“I’m sorry, Madoc,” Ivor said as he walked beside him.
“Not as sorry as I am,” the lord of Llanpowell muttered.
DETERMINED TO SPEAK to Roslynn about this extravagance at once, Madoc quickly ascertained from the shepherds, soldiers and servants gathered in the hall that she had gone to their bedchamber to wash and change before the last meal of the day.
He made his way through the tables and benches, nodding a greeting to Lloyd, who was already seated with Emlyn and several of the older shepherds near the hearth.
“See how he hurries to be with her,” he heard Lloyd say, and the chuckles that followed.
He wished Uncle Lloyd would hold his tongue, or at least show a little more respect. He was no boy to be teased, but a grown man, and a nobleman, too.
He took the steps two at a time and shoved open the bedchamber door—to find Roslynn seated in a large wooden tub, her hair piled on top of her head, and her naked breasts almost completely exposed above the soapy water.
Everything he’d been about to say flew right out of his head.
“Madoc!” she cried, covering her breasts with her hands and blushing as if they weren’t married. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon!” She glanced to her left. “Bron, you may leave us.”
Recovering quickly, remembering why he was there, Madoc moved away from the door as the blushing maidservant scurried past him.
Roslynn rose from the tub like a goddess from the sea.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate. “Do you know how much you’ve spent on the food for today and for the feast?”
Reaching for the large square of linen on the stool beside it, Roslynn stepped out of the tub. “No. I haven’t added it all up yet.”
Droplets of water glistened on her smooth naked skin as she wrapped the towel about her. Damp tendrils of dark hair licked her cheek and the kissable nape of her neck. Her slender, shapely feet and ankles seemed a temptation all on their own.
Think, he commanded himself, even as his traitorous body heated with desire. “Ivor tells me it’s at least two hundred marks. I didn’t think you’d spend so much.”
Roslynn’s smooth cheeks turned pink as she rubbed herself dry. Did she have any idea how seductive that was? “He didn’t tell me it was anywhere near that amount.”
He imagined himself encased in a block of ice. “Did you ask him?”
“No.”
She didn’t sound very concerned, and that both cooled his ardor and annoyed him. “That’s far too much for a feast.”
“Surely it isn’t extravagant for both a wedding and a shearing feast,” she replied, letting the towel fall to the floor.
Was she purposefully trying to distract him?
Determined to keep his mind on the money, he turned away so that he couldn’t see her. “That’s more than I’ve spent on the last three shearing feasts and Christmases combined.”
“I didn’t get the most expensive things,” she protested, “and I did try to keep the costs down, but when there are three hundred people expected…”
He spun around. “How many?” he demanded, glaring at her. Thank God she had put on her shift, thin linen though it was.
“Three hundred,” she said, coloring as she reached for a green gown that laced at the sides. She’d worn it before and it fit her as well as the red gown she’d worn on their wedding day. “Your noble neighbors, the merchants from the town and Milltonbury, as well as the shepherds, garrison and servants.”
“By the saints, woman, who didn’t you invite?”
“Your brother.”
Her calm answer momentarily deflated his anger, until he remembered how much the feast was costing him. “I didn’t say you could spend like Croesus! It should only have been half that much at most.”
“As you yourself said, my dowry is paying for it,” she said quietly as she stepped into the dress and pulled it up over her shift.
“Nevertheless, your dowry belongs to me, not you,” he reminded her. “I have uses for that money that don’t include feeding everybody within fifty miles.”
She went to the far side of the bed, so that it stood between them. “I’m sorry if you feel I was too profligate. Unfortunately, it’s too late. The guests have been invited and the provisions paid for.” A little wrinkle appeared between her furrowed brows as she clasped her hands in front of her. “It was Ivor who complained to you, wasn’t it?”
“As well he should, and if there’s any fault to him, it’s that he should have told me sooner.”
“He should have told me sooner if I was spending more than you consider appropriate. I am no mind reader, after all.”
He was about to point out that he was no Roman emperor with casks of coins to throw away, either, when there was a soft rap on the door.
“What?” Madoc called out.
The door eased open and Bron’s head appeared. “I-if you please, my lord,” she stammered, “there’s visitors at the gate.”
“What visitors?” he demanded.
“I—I don’t know, my lord.” Bron’s gaze flicked uncertainly to Roslynn. “They’re Normans, that’s all I know.”
“If they’ve come for the feast, they’re early,” Madoc snapped as he strode to the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MADOC FOUND UNCLE LLOYD already waiting on the hall steps.
“Ah, nephew, here you are then,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
No doubt he’d been planning to greet the visitors in Madoc’s absence, as he had greeted Lord Alfred’s party before.
“Who are they?” Madoc demanded as two mounted soldiers, one carrying an unfamiliar banner, rode into the courtyard.
“Don’t you know?”
“I don’t recognize the banner. They must be nobles Roslynn invited for the feast.”
Lloyd slid him a wary look. “She’s invited a few, then?”
“Too many,” he snapped. “She’ll have run through her dowry in a month.”
“Well now, that’s a problem, I grant you, but she’s a woman, after all, and they set great store on feasts and clothes and things. And no doubt she wants you to be proud of her.”
Blessed Saint Dafydd, what had he done? “Aye,” he muttered, his ire banished in an instant, replaced by regret—especially when he remembered how she’d retreated behind the bed, getting as far away from him as possible.
Because she still feared he would strike her in his temper?
His silent admonishment was interrupted when the man who was obviously the leader of the party appeared, seated on an embossed saddle on a very fine, snow-white palfrey adorned with costly accoutrements.
The man himself wore a chain-mail hauberk and coif, and a surcoat of scarlet covered by a very fine wool cloak the color of ripe blackberries and fastened with a gold brooch. His hair, cut in the Norman style, was gray, as was the beard below his hawklike nose. Behind him came more mounted soldiers, then a tall wooden wagon of the sort used by ladies and their maids, brightly painted, the windows covered by leather flaps. After the wagon came twenty more mounted soldiers, and then another smaller wagon covered with canvas.
“Norman, all right,” Lloyd muttered, echoing Madoc’s conclusion. He nodded at the wagon and raised a brow. “Do you suppose John’s sent me a bride?”
His uncle’s answer didn’t lighten Madoc’s mood. Instead, he resolved to act as a noble host should as he approached the Norman, so that Roslynn could be proud of him, even as the stranger ran a measuring gaze over Madoc that he didn’t appreciate.
Before he could speak, however, the nobleman glanced toward the hall and seemed to turn to stone.
Madoc followed his gaze, to see Roslynn on the top step of the hall, dressed in that green gown that fit her like a well-made glove and illustrated the perfection of her slender figure. She hadn’t put up her hair, only swiftly thrown a flowing white silk veil over her head.
Madoc looked back at the visitor who, being a man, was stil
l staring at her.
It would be better, Madoc decided, if he went to Roslynn and asked who this man was before introductions were made and he made it clear Roslynn was his wife.
As he turned toward the hall, however, he realized she, too, was standing as still as if she’d seen Medusa, and her face was as white as her veil. Then, putting her hand to her head, she closed her eyes and began to sway.
Panic like nothing he’d ever felt before overwhelming him, he raced to the steps and caught her just as she crumpled like cheap mortar struck by a mason’s hammer. “Help!” he shouted as he lifted his wife’s limp body. “Help me!”
“Roslynn!” the Norman cried as he leaped from his horse and ran to the steps, despite his age and the weight of his armor.
“Send for a physician!” Madoc ordered Lloyd, ignoring the stranger.
“What have you done to her?” the Norman demanded, blocking Madoc’s way as he moved to take her inside.
“Get out of my bloody way!”
“I’m her father!”
“I don’t care if you’re the archangel Gabriel. Get out of my way!”
“Yes, my dear, stand aside,” a middle-aged lady in a blue mantle and white veil and wimple commanded as she made her way past Lloyd and the Norman. “Roslynn should be taken to bed.”
Not caring who she was, either, Madoc shouldered the door open and carried his unconscious wife inside.
ROSLYNN SLOWLY OPENED her eyes, then blinked. Surely she was seeing things. “Mother?” she whispered incredulously.
“Daughter!” her mother whispered, squeezing Roslynn’s hand. “How do you feel? Are you going to be ill?”
Removing the damp cloth on her forehead, Roslynn sat up. Although her veil had been removed, she was still dressed, and she was in her bedchamber at Llanpowell—with her mother, so long estranged, smiling at her with love in her eyes.
“Oh, Mother!” she cried as she threw her arms around Lady Eloise and held her close. “I feared I’d never see you again. That you were so angry and disgusted with me, you’d never want to come near me!”
Her mother held her just as tightly and stroked her hair. “We wanted to come to you the moment we heard about Wimarc’s treason, but your father was ill. He had a cold that settled in his lungs and…” Her breath caught, telling Roslynn her father must have been very seriously ill. “I couldn’t leave him. Then I fell ill, too. It’s taken this long for us to be well enough to travel—but the moment the physician said we could do so, we went to court, only to find that you’d been sent to Wales to be married. We came here right away.”
Lady Eloise drew back and anxiously studied her daughter’s face. “I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened. I never trusted Wimarc, but if I’d had any notion of what he was truly like, I would have locked you up in your chamber and risked your eternal hatred rather than let you marry him.
“We should have known something was terribly wrong when you didn’t answer our letters, even if our messengers assured us that they had seen you and told us you were well.”
“I never received your letters!” Roslynn cried, hating Wimarc even more, even if he was dead. “I thought you didn’t want to have anything more to do with me because I’d been so selfish and childish.”
As for the messengers themselves, there were often couriers coming and going at Castle de Werre. It would have been easy for Wimarc to ensure she never met them or received any letters they carried.
“We wrote to you at court, too,” her mother said, “after we heard about his arrest.”
“I never got those letters, either,” she replied, the reason all too easy to guess. “The king, or one of his minions, must have ensured I didn’t so I would think you didn’t care what happened to me and would therefore make me more biddable. Oh, Mother, I’ve been such a fool!”
Her mother embraced her again. “You made a mistake, Roslynn, but so did we, not taking better care to learn more about Wimarc. When we heard what he’d done, I feared it would kill your father. Instead, he rallied, because he knew you couldn’t be involved and he was as determined as I to go to the king and get you. We were just setting out when we heard from Lord Bernard—to our great relief and joy—that you weren’t to be charged with treason. But, oh, if only we could have been with you at that terrible time!”
“If only I had listened to you,” Roslynn replied, her heart burdened with her past mistakes, thinking of all the pain she could have spared them, and herself, if she had. “After Wimarc hurt me, I should have had faith in your love and the courage to go to you for help.”
She shivered as she considered what else her mother had said. “And to think you were so ill and I didn’t know!”
Her mother brushed a lock of hair back from Roslynn’s flushed cheeks. “We met Alfred de Garleboine at an inn near Gloucester and he told us you were married and that you had done so willingly. Is this true, Roslynn? Did you really marry Madoc ap Gruffydd of your own free will?”
“Yes, Mother, I did.”
“And this man, this Madoc, what sort of fellow is he?”
“He treats me well, Mother,” she assured her.
So far, her fearful worry added as she recalled Madoc’s rage before they’d been interrupted.
Her mother’s relieved smile made her glad she’d said no more, and she started to get out of bed. “Where’s Father?”
Dizzy, she sat back down. “I’m just a little light-headed,” she said in answer to her mother’s silent question. “I’ve been very busy with the preparations for the feast we’re having after the sheep are sheared.”
The feast that she had wanted to be perfect, and instead…
“I don’t think it’s that,” her mother said as she rose and picked up the damp linen square that had been cooling Roslynn’s brow. “I would say you’re with child. I was often faint when I was carrying you, and there’s a glow about your face, daughter, that I think only a babe brings.”
Roslynn blushed, but didn’t try to deny it. “It’s too early to be certain, so I haven’t told Madoc yet. I wanted to wait until I was sure.”
“I think you should tell him now,” her mother advised. “He seemed very worried about you, and might think you’re seriously ill unless you do.”
She was right, of course. And it might mollify Madoc’s anger with her, she realized with a sickening and familiar sense of having to appease an irate man. “I will, but I’ll also ask him to keep it a secret between us until I’m certain.”
“So I should, too,” her mother said. “Very well, although I’d like to tell your father. He’ll be very worried about you, too.”
“All right, but no one else, please.”
“Agreed,” her mother replied. “Now, if you are feeling better, I think we should go below and relieve the anxieties of our husbands.”
Roslynn nodded, wondering if she would ever again know a life without anxiety.
She had believed she had miraculously found such peace and security.
Until today.
MEANWHILE, BELOW IN THE HALL, the guilt-wracked lord of Llanpowell paced like a trained bear on a chain. On the dais, in Madoc’s chair, sat Lord James de Briston, who was even more stiff of back and manner than Lord Alfred. Uncle Lloyd, the soldiers, shepherds, other laborers who’d come to help gather and the servants were talking quietly in small, wary groups, their manner subdued, as all waited to hear what had befallen the lady of Llanpowell—although none so much as her husband and her father.
His anxious gaze focused on the stairs, cursing himself for making such a fuss about the money for the feast, Madoc was too immersed in remorse and dread to pay attention to anyone or anything.
What did it matter how much Roslynn spent or how many people she invited? It was important to her, and he had acted like a miser.
“You are Madoc ap Gruffydd, I presume?” Lord James suddenly demanded, his voice like a shout in the hushed hall.
“Lord Madoc ap Gruffydd,” Madoc replied with the barest f
licker of a glance at his father-in-law. Worried or not, he would brook no disrespect, and certainly not from a man who would give his daughter to the likes of Wimarc de Werre, no matter how much she’d insisted.
The Norman rose and came to stand in front of him, his gaze irate as he blocked Madoc’s view of the stairs. “Then, Lord Madoc ap Gruffydd, hear this. Whether you’re a friend of King John or not, if you’ve harmed my daughter in any way, I’ll kill you.”
Not the least bit intimidated, Madoc’s lip curled with scorn. “Now you will protect her, when she doesn’t require it? You would have done better to prevent her marriage to Wimarc de Werre.”
His face reddening, Lord James coughed before he replied. “We had doubts about the man, but no proof of any wrongdoing. Do you think I would have allowed that marriage if I’d known de Werre’s true nature?”
“As Roslynn’s father, it was your duty to find out his true nature, as you call it,” Madoc returned.
The man looked about to disagree, until he shook his head. “No, no excuses. We failed her—but I’ll be damned before I fail her again, so if you hurt her, Welshman, you’ll answer to me.”
“A bit late with the threats, aren’t you? Wimarc and John should have been threatened before me. And if you’re as worried about her fate as you claim, why didn’t you come to her assistance at court? She was in danger there as much as when she was married to Wimarc—more so, for as the widow of a traitor, she became the king’s pawn to do with as he will, or risk death, unless her family prevented it.”
“I was too ill to travel and so was my wife,” Lord James retorted. “The moment we could, we did go to court, but it was too late. She’d already been sent to marry some Welshman we’d never heard of.”
“So here she is, married to a man who will protect her better than you did.”
“Father!”
Madoc whirled around to see Roslynn and her mother hurrying toward them. She looked a little pale, but otherwise well, and he heaved a sigh of heartfelt relief.
But it was not at him she looked; it was at the man beside him.
The Warlord’s Bride Page 14