by Cheryl Holt
When they’d walked in, the crowd had clapped and cheered—for Hugh, she assumed; she didn’t know why they would clap for her—and she was incensed that he’d been accepted so easily. Or perhaps he hadn’t been. Perhaps they’d simply been cheering for the fact that he was hosting such a fancy meal.
She scanned the throng, eager to locate Rosamunde, but she wasn’t present. Had Cadel brought Blodwin to the castle? Anne didn’t suppose Blodwin would help her, but she hoped that the older woman would show some mercy and, at the least, tell Anne how to get out of her predicament.
Henry was on her right, and Lord Hugh on her left. Two other knights stood behind them, guarding Hugh’s back. She considered leaping to her feet, shouting that she refused to participate in such a farce, then stomping off, but Hugh would never let her leave. And if Anne shamed him on his wedding day, in front of so many spectators, she couldn’t predict how he might retaliate.
She dawdled, paralyzed with grief and fear. Her mind was racing, urging her to do something, but what?
Hugh leaned in, turning slightly so that he blocked her view, so that she could see only him.
“Have your tears stopped?” he asked.
“My tears shall never stop. I’ll cry until I’ve filled the oceans with water.”
At her comment, he chuckled, which enraged her.
“It won’t be so bad,” he claimed, and he surprised her by giving her hand a tight squeeze.
“Won’t it?”
“Women love me. You will, too—eventually.”
“Your vanity knows no bounds.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s part of my charm.”
He flashed a grin that had probably incited females from London to Jerusalem, but it didn’t work on her.
“May I be excused?” she inquired. “May I go to my bedchamber?”
“And miss your wedding feast?”
“I don’t feel like celebrating.”
“Don’t be surly,” he said. “It’s unbecoming.”
“I most humbly apologize for ruining your day.”
“You haven’t ruined my day. You couldn’t.”
He smiled a smile that confused her. It was so warm and genuine, as if he was…happy to have wed her. His eyes were brimming with what seemed to be understanding and a touch of pity.
He’d caused her such misery. Did he realize how distraught she was? Was he sorry?
He couldn’t be. He was too conceited, and she wouldn’t flatter him by imbuing him with traits she was certain he’d never possessed.
He’d married her for unfathomable reasons: because he could, because she hadn’t wanted him to. He’d married her to prove that she couldn’t defy him and expect to get away with it.
“I hate that you’re so sad,” he murmured, frowning. “Promise me that you won’t cry for the rest of the meal.”
He looked hopeful, eager, as if her mood mattered to him.
For the briefest moment, he appeared young and unsure. She had a glimpse of what he must have been like as a boy, when he’d still been sweet and innocent and some mother’s dearest son. That would have been long before war and fighting had altered him into the brutal knight he’d grown to be.
She caught herself saying, “I’ll try to enjoy myself.”
With her capitulation easily obtained, he winked and stole a quick kiss. Several men in the immediate vicinity saw him. There were claps and hoots of laughter.
Henry scolded, “No kissing at the table, you two!”
Someone else shouted, “Head for her bedchamber if you can’t wait to have her!”
Her cheeks flushed bright red, and he squeezed her hand again. He could have tossed out some risqué replies, but he didn’t, and for that small blessing, she was enormously grateful.
A servant hastened up and set a trencher between them. It was made from the best bread, filled with a thick, creamy soup that Blodwin and Father Eustace often ate, but that Anne and others were rarely allowed to sample.
“A special treat from the cook,” the boy said, bowing, and rushing away.
Hugh nodded and signaled for the serving to commence, first to the dignitaries in the front, then to the crowd in general.
Anne watched in a glum silence. She felt ill and needed to quell her roiling stomach. Courtesy demanded that she not start until all the dignitaries had their food, but she couldn’t wait. She furtively pulled at a piece of the bread.
Before she could slip it into her mouth, Hugh reached over and took it, dropping it on the floor.
She scowled—would he dictate when she could eat and when she couldn’t?—but said nothing as a commotion erupted at the rear of the hall. He spun away to see what was happening.
Blodwin swept in, flanked by Cadel and Rosamunde, with Father Eustace tagging after them. They appeared imperious and aggrieved, as if the castle was still theirs and they hadn’t been invited to the feast.
The walked down the center aisle to the head table. As they passed, the room quieted, everyone excited to view the exchange so that they could gossip later.
“Is this your family?” Hugh whispered.
“Yes.” Anne didn’t bother explaining how they weren’t. Not really. She’d never been welcomed by them. She’d always been alone.
“It’s Blodwin and Cadel?” he asked.
“Yes, with Father Eustace behind them.”
“How has your life been with them? Have they been kind to you?”
“Kind enough,” she replied, having no idea why she’d lie.
He stood and tugged Anne up with him.
She was embarrassed to be standing at his side. She studied the floor, not wanting to stare at Blodwin and witness the condemnation in her gaze.
Lord Hugh noticed and murmured, “Don’t glance away from her. Look her straight in the eye. You’re mistress here now. You needn’t bow to anyone.”
She smiled wanly and peered out at Blodwin, flinching at the wave of malice Blodwin directed back at her. But Blodwin’s spite was swiftly masked. She stopped below the dais, but showed no sign of deference to Lord Hugh.
“Hello, madam.” Hugh greeted her politely.
“Lord Hugh,” Blodwin arrogantly chided, “you’re sitting at my table, and you’ve had my kitchen servants prepare a meal without my permission.”
“It’s not your table, and they’re my servants.”
“I see you’ve married Anne.”
“Yes. I would hear your congratulations.”
“You have them.”
At the paltry accolade, Anne bit down a snort.
“May I present my son, Cadel,” Blodwin continued, “along with Father Eustace. I’m told you’ve met my daughter, Rosamunde.”
“I had the pleasure yesterday,” Hugh responded.
“So you realize that you wed the wrong girl.”
Hugh shook his head. “No, I didn’t wed the wrong girl. I picked the one I absolutely wanted.”
He unnerved Anne by taking her hand. It was a tender gesture, a possessive gesture, telling the onlookers—but Blodwin in particular—that he was glad to have her.
With his claiming Anne so openly, Blodwin scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. They played a juvenile trick on you. If I’d been here, I’d have straightened it out immediately. I request an audience so we may discuss the situation.”
“As you wish,” Hugh said.
He’d uttered the words tossed to Anne when he’d promised to select another bride, so clearly, he was lying through his teeth.
She peeked up at him. “You have no intention of discussing it with her, do you?”
“No. You’re mine. The matter is settled.”
“Lord Hugh!” Blodwin snapped. “I demand an audience.”
On hearing her strident tone, Hugh stiffened, and Henry came to his feet. The knights behind them stepped nearer to Hugh, as if expecting an attack.
Blodwin was used to being in charge, was used to bullying everyone and having her own way—just as Lord Hugh was used to it. She did
n’t know that he could be dangerous, that he might strike back without warning. He wouldn’t be slighted or snubbed, and his men would allow no insult.
Would she hold her tongue? Or would she scold him, then be dragged out?
Anne was anxious to diffuse the tension, and she touched Hugh’s arm.
“Let’s not quarrel,” she pleaded.
“Of course we won’t, my dear bride.” He gazed at her with great affection. It was calculated, but effective. The women in the room sighed.
“Blodwin, please,” Anne said, “join us up at our table.”
“Yes,” Hugh concurred, “join us. Master Cadel, you’ll dine with me and share my trencher.”
Blodwin blanched and glanced at Cadel. He had paled and appeared to be trembling.
“I’d rather not, my lord,” Cadel muttered.
“I insist,” Hugh sharply retorted.
The family hesitated, then approached the dais. Servants hurried about, pulling out benches, arranging space for them. Blodwin, Father Eustace, and Rosamunde sat on the other side of Henry. Cadel sat next to Hugh.
Hugh grabbed the trencher he would have shared with Anne, the one he wouldn’t let her nibble on, and pushed it to Cadel.
“Have a bite, Master Cadel,” Hugh said.
Cadel stared and stared, his cheeks aflame. “Ah…Lord Hugh, I believe this soup has grown very cold. I would hate to have you try a dish that’s not our cook’s best effort.” He handed it to a servant. “Perhaps you could bring Lord Hugh another,” he suggested.
The boy ran off, as Hugh leaned across Anne and glared down the table at Blodwin. “I have decided that I will take all my meals with Cadel. He will sample all my food for me.”
“What are you implying?” Blodwin had the nerve to inquire.
“There may be people in the castle who wish me ill. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to me, and if there is a misguided soul out there—one who might attempt to poison me for example—I’m sure they wouldn’t care to have Master Cadel suffer any injury in the process.”
Anne gasped. Cadel had tried to poison him? How had the plot been hatched? How had it been discovered? At that moment, Lord Hugh seemed all powerful, able to bluster through their lives with the impervious supremacy of an ancient god. Had he the ability to read minds, too?
Cadel would have to taste all of his food. Cadel would have to check for poison. Anne loathed Hugh but would never seek to have him killed. Was Cadel insane, engaging in such a reckless misdeed?
She was weak with shock and disgust. She’d known Blodwin could be cruel, but she’d never have deemed her capable of such a heinous crime. And Blodwin would have been behind it. Cadel wasn’t smart enough—or brave enough—to have acted on his own.
Blodwin was ready to explode, ready to castigate Hugh and defend herself as to any charges of perfidy, and Anne intervened again.
“Lord Hugh, it’s been such a long day, and I find myself famished. May we begin?”
Hugh nodded to her. There was a trio of musicians off in the corner, and he gestured for them to play their instruments.
A lively tune was commenced, a new trencher delivered to Hugh. He offered it to Cadel, watching until he’d swallowed three large mouthfuls. Only then did Hugh judge it safe.
He offered it to Anne, taking his first bite with her. Anne flashed a tremulous smile to the crowd, and everyone started to eat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Anne paced the floor of her new bedchamber.
Her old room had been little more than a cupboard, tucked under the stairs. Her new room was Blodwin’s collection of rooms, her sitting room, her office where she kept the estate ledgers, her washing and dressing rooms.
Anne had not requested the change, and every time a noise sounded outside, she cringed, expecting Blodwin to march in and demand answers.
Anne had none to give her, except to say that Lord Hugh was a master at planning and preparation. While the whole castle had been reveling down in the great hall, he’d had servants quietly removing Blodwin’s personal effects.
Oh, didn’t he understand what a ruckus it would cause? Didn’t he understand how furious Blodwin would be?
Blodwin would never graciously accept what he’d done. Anne would pay the price for Hugh’s insult. Where Anne and Blodwin were concerned, Anne had always paid the price.
She wanted to sneak away, and she’d tried once, but Hugh had a knight guarding the door. She’d lied and told him she needed to fetch something, but he’d merely shaken his head and warned her that Hugh would arrive very soon.
So…she was waiting.
The wedding banquet had dragged on all afternoon and into the evening. There had been mountains of food and drinking and dancing. Hugh’s men had distributed gifts to every guest.
He’d firmly demonstrated his power over them, as well as the surprising depth of his wealth and his intent to share that prosperity with those who served him.
Lord Hugh had established himself as a man of legend, as a man to be admired and exalted. If she had previously felt that no one would confront Hugh on her behalf, she now had to admit that they wouldn’t interfere merely because they were all in love with him.
Should she try to complain about her forced marriage, people would think her mad.
She’d been exhausted by the entire ordeal, and Hugh had noted her fatigue. He’d suggested she leave the party, whispering that she should slip out the back, that he would join her when he was able.
She’d crept away, grateful for her clandestine exit, grateful that there had been no gaggle of riotous drunkards to haul her up the stairs. She’d seen brides carried off, with leering men tearing at their clothes while the girls cried and begged for mercy.
If Hugh had allowed such a humiliating event to occur, Anne would have died of shame. But her relief at escaping had been short-lived. Two of his knights—were they everywhere?—had intercepted her as she’d fled the celebration.
She’d planned to pack a bag and run away, but Hugh had seemed to suspect that she might. She’d been escorted directly to Blodwin’s bedchamber—Anne’s bedchamber now—and she was basically imprisoned.
Her uncles still traveled the countryside with the troupe in which her mother had performed before her arrival at Morven. They occasionally stopped at the castle when they were in the area. If Anne could have gotten away, she would have journeyed to Dumfries, the town where they spent the summer, as she probably should have done years earlier.
They were renowned, and eventually, she would have located them. Her relatives would have hidden her. Her relatives would have kept her safe from Hugh of Manche, the king’s butcher.
Instead, she was without a friend in the world, alone and weary and frightened out of her wits. Lord Hugh was coming to consummate the marriage, but she had no idea what that entailed. She didn’t want to know.
She wanted to be an unwed girl again—as she’d been just that morning—with no greater worry than what clothes to wear. She didn’t want to be a wife, didn’t want to be Hugh’s wife, didn’t want to be mistress of his castle, where she would constantly battle Blodwin for control.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. There were murmured words, then Blodwin entered. Several maids and Father Eustace trailed after her.
“I never asked for any of this,” Anne blurted out before Blodwin could comment. “I didn’t ask to wed him. I didn’t ask for these rooms. I feel as if a tide has swept me away, and I’m drowning. Can you save me?”
Blodwin scoffed, taking Anne’s arm and leading her into the bedchamber.
“Wait here,” she advised the hovering maids. “I’ll call for you in a moment.”
She shut the door in their curious faces, then whipped around to Anne.
“I have talked to Lord Hugh,” she said.
“Yes?” Anne suffered a brief flurry of excitement, but it was quickly quashed by Blodwin’s dour expression.
“He will not change his mind about his marriage to you. He insists we
proceed with the bedding.”
“But I don’t want this, Blodwin! I didn’t even speak the vows. His cousin spoke them for me. How can Hugh get away with it? There must be some way to stop him.”
“Stop him?” Blodwin snorted.
“Yes. He’s not a god; he can be thwarted.”
“How?”
“Help me escape. Steal me away from Morven. I swear I’ll never return.”
“It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too late. Sneak me away, and I’ll never look back. You’ve always wished me gone. This is your chance.”
“Hugh will be here shortly. He expects to find you undressed and on the bed. If you’re not there, he’ll guess that it was I who aided you, and I refuse to have him vent his wrath on me. Unlike my stupid, dead husband, I’m rather partial to keeping my head attached to my shoulders.”
“We must foil him.”
“Why are you complaining so much?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s interesting how you’ve managed to snag everything for yourself. Just as your mother did all those years ago.”
“I’ve snagged nothing! I didn’t seek any of this.”
“Save your excuses for someone who will believe them. You’re Bedelia’s daughter. I assumed that her blood ran deep in you, and after this perfidy, my suspicions are confirmed.”
“I didn’t do this to you, Blodwin. I didn’t set my cap for Lord Hugh. Ask Rosamunde. She’ll tell you.”
“You bathed him!”
“He made me.”
“A likely story—coming as it is from Bedelia’s spawn.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. I was hoping you were here to assist me or to calm my fears. I’m sufficiently distraught, and you’re making it worse. Why don’t you go?”
“I told Lord Hugh that I would prepare you for the bedding.”
“You’ve failed me in the only way that mattered, so I have no further need of you.”
“No, I’ll strip you and wash you as is required by my role in this household.”
“I can wash myself.”
“I won’t let you. I choose to stay and watch the consummation as is my right as your stepmother and guardian. I choose to watch as he holds you down and ruts away between your virginal thighs.”