most importantly, Richard was a good man, one who would not lead them into battle over a trifle, no matter how tense the situation along the border. Adam would follow him to the gates of heaven…or hell.
Richard clasped his shoulder. “I know you will not. Now come, I’d like to meet the woman who must endure your stubborn countenance for all her days.”
They made their way back down to the hall, where all remnants of early morn had vanished. The staff had transformed the normally simple fare into a feast worthy of a king.
It was then that Adam noticed the smell. It wasn’t the savory allure of food and drink but a delicate scent of sweet lavender. Then he noticed the flowers. They were everywhere—all kinds of them.
Clare escorted them to the dais. “Do you like the flowers, my lord?”
“Aye, mistress. You—”
“Cora. She and the gardener picked every flower on the estate, I believe, and planted even more. But it smells wondrous, does it not?”
“Wondrous indeed.”
Where is Cora?
No sooner had the thought entered his head than the woman herself entered the hall, looking every bit the lady of the manor. He had gotten used to the fiery red tresses falling in waves around her shoulders. But this morning it was pulled into an elaborate plait behind her. Courtesy of Clare?
Her dress was simple, but it was embroidered around the neckline and the arms, and cut lower than the others he’d seen on her thus far. She looked both like an innocent maid and a delicate angel who’d come to ease all his troubles.
She was neither.
They stood. “My lady, may I introduce Sir Richard Caiser, son of Spencer Caiser, second earl of Lancaster. Sir Richard, my wife, Lady Cora Maxwell, daughter of—”
“You can dispense with the formalities. We all know the attempt on my life is what forced this marriage. She is the sacrificial lamb offered to you to keep the peace between our people.”
Richard had always disliked standing on ceremony. He held his hand out to Cora. “I leave the morning’s entertainment to my lady. Shall we celebrate your wedding by testing our skills in the training yard, bread and cheese be damned?”
What the devil? Why would Cora accompany them to the training yard?
Cora grinned from ear to ear. “How did you know, my lord?”
“Your father, of course. I’m surprised it was not negotiated into your bride price.”
Adam did not like being left out of the conversation.
Richard turned to him. “The bow, brother. Your wife is more skilled with the longbow than any man in the Maxwell clan. Was allegedly named champion of that feat two years ago at the Tournament of the North.”
Cora stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “Until it was ruled a woman may not be declared victor.”
Aye, here was more proof, had he needed any—the demure maid who had walked down the aisle was not his wife. This was the woman he had married, and Adam quite enjoyed her.
“I mean to say—” she looked at Adam, “—it is absurd for anyone to think a woman could master the art better than a man.”
He nearly laughed. It was a challenge, there was no question of that, and he could not wait to see her shoot.
7
If it was uncommon for a woman to shoot a crossbow, it was even more so for one to shoot a longbow, considering the back and arm strength that was needed. It was only after much cajoling that Cora’s father had allowed her to even try. From the moment she first heard the tale of the Welsh longbow arrow that had killed Edwin, the son of the King of Northumberland, Cora had been determined to master the skill. It had taken her years of practice to reach the target, and even longer to shoot with accuracy and speed, but she had never lacked determination
.
Once she’d proven herself, her father had supported her interest in the longbow, arranging for lessons with his cousin, the greatest archer in England, and commissioning a specially designed bow for her. Though her father had initially refused to allow her into the training yard with the lads, she’d worn him down in time, and the entire clan loved to watch her shoot.
After all of her practice, there was none better than she.
At home she had trained every morning and before dusk. Her mother hadn’t understood. Her sister had thought she was mad. But to Cora, there was no greater pleasure than forgetting everything in the world save the feel of a bowstring on her cheek, taut, waiting for her command.
“I choose a test of skills,” she said now, looking into Adam’s eyes.
He held out his hand and stopped her before they left the keep. “Cora, you cannot—”
“Adam,” interjected Richard, “allow the woman some space. How will she walk with you hovering so?” With that, he took her arm and escorted her outside. This was working out beautifully. Although it was still early and her stomach grumbled for lack of food, Cora could not be happier. Her husband would be properly appalled and she would be one step closer to her goal without actually embarrassing him in front of Sir Richard.
For some reason, she was hesitant to do so. She knew Richard’s approval meant more to Adam than anything. And at first she’d thought to use that fact. But after last night, she felt a tug, a softening, for her husband.
She couldn’t look him in the eye, so she was glad Richard had taken her arm. After what happened between her and Adam last eve, Cora wasn’t sure she could ever look at him again.
They entered the yard, which was quiet at this hour save for a few soldiers who had either opted not to break their fast or risen early to start their workouts. The armorer, standing in front of the small external armory, gave Cora a curious glance when she asked for her longbow.
“‘Tis not yew, my lady?” The bearded man handed her the weapon.
“Nay, ash,” she replied. Cora was proud of the weapon, which had been made to match her height. He handed her practice arrows and then pointed her toward the targets at the other end of the training yard.
Anxious to begin, Cora picked up the bow—which was when she realized she already had multiple sets of eyes looking at her. What had she done? She was used to being watched at home, but somehow this felt different.
There was no time to consider it. She was accustomed to shooting quickly—waiting made her nervous. Thankful for her fur-lined tunic, a cape would have been much too cumbersome, Cora found her mark and took her position across from it.
“My lady,” called the armorer, “that target is reserved for—”
She looked back at the man, but Adam waved for her to continue, and the armorer fell silent.
Cora ran through her trainer’s instructions. Do not hesitate. If you find your life in danger, there will be no time to set and contemplate, only shoot. And she did just that. Her arrow sailed through the early morning air and hit the target in the same spot it planted itself most days. Directly in the center. Where it belonged.
She turned, smiling, and stopped cold. What was the matter with them? Every one stood agape, staring. It was an impressive shot, but not so much so that they should cease their training. She’d hit targets farther than that one.
Richard approached her.
“That was a fine shot, my lady.”
He took another arrow and handed it to her. “Show me?”
Cora took a step back. “Pardon, my lord?”
“I’ve never seen a shot that quick, that accurate, at such a distance.”
“Tell her,” one of the men shouted.
“How do you test the skills of longbowmen in Scotland?” Richard asked.
“Test?” she asked blankly. “I imagine the same way you do. Accuracy, speed of shots.”
“Distance?” Richard asked, his eyes twinkling.
“I suppose,” she said.
Richard pointed to where the remainder of the targets were arranged, a considerable distance closer than the one she had hit.
“The one you hit, my lady, is what is known in England as multum parma. It’s a shot reserved for the most experienced archer. The man who consistently hits it becomes the master archer and trains all others.”
“Or woman,” she corrected.
“As I said, most impressive. Can you show me your trick?”
Richard hurried over to the armory and returned with a bow that was considerably longer than her own. She stood to his left and repositioned him. Placing her gloved hand over his, Cora made another adjustment. It was gratifying to realize he was actually listening to her suggestions.
Richard was a handsome man, she realized. Similar in height to Adam, he exuded the same confidence, perhaps more so as an earl’s son. Their mannerisms were also similar. And while Richard’s hair was a shade darker, his cheekbones not quite as pronounced, the men had to make quite a sight whenever they traveled together.
He did not, however, make her feel the way Adam did when he was near.
“Will you remember that position?”
“Aye,” he responded.
“Good, now drop your hands. When you reposition yourself, do not stop to think. Just bring up the arrow in one swift motion—then shoot.”
He looked at her as if she were mad.
“I haven’t been on the battlefield myself, but I’m told the enemy gives you little time to get into position and contemplate your shot.”
“Very well.” He did as she instructed, and though his shot at the long target was respectable, the arrow planted itself quite a distance from the center.
“Well done, my lord.” She smiled as Richard bowed to her.
When she turned back to Adam, his expression startled her. She hadn’t witnessed his anger before, not for all her needling, but there was no doubt her husband was angry now. He glared at her and Richard as if something were amiss. It was only when Richard chuckled that she realized what was happening.
He was jealous.
Which was just as well since her display of archery had not seemed to put him off. Far from it.
As he continued to glare, albeit with a glint in his eye, Cora’s breath caught. She had to remind herself the attentions of her husband were not welcome.
“Shall we continue to practice?” she asked.
Richard laughed again as he looked from her to Adam.
“Indeed, we shall.”
Hours later, her stomach indicated it was time to rest. Back home, Cora would often spend an entire day in the training yard, sometimes forgetting to eat.
“I’ll leave you to your practice, Sir Richard.”
With a wink, he picked up another arrow.
Cora handed her equipment to the armorer and took two steps before a hand grabbed her from behind.
“Oh, Adam. You scared me.”
His expression did not reassure her. How long had he been there? He had not joined her and Richard at target practice, and last she’d seen him, he had been the target of a four-man attack in the training yard, fending off sword attacks from so many places she’d thought her heart would stop beating at one point. What was he doing? Was one training partner not enough? He’d get himself killed!
He didn’t speak, but he threaded his arm through hers and fairly dragged her toward the keep, leading her along the back and into the gardens in which she’d taken such an interest these past few days. Even with their limited resources, the area was beginning to look less like a kitchen supply and more like a place of refuge and relaxation.
“Get out,” Adam barked at the gardener.
The poor man did as he was told, leaving them quite alone, surrounded by hedges as tall as her husband. Adam pulled her toward him.
“You are mine, Cora.”
Oh. That.
He brought his lips to hers so swiftly she didn’t have time to think. His tongue demanded a response, and
she gave one. His hands rose to cup both of her breasts. He squeezed gently, and she could not hold back a sound from deep within her throat.
She wanted her husband.
It could not be. But it was.
He pulled away abruptly.
“What did you think you were doing?”
She pretended not to understand.
“If you want to look at any man the way you are now, it will be me and only me.”
He thought she looked at Richard that way? Was he mad?
“Is that so? And what about you, Adam? You’ll look at no other woman now that we are married?”
“Of course I—” He stopped.
“That’s what I thought. Pardon me, my lord.”
She backed away and ran from the garden into the hall, no longer hungry. She was such a fool. Despite all her intentions, all her plans, he could make her swoon with a mere touch, a mere kiss. Well, no longer. But when she reached the stairs within the keep, Cora was stopped by the very man whom she was not allowed to “look” at.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
She swallowed and tried to rid herself of the intense anger coursing through every part of her body. How could she so easily allow herself to have feelings for an Englishman?
“Aye, my lord,” she managed to say in an even tone. “Many thanks for—”
“Come, you haven’t eaten all day. Surely you don’t plan to skip the meal?”
“I will have something brought up, but I assure you that you will enjoy your meal. Langford’s cook is a master.”
“I’ve heard,” he answered wryly. “Lady Cora—” Richard looked around the hall, presumably searching for Adam, “—you can speak freely with me. Adam is akin to a brother, I want him…and you…to be happy. He deserves it, and I suspect you do as well.”
He seemed so sincere, Cora contemplated telling the man everything. But she could not.
“Thank you for the kind words. But there is naught to concern you.”
He cocked his head.
“Truly.”
The Ward's Bride (Border Series Prequel Novella) Page 6