Could he not hear the thudding of her heart, feel the need of her body, sense her yearning and see the hope in her eyes?
Maybe he simply needed to hear her say it aloud.
“Yes, Madoc ap Gruffydd, lord of Llanpowell, I want to marry you.”
His smile made her feel she had made the best decision of her life, and she tugged him close and pressed her lips to his again.
But this embrace did not last long.
“No more, my lady,” he softly chided as he stepped back. “We had best get back to the hall. I won’t have you wondering if I seduced you into marriage.”
He spoke as if he could do just that, if he only tried.
The delightful warmth within her cooled. “Very well, my lord,” she said, starting forward.
He grabbed her hand and drew her back, his black brows knit over his straight nose. “What’s wrong?”
Since he asked, she told him. “I’ve already been tricked into marriage once by honeyed words and seductive kisses. I wouldn’t like to believe I’m so stupid that I could be deceived again.”
“I spoke without thinking, Roslynn,” Madoc replied, looking sincerely penitent. “Forgive my hasty words. Or are you sorry you agreed to the marriage?”
How many men of his stature would apologize, let alone be remorseful? How many would seek to confirm her assent already given? Was this not another sign of the difference between Madoc and her first husband? “I’m still willing to marry you, my lord.”
“Good,” he replied.
His brown eyes sparkled and his lips curved up with a mischievous grin that made him look years younger as he took her hand and led her from the shadows of the bakery toward the castle. “Uncle Lloyd will be so pleased.”
“And Lord Alfred so relieved,” she added, desperately hoping that she was right to trust the lord of Llanpowell and that she hadn’t made another disastrous mistake.
MADOC FELT as if he’d won a tournament single-handedly until they entered the courtyard of Llanpowell and found Uncle Lloyd, his arms spread wide, dancing in front of the Norman nobleman’s horse as if his feet were on fire.
Lord Alfred turned his glaring face toward the returning couple. “So, my lady, you have come back at last. We were about to ride out in search of you.”
Letting go of Roslynn’s hand, Madoc strode past his uncle and came to a halt in front of the Norman’s horse.
“Lady Roslynn is my guest,” he said as his anger kindled. “No harm will come to her here, from me or any man. As I am an honorable knight, it’s an insult to me to imply otherwise.”
Lord Alfred sniffed with disdain. “Whatever you claim, this lady is my responsibility and—”
“If you’re wise, you’ll say no more,” Madoc warned, although the man was John’s emissary and no doubt powerful at court.
“Then perhaps, my lady, you’ll explain where you’ve been with this man,” Lord Alfred snapped as he ran his gaze over her.
“Certainly,” she replied with a coolness that reminded Madoc of his brother. Trefor had always been calm in a catastrophe, until the night before his wedding. “We’ve been walking through the village discussing our upcoming marriage.”
Lord Alfred was so startled, he nearly fell off his horse, while Uncle Lloyd let out a delighted yelp and rushed to embrace Roslynn. “By all the saints of Wales, I knew it!”
Although she’d made the announcement with a lack of enthusiasm, at least she hadn’t been reluctant to make it, Madoc thought as he surreptitiously surveyed the servants and soldiers who were in the yard.
As he’d expected, many were surprised. A few clearly weren’t pleased, and many more were wary. Hopefully once Lord Alfred and his men were gone, they’d come around. After all, his own mother had been a Norman, and she’d been well regarded by the people of Llanpowell.
He didn’t see Ivor anywhere; he was likely elsewhere on estate business. As for how his steward would react when he heard the news…Ivor wouldn’t be pleased, but surely he would see the merit of Madoc’s decision. Eventually.
“Is this true?” Lord Alfred demanded.
“Aye, we’re to be married,” Madoc said as his uncle left the lady and slapped him heartily on the back. “Tomorrow, if she agrees.”
Before she changes her mind.
Lady Roslynn gasped, while Lord Alfred looked as stunned as if he’d been asked to perform the ceremony.
He shouldn’t have been so impetuous, so influenced by his own desire…but it was too late now. He had spoken loudly and clearly, and couldn’t pull the words back into his mouth even if he wanted to.
“That leaves little time to invite and prepare for guests or a feast,” she replied.
“Of course. Forgive my haste, my lady. I should have realized you would wish to summon family or friends to the celebration.”
“And no time to plan the feast,” Uncle Lloyd added under his breath. “Thank God we’ve got plenty of wine and braggot in the buttery.”
Madoc ignored him and continued to address Lady Roslynn. “Naturally the ceremony can be delayed, if you would prefer.”
Lord Alfred made a strangled noise in his throat. No doubt he wanted the wedding over and done with before he returned to court. However, his wishes were nothing compared to those of Lady Roslynn, who was regarding him with that cool, slightly demure manner so at odds with her passionate kiss.
He commanded himself to subdue his lust and act like a civilized nobleman. He was no barbarian, after all, and he’d meant what he said about not forcing her before she was ready. He could control himself. He had before, he could do so again, however difficult it might be.
Her thoughtful frown replaced by calm acceptance, Lady Roslynn shook her head. “No, there is no one I wish to invite, so therefore no reason to delay,” she said.
It was hardly an enthused response, but certainly better than a refusal or prevarication. Indeed, he should be relieved his sudden announcement hadn’t sent her fleeing.
“Then Lord Alfred can return to court as he so ardently wishes,” she continued.
“I do,” Lord Alfred declared as he dismounted, smiling, although it made the man look more like a gargoyle than anything else. “The king will be pleased.”
Madoc didn’t give a hang whether John would be pleased or not. He was pleased, the lady was willing, and now they would have money to help make Llanpowell even more safe and secure.
“Come on inside, all of you,” Uncle Lloyd commanded, once again forgetting Madoc was a grown man, and the lord of Llanpowell. “Let’s have a drink to celebrate the happy news.”
“You go ahead, Uncle,” Madoc said. “I should find Ivor. As you said, I’ve not allowed much time for preparations.”
And it might help Ivor accept his decision if he told him personally, Madoc reasoned. It might also help him get his raging desire back under control.
“Oh, aye. He’s in the armory, I think.”
Uncle Lloyd chuckled as he commandeered Lady Roslynn by slipping his arm through hers. “He’ll be fit to be tied that he’s only got a day. Good thing the buttery’s full since the alewife made her delivery.
“Now come along, my lady,” he said, giving her a wink. “Such a wise decision and no more anger about the river, is there?”
“No, I’m not angry about that, but you still should not have done it,” she said, smiling at Lloyd in a way that made Madoc’s heart skip a beat, and tomorrow seemed years away.
INSIDE THE ARMORY Madoc paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Because it contained the castle’s weapons, the armory had no windows or other natural light; oil lamps, candles and flambeaux provided illumination, depending on who was inside and what they were doing. At present there was only one lamp lit, at the far end of the square room beneath the barracks and beside the stables.
“Ivor?” Madoc called.
“Here!” came the answer, from near that single source of light.
Walking past spears and pikes leaning against the stone walls,
racks of swords and shelves of bows and pieces of armor, quivers hanging on pegs and worktables covered with bits of wood, feathers and leather, Madoc found Ivor near a shelf of bent or broken swords, a quill in his ink-stained fingers. A small table with a pot of ink and parchment scrolls, as well as the oil lamp that reeked of sheep tallow, stood nearby.
“We’ll soon be able to replace all those,” Madoc said, nodding at the ancient and battered weapons that, even if repaired, would never be as good as the new ones Roslynn’s dowry could provide.
Ivor frowned as he put down the quill. “How are you going to pay…” His expression slowly changed, to one of undisguised displeasure. “You’re going to marry the Norman.”
Madoc leaned a shoulder against the shelves and crossed his arms. He hadn’t expected Ivor to be delighted. Even so, he wasn’t pleased by his friend’s blatant disapproval.
However, and whether Ivor agreed or not, his decision had been made. “Aye, I am.”
To Madoc’s silent relief, Ivor made no arguments as he picked up one of the parchments and began to roll it up. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Ivor’s brows shot up. “So soon?”
“I don’t see any reason to wait. The sooner I marry, the sooner we can put the dowry to use.”
And the sooner he would find Lady Roslynn in his bed.
Whatever her previous experience, her kiss had been…encouraging.
“Oh, aye, of course, and we might need the weapons,” Ivor said glumly. “Trefor won’t take this news well. He’ll probably think you’re planning to use the money and this alliance with the king to take what’s left of his land.”
Madoc hadn’t considered Trefor’s reaction, although he should have. However, he wouldn’t let his brother’s possible actions dissuade him now. “I don’t want his land. I never have and I never will.”
“You’ve got most of it just the same,” Ivor noted. “And here’s a rich bride, and through her, stronger ties to King John. He’ll be angry, Madoc—maybe angry enough to do something serious.”
Madoc fingered the hilt of a rusty sword on the wooden shelf beside him. “God, I hope not. I hope he’ll show some sense for once.”
“Sense was never his strong point,” Ivor replied, standing with his weight on his good leg. “What will you do if he raises a force against you?”
“Defend myself and what’s mine. I’m doing nothing wrong marrying Lady Roslynn.”
“Well, let’s pray we’re wrong and he’s content with Pontyrmwr and his latest mischief for a while,” Ivor said as he started to gather up the rest of the scrolls and put them on a smaller shelf near the table. “I’d better get to the kitchen stores and see what we’ve got for the feast. You might have given me a few more days, Madoc.”
Despite his apparent vexation, Ivor finally smiled. “Well, she’s so lovely, I can’t say I blame you—but Hywel will have an epic fit of temper, I don’t doubt, so if he comes at me with a cleaver, it’ll be all your fault,” he finished as he started for the door. “Are you coming?”
“In a moment. I’ll just have a look at these blades. And if Hywel comes at you with a cleaver, send him to me,” Madoc replied, staying where he was.
WITH IVOR GONE, Madoc didn’t examine any of the swords or other weapons. He sat on the edge of the table, arms crossed, head bowed in silent contemplation.
It was quiet here and, in spite of the presence of so many weapons, peaceful. The only sound was the spluttering of the wick soaked in tallow, the only light that of the flickering flame.
Had he truly made the right decision? Was he doing what was best for his people and himself? Or had his judgment been swayed by the lady’s beauty and spirit, his loneliness and the passion she aroused within him?
Should he have told her more, about his marriage to Gwendolyn and all that had come after? Would it have made a difference to her? Was that what had kept him from speaking of Gwendolyn, little Owain and the birth that had taken his mother’s life?
Whatever the reason, he had not, and the die was cast, Madoc thought as he rose and picked up the lamp and walked toward the door. His choice had been made, this path taken. Lady Roslynn had accepted him and his word had been given, so there could be no going back now.
Except with disgrace and dishonor.
THE NEXT MORNING, Madoc stood in the hall, waiting for his bride. The castle’s chapel was too small to hold the servants, soldiers and villagers who’d arrived to witness the ceremony, as well as take part in the feast, so the ceremony had to take place in the hall. Madoc hoped it wasn’t a bad omen that it was raining fit to drown a duck.
He shifted from foot to foot, fighting the urge to tug on his finest, and most uncomfortable, tunic. He hadn’t worn that garment since his last wedding, and it had never fit properly then, either.
Lord Alfred had gone to bring Lady Roslynn from her chamber, while Uncle Lloyd was beaming as if he’d arranged the marriage himself.
Despite Ivor’s disapproval, which had been obvious throughout the evening meal last night, his steward was in attendance, too.
Just as Madoc was beginning to seriously contemplate sending someone up to the tower chamber to see what was causing the delay, Lady Roslynn appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, her hand on Lord Alfred’s arm.
A veritable bolt of exhilaration combined with desire struck Madoc. Roslynn’s dark red gown of expensive samite was simple, but well fitted, accentuating her breasts and narrow waist before flaring at the hips. The band of gold embroidery around the square neck drew attention to the valley of her cleavage. A white silken veil brushed her soft cheeks and hid most of her thick, dark hair. She wore only a plain gold crucifix, but her intelligent blue eyes sparkled brighter than any jewels, and her full lips reminded him of her kiss.
Gwendolyn had been pretty, demure and sweet, and once he had believed he loved her, yet she had never stirred his heart or his desire as Lady Roslynn did.
While Lady Roslynn and Lord Alfred approached the dais and a ripple of excitement ran through the assembly, Father Elwy moved to stand in front of Madoc and his bride. Then Madoc took hold of the bride’s cool hand and the priest began to address all those gathered there.
“Does any man here know of any impediments to the marriage between Madoc ap Gruffydd ap Iolo, lord of Llanpowell, and Lady Roslynn de Werre, widow, daughter of Lord James de Briston? If so, you must declare it.”
Madoc held his breath, fearing someone would protest his marriage to a Norman and the widow of a traitor, or Trefor somehow interrupt, trying to ruin any chance for his brother’s happiness and prosperity.
It seemed Lady Roslynn also shared his dread, for her grip tightened as if she feared she might be snatched away.
Or because she was tempted to flee?
No, surely not, for if she’d had second thoughts or come to regret her decision, a woman like her wouldn’t hesitate to say so, or provide some excuse to delay the wedding.
Father Elwy looked pointedly at Madoc, who realized with a start that he’d been silent too long. To compensate and prove that he had no regrets about his decision, he spoke loudly and clearly, enunciating every word, first in Welsh, then in Norman French for Lord Alfred and the lady. “Once we are wed, my wife will be entitled to a third of my estate upon my death, as the law decrees. She will also have any household goods she has brought as her dower, as well as an equivalent sum in silver to that which she has brought with her.”
Another animated murmur ran through the crowd. This could be considered generous, although Madoc thought it only just. Nevertheless, he could see he had surprised and pleased the lady, too, and was glad.
“The ring, my lord,” Father Elwy prompted.
Madoc took his mother’s ring from his belt and handed it to Father Elwy, who blessed it with the sign of the cross, then returned it to him.
“I take Lady Roslynn de Werre for my wife,” he vowed, his voice loud and steady as he took hold of her hand and placed the ring on the fourth
finger of her left hand.
“I will honor and respect her, protect her and be faithful to her, for the rest of my life. This I swear in the name of the Father,” he said as he pushed the ring past the first knuckle. “And the Son,” he continued as he moved it past the second. “And the Holy Ghost,” he finished as it reached its resting place.
The priest nodded and again made the sign of the cross, blessing their union.
“Praise God and all the saints, they’re married!” Uncle Lloyd cried, smacking Lord Alfred on his arm. “Soon, babies to come and the laughter of children. Now let’s eat and drink to their health and happiness!”
“Not yet, Uncle,” Madoc said. He raised his voice and spoke again, with equally firm resolve. “Whatever King John wants, Lady Roslynn is my choice. She will be my wife, bear my children and be the chatelaine of this household. You will give her the same respect you give to me, or you can leave Llanpowell.”
“As I have freely chosen Lord Madoc ap Gruffydd of Llanpowell to be my husband,” Lady Roslynn unexpectedly added, “I promise to do my utmost to be a worthy wife.”
Then she raised herself on her toes and kissed him full on the lips, in front of all the people—and it wasn’t just a chaste kiss for show. She kissed him with passion and fervent intent as if to prove to them all that he was indeed her choice.
He forgot where they were, or why, and responded as if they were alone, the bed close to hand. He had never wanted any woman as he wanted Roslynn now—and not just to make love. He wanted this woman to be his chatelaine, as well as his lover, to be the mother of his children and the heart of his home, as he would be its guardian and protector.
So he returned her kiss with passion and desire, hope and longing, until somebody coughed and reminded him they were not, in fact, alone.
Madoc drew back and smiled at his bride, who blushed and looked away like the most bashful of maidens. Yet he was sure she was not, and that thought excited him even more.
Unfortunately, their pleasure would have to wait until after the wedding feast.
“Out of the way, Madoc!” Uncle Lloyd cried as he pushed past his nephew to envelope the slender Roslynn in a hug, then heartily buss her on both cheeks. “No keeping the bride to yourself—at least not yet!”
The Warlord’s Bride Page 7