by Cheryl Holt
She urged the maids out of the room, but as she followed them, she glanced over at the vibrant fabrics on her bed.
They were like a talisman, tempting her to crave things she’d never had, to pine for the things that Lord Hugh could give her. Was it wrong to yearn for the earthly luxuries he could provide? Was it wrong to be pleased?
“Dorag,” she mused, “perhaps we should delay the sewing—just until events are more settled.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Anne. Your husband has insisted that you have new clothes as fast as they can be prepared. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?”
Anne thought of Hugh, of how he smiled when he was doing something particularly naughty to her, of how he lit up when he laughed with merriment.
She didn’t think he was a man who laughed very often, but she made him laugh.
“No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” Anne vehemently said.
“Cease your fretting and come along to Lord Hugh.”
Dorag led the way, and Anne marched after her, her head high, but as she approached the stairs, Blodwin stepped from the shadows and dragged her into an alcove. The maids kept on, unaware that Anne had been waylaid. Anne nearly called out to Dorag, but better sense prevailed.
She wasn’t scared of Blodwin, and with Anne’s status as Hugh’s wife, Blodwin had no axe she could brandish to instill any genuine fear. If Blodwin pestered her overly much, Anne would simply tell her husband.
Then they’d see who held all the power in the castle.
“What is it, Blodwin?” Anne asked, exasperated at being accosted.
“Lord Hugh has commanded that Cadel begin training with his knights.”
“Good. It should have been commenced years ago. Father tried to start, but you wouldn’t let him.”
“Cadel will not learn to fight,” Blodwin hissed. “He will not go off and kill himself in the king’s stupid wars. I sacrificed my spouse to that man’s vain whims. I’ll not sacrifice my son, too.”
“It’s no longer up to you, Blodwin. Lord Hugh has rendered a different decision.”
“You listen to me, Anne.” Blodwin leaned in, hoping to intimidate, but failing. “Under Ranulf’s orders, I raised you as my own. I permitted you to befriend my daughter and live in my home. Everyday of your life, I’ve furnished you with more than you deserved.”
“What is your point? Please make it. I need to join my husband. He awaits me.”
“As Hugh’s wife, you will have enormous sway over his actions and opinions.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“You will do what profits me and my family. You will assist me to our benefit. If you refuse, if you betray me, you will pay the price.”
“You’re being ridiculous, and the wonderful advantage of my marrying Lord Hugh is that I don’t have to heed you anymore.”
Anne swept away, delighted to let the older woman fume and stew all alone.
* * * *
Hugh knew Anne was near before she stepped through the door. Their night of frolicking had imprinted itself on his body, and he felt like a stallion scenting a mare.
At dawn, he’d forced himself from her bed, not anxious to be viewed as lazy or besotted. With his authority at the castle being so recently assumed, people needed to see him in charge and attending to duty—even on the morning after his wedding. But it had been difficult to leave her side. Much more difficult than he’d imagined it would be.
He was grinning like a fool, anticipating the moment when she would appear, and he kicked himself and wiped any expression from his face.
He wasn’t about to develop an infatuation for his wife. Nor would he allow his men to notice any heightened attraction. If they suspected he was fond of her, he’d never hear the end of it.
Still, for all his mental chastisement, when she entered, that idiotic smile crept back. He couldn’t tamp it down. Before he realized he was going to, he stood, honoring her arrival.
The hall was packed with knights, tradesmen, and serfs. Men were eager to meet him, to ask favors, to discuss problems, and as he came to his feet, they leapt up, too.
Anne walked in, and she was confused by everyone gaping. She stopped and frowned. Her eyes quickly found Hugh. She was hesitant, silently inquiring as to what she should do. He held out his hand in welcome and gestured for her to approach.
She promenaded down the middle of the large chamber, between the rows and rows of tables where men sat with their weapons and supplies and papers. There was something different about her—perhaps it was simply the fact that she was wearing new clothes—but she was positively regal.
As she passed, the spectators bowed their heads, much as if she was royalty. The previous day, she’d merely been the prior lord’s natural daughter and an ordinary person of no consequence, but now, she’d been raised above them all. Exuding confidence and poise, she seemed to glow.
She halted below his table where he’d been eating and carrying on his business.
“Good morning, my lord husband.” She blushed, looking shy.
“Good morning, my wife.” On calling her wife in front of the assembled company, he was extremely proud. “But it’s no longer morning. You slept in.”
“I did.”
With his alluding to why she hadn’t risen earlier, her blush deepened, and there were murmurs among the assembled throng, laughter and clapping. Suggestive remarks were hurled.
It was usual fare, the jesting and ribald comments. He’d shielded her from most of it during the nuptial revelry, and he didn’t want to scold anyone. Not when he was happy, and people were beaming with approval.
“Henry,” he said to his cousin, “conduct these audiences for me, would you?”
“Where are you going?”
“To dine with my bride.”
“Lucky dog,” Henry muttered, but he was smart enough not to add anything more vulgar.
“Tell the cook she will break her fast with me.”
He left his spot on the dais and went down to her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Famished.”
“Come with me.”
“To where?”
“To my bedchamber.”
His request was met with many guffaws and more clapping.
“Why?” she inquired.
“I’ll feed you.” He leaned down and whispered, “I want to have you all to myself.”
She curtsied her agreement. “I would be delighted to join you.”
They departed together, with Anne’s hand balanced on his arm.
The crowd watched them avidly, and it was an odd experience for Hugh. He was accustomed to stares. His height and notoriety ensured that he was noticed, but he’d never been singled out for parading with such a beautiful woman.
Mine! The possessive word flitted in his head.
He suffered a vain thrill, pleased that he’d picked her, pleased that other men were envious.
The only sour faces belonged to Blodwin and her two children. The three of them were huddled in a corner, glowering at Anne as if her marriage had been a crime committed against them personally.
He would have to deal with them eventually. They couldn’t be allowed to loiter on the premises, creating dissention and stirring controversy. He’d already commanded that Cadel train with Hugh’s knights. In the next few months, Hugh would get him as prepared as he could, then ship him off to grow up, to find some use for himself besides rutting with tavern girls while his mother wasn’t looking.
Rosamunde needed a husband, and Hugh would draft letters of inquiry that would be sent to London. A spouse would be selected for her—and soon.
Blodwin was the main problem. Hugh wouldn’t hang her just because she’d been wed to a traitor, but she was dangerous all the same. She would foment the most trouble, would require the most handling, but at the moment, Hugh wouldn’t worry about her.
He hastened out and climbed the stairs, escorting Anne into his private cham
ber. It was austere and plain, a man’s quarters decorated for a man—Ranulf—who had rarely occupied it. Hugh hadn’t planned to spend much time in it either, except at night.
He’d assumed the place sufficient for his purposes. After all, he’d lived most of his life in army camps, sleeping on the ground, fighting bad weather. The bedchamber had a bed with a soft, dry mattress. What more did a man need?
Now, with Anne visiting, he realized that the dank, dull space was unacceptable. He thought of other castles where he’d stayed on his travels, in warmer climes where people lavished themselves with color and comfort. He would have to add rugs on the cold floors, tapestries on the gray walls, cheery fires in the grates.
He had a table and chair to offer her, and he led her over and eased her down. He sat across from her, but immediately decided she was too far away.
He scooted his chair next to hers, then pulled her onto his lap. She protested, then complied. Her pert bottom was balanced on his thigh, her legs draped between his, and a flood of lust shot through him. He could barely stop himself from tossing up her skirt and having her—right there on the table.
Only the knowledge that servants were about to traipse in with her food kept him from proceeding.
They both smiled, tongue-tied now that they were alone.
“You wore the clothes I brought you,” he finally said to break the tension, being inordinately elated that she had.
“Thank you for them. I’m very honored by your gift.”
“You beautiful,” he blurted out like a bumbling suitor.
“I’m pleased that you think so.”
“When we’re sequestered like this, I want you to remove your veil. I want to see your hair flowing down your back.”
“Father Eustace would never permit it.”
“It’s not up to him. It is my request and my directive to you.” He grinned. “Besides, he’ll never be with us, so he need never be apprised of what we do. You won’t tell him, will you?”
“No.”
“Neither will I.”
She grinned, too, and his heart raced. He didn’t understand the effect she had on him, didn’t like it, and wished he could tamp it down, but he didn’t know how.
The passage of time would help, he suspected. After they had fornicated for several weeks, he would no longer be quite so captivated. Familiarity would guarantee that his infatuation waned. He hoped it would fade sooner rather than later. He hated to be so awkward around her. She constantly made him feel like a green boy of fourteen.
The servants knocked. As they entered, she yelped with dismay and leapt back to her own seat.
He relaxed, silently observing as they tended her, as they fussed over her, then left.
They’d delivered enough for an army, breads and cheeses and slices of meat. He watched as she chose her favorites, as she chewed, as she swallowed.
Everything about her intrigued him. Everything about her pleased him too damned much.
She paused mid-bite.
“Won’t you have any?” she asked.
“I’ve already eaten. Twice.”
She blushed like the bride she was. “I’m sorry to have overslept.”
“Don’t be. You’re mistress here now. You may do whatever you like—so long as it doesn’t contradict my commands.”
“What are your commands?”
“That you be happy and I be content.”
“What sort of man are you truly, Lord Hugh? I’ve heard terrible stories about your temper and bad humor. When you are reputed to be such an ogre, how am I to ensure your contentment?”
“My temper rages only when necessary. I don’t suffer fools, and I don’t care to be annoyed. I expect to be obeyed, and once I’ve reached a decision, I won’t be countermanded. Don’t aggravate me, and you’ll never see me angry.”
She snorted. “You’re not giving me much insight into how I should deal with you.”
He shrugged. “You’ll figure it out as we go forward.”
“Yes, I suppose I will.” She smiled wickedly. “But how shall you get on with me? You hardly know me. How will you make me happy?”
“I don’t have to try. I am your lord and master. My very presence should bestow all the happiness you desire.”
“Vain beast,” she teasingly scoffed, and he found that he liked her jesting, liked her chiding him for his haughty ways.
She started eating again, ignoring him, but not doing a very good job of it.
Finally, she stopped and frowned.
“Why are you staring?”
“I like watching you,” he admitted.
“I feel as if I’m a rabbit and you’re a hawk about to gobble me up.”
It was his turn to snort. “You fascinate me.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” He drew her onto his lap again. “Can you read or write?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you? Not Blodwin.”
“No. I taught myself.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. While Blodwin was instructing Rosamunde, I was always lurking and interrupting. Rosamunde hated her lessons, but I loved them. I learned by spying on Blodwin as she was teaching Rosamunde.”
“Can you read better than Rosamunde?”
“Yes. I can factor better, too.”
Her revelations were interesting. Obviously, she was very clever, and he was delighted to have a wife who was so educated. Most men didn’t think females should be tutored, but Hugh was more modern. He’d traveled the world and seen how other cultures grappled with such issues.
A scholarly wife could help him in incalculable ways.
“I’ve ordered Cadel into my service,” he mentioned just to hear what she would say. “Blodwin is opposed to my plan. What is your view?”
“He should have been fostered out long ago, but Blodwin wouldn’t permit it, and my father never insisted.”
“Did you know your father well?” he inquired.
“No. He was like a flamboyant uncle, who rarely visited. When he was here at Morven, he never spoke to me. I could have been anyone.”
“Will his hanging come between us? Will you despise me for what happened?”
“What did happen?”
“He was conspiring with the king’s brother—against the king.”
“Not wise.”
“No, not wise, at all. His treachery was revealed, and the king had him put to death.”
“You pulled the rope at the execution.”
“Yes, and I’d do it again, too, if my king asked it of me.”
“You make it sound as if killing is easy for you.”
“No, not easy. Richard is my friend and my liege. I am his to command, and I always will be. All that I have, all that I am, flows from him.”
She stared at him forever, and he could barely keep from squirming. He hadn’t thought he was concerned over her opinion on any topic, but apparently he was. He couldn’t have her blaming him for Ranulf’s ghastly end. He refused to be held accountable for matters that were beyond his control.
Ranulf had been a fool and a traitor, and Hugh hoped she understood that fact and could move past it, that she could tamp down any lingering resentment.
He wanted her to respect him, to esteem him, to value him. Gad, he wanted her to…like him. Was he mad?
“If you deserve punishment,” she carefully stated, “for your part in Ranulf’s demise, I’m certain the Lord will mete it out.”
“You’ll leave it to the Lord? You won’t stab me in my sleep?”
“No, I won’t ever harm you.”
“And now that you are my wife, am I forgiven for pressing you into marriage? Do you still hate me?”
“Hate is a strong word, isn’t it? Let’s just say I’m reviewing the situation.”
“Ah, a born diplomat.”
He reached out and tugged the circlet from her head, then drew away her veil to reveal her beautiful hair.
“There,” he said
, “that’s much better.”
She flushed a fetching shade of pink. “I’ll never get used to having it unbound. Father Eustace has always demanded that I keep it covered.”
“I believe you’re aware of my attitude with regard to the priest.”
She chuckled. “It’s extremely poor.”
“I’d like you to meet with the upper servants. You must study the workings of the castle, how the food is gathered, how the meals are planned, how the supplies are stocked. You will gradually take control of it all.”
“From Blodwin? I couldn’t.”
“She’s been relieved of her duties.”
“She must be very angry with you.”
“She is.”
“Who is running things? You?” She laughed a merry laugh, obviously picturing him fussing over the menus and counting the linens in the cupboards.
“I’ve put Henry in charge temporarily, but he’d rather be out in the stables with the horses. The faster you can assume your responsibilities, the greater service you will do me.”
“I don’t know how to help you. I was never trained to manage a household.” She glanced down at her lap. “I told you you should have married Rosamunde.”
“Why would I have picked Rosamunde when I could have someone smarter and prettier?”
“You embarrass me with your compliments.”
He laid a finger on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“I’ve had a hard life, Anne,” he confessed. “I was orphaned as a baby, so I’ve never had a family or home of my own.”
“Neither did I after I turned four and my mother died.”
“See? We have very much in common.”
“More than I suspected.”
“My past was consumed by war and fighting, where I was trapped in foreign lands and doing my best to stay alive.”
“I hope you’ll tell me of it someday.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, thinking it would be wonderful to unburden himself. He never had. Not to anyone.
She studied his eyes, her concentration intense, and he felt as if she was probing to the very core of his being.
“You’re glad to be at Morven, aren’t you?” she said. “More glad than any of us could know.”
“When the king told me Morven could be mine, I was so…pleased.”
He couldn’t devise a more apt word to describe the satisfaction he’d gleaned from having a place to call his own.