by Olga Daniels
“What were you doing when I encountered you in the street?” he asked. His voice was low, pleasantly warm, but she would not allow herself to be cajoled by it.
“Visiting the sick and the poor.”
“Do you enjoy doing that?”
She turned her head sharply, her eyebrows raised. It struck her as a strange question. “It is necessary,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Did he not know the plight of the poor?
The look she cast upon him disturbed Sir Richard more than he cared to admit. He had felt little enthusiasm for this task when it had been imposed upon him by Earl Thurton, but for reasons of his own he had not cared to question the command. He had no love for the master of Bixholm, whom he knew, to his cost, to be a callous brute. He had simply been given the order to fetch a young woman from a nunnery in Norwich.
“She’s just seventeen,” the Earl had said. “A virgin, ripe for a man. Bring her back here, Richard, and who knows what may happen?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve a mind to wed, after all these years,” Richard said.
“Not I! Nancy would have something to say if I did! Anyway this chit is my niece. There is someone more powerful than I am who is seeking a new wife. Someone who will bestow untold wealth and honours upon a relative who delivers the right goods into his hands—or perhaps, I should say, into his bed.” The Earl chuckled, well pleased with himself.
Richard repressed a shudder. “The King?” he asked.
Edmund’s cunning expression told all. He nodded. “Exactly. And, as a good and loyal subject, do I not have a duty to bring pleasure and happiness to his majesty? He has suffered sadly since the death of his puny little wife in childbirth.”
It was two years since Queen Jane had died giving birth to the long-awaited heir, Prince Edward. Richard felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach as he remembered the fate of the King’s previous wife, Lady Anne Boleyn. The King had tired of her, mainly because, after three years of marriage, she had produced only one living child, and that a daughter, Princess Elizabeth.
The King had then declared that Queen Anne had committed treason, betrayed him by taking a lover. It was well-known that he had already transferred his affections to Jane Seymour, and had had no qualms about signing the death warrant for Anne to be executed on Tower Green. His first wife, Queen Catherine, had also given birth to only a daughter, Princess Mary. Her fate had been a little kinder, for she had been divorced and exiled to the country. It was sons the King wanted, as much to bolster his pride in his masculinity as for the sake of the country.
Richard’s voice held a grim note as he answered the Earl. “I have heard the King is seeking to remarry.”
“Exactly! And I’m told this niece of mine is a beauty! I’d go myself to fetch her, but this accursed gout is playing me up. Bring her back here, Richard, and mind you take good care of her. No nonsense, mind! You so much as touch her and I’ll run you through with my own sword.”
“No fear of that, sir.” Richard understood the threat. In fair combat he would have taken the Earl on with the certainty of winning—but that was never Sir Edmund’s way of disposing of enemies. A stab in the back by a henchman was more likely. “I shall guard her honour with my life,” he said.
He had expected no difficulty in keeping that promise when he’d set out on the journey. Secretly he thought the Earl must be mad to believe the lusty King Henry would be tempted by a holy woman, however young and virginal. He had also doubted the Earl’s assertion that the woman would be a beauty, especially when he’d heard she had lived all her life in a nunnery. He had expected her to be pale, an insipid creature, not the sort of woman to appeal to him. It had amused him to imagine a relative of the coarse, ugly Earl being in any way attractive to the King.
With regard to the lady’s feelings, or to her fate, he had given them no more thought than if he had been sent to fetch a horse or a dog for his master. In any event he had assumed that the woman was amenable—possibly even eager to relinquish life in a nunnery to become Queen of England.
The clash of wills he had witnessed between Meg and the Prioress had changed his mind on that score! She had pleaded strongly not to be sent away—and not because she wished to take the veil! She had evidently rejected that idea some time previously. He commended her for that; it would have been a most regrettable loss to mankind for such a delectable young woman to become a nun. There was nothing insipid about Lady Margaret Thurton! She was of a fiery temperament, though at the moment she appeared to be hiding it. She was also the most fascinating woman he had ever met.
He had noticed her face when he had first seen her, that morning in the crowded street. The brave way she had stood up to him during that encounter had puzzled and interested him. Her habit had been of coarse material, splattered with mud—and worse! There had been a streak of dirt on her cheek. But still something about her had caught and held his attention. His presence had not cowed her in the least; that had been one indication of her breeding. And when he heard her voice, clear and melodious, it had confirmed his impression that she was no ordinary peasant girl.
He would never have harmed the blind man. It had annoyed him that Gervase Gisbon had flicked his whip at the old fellow. There had been no need, but it was typical of the man, who had no time for those less well placed than himself. Richard had been about to order Gervase to draw back when Meg had rushed forward. She had taken him completely by surprise, flung a challenge at him, and he had enjoyed pitting his wits against hers and watching her reaction. He had been disappointed when she’d made off so quickly. He had tried to follow her but had lost sight of her when she’d darted down that alleyway, where it had been impossible for horses to follow.
He had scarcely been able to believe it when she’d walked into the solar where he and the Prioress had been waiting. He had recognised her immediately, despite the change of clothing. Dressed in a gown that was twenty years out of fashion, she was still beautiful, and had a commanding presence. Suddenly he had feared for her—so vulnerable, so young and tender—not at all how he had envisaged the niece of Earl Thurton!
His first feeling at that second meeting had been of delight at seeing her again. Now, with every mile they covered, wending their way towards Bixholm Castle, he became less and less enthusiastic about the fate her uncle was planning for her. Indeed he began to feel quite ridiculously protective towards her. It was probably something to do with the size of her wondrous blue eyes, or perhaps it was the curvaceousness of her lissom figure, her liveliness, for that was evident even when she was silent—and her gentle voice. He was quite disturbed at the thought of any man touching her—other than himself. And he was banned from doing so on pain of death.
That was a sobering thought. No woman would be worth such a sacrifice, he told himself. He must have as little to do with Lady Margaret as he possibly could. His task was to deliver her to her uncle. He must put any other ideas out of his mind. He reminded himself that the Prioress had been more than willing to place her under the guardianship of her uncle. She knew the husband Earl Thurton hoped to bind her to, and he’d had the impression she was delighted at the prospect of the match. It was not for him to interfere. He had his own problems, and any entanglement would only add to those difficulties. He allowed his horse to slow its pace, to leave Meg’s side.
Bringing up the rear of the little group was Gervase Gisbon, Earl Thurton’s man. Gervase, who had no wish to ride with a serving wench behind him, was leading the packhorse. He regarded Richard with a supercilious smile on his face. There was no love lost between the two.
“Your blandishments aren’t cutting much ice with the young lady, Richard?”
Richard bit back the angry answer that was almost on his tongue. Gervase was one of Thurton’s most trusted men. He could make trouble if he chose, and he had evidently been keeping a close watch upon Richard as he had ridden alongside Lady Margaret.
“Just making sure the lady is all right,” Richard said.
“She’s ridi
ng better than I expected,” Gervase admitted. “Surprising, after being in a nunnery all her life.”
“She is indeed an accomplished horsewoman.” Richard was glad it was a point on which they could agree, but he took it as a warning that he was under surveillance on this journey.
Aware that he had dropped behind, Meg set her mount moving a little faster, until she came up alongside Sarah, who was riding pillion behind Alan. The pair did not immediately notice she was there, so she watched for a few moments and was delighted to see them both looking relaxed and happy. They were chatting and chaffing with each other, even chuckling in a friendly manner. Evidently Sarah had conquered her fear, although she was clinging very tightly to the young man—which he did not seem to mind in the least.
Although of noble birth, Alan had fallen on hard times. As a third son, there had been no inheritance for him. He and Richard had fought together in defence of England and he had suffered that terrible wound. He would have died had Richard not taken care of him. They had been friends ever since.
“Are you all right, Sarah?” Meg enquired.
“Oh, yes, thank you, my lady. I never thought it would be so comfortable, riding like this. An’ the countryside’s all so b’utiful, ain’t it?”
“You’ve no need to worry about Sarah, my lady,” said Alan. “I’ll see she comes to no harm.”
Meg smiled wryly to herself. She was glad that they, at least, were happy as they continued along the road. She was in no hurry to reach Bixholm, especially when she thought about this plan of her uncle’s to provide her with a husband. She hoped it would be a kindly and considerate young gentleman—perhaps even someone who looked a little like Sir Richard. Not that she would easily come to like, let alone love him! His remote manner towards her made her dismiss such a thought—it made her angry that it had even entered her head.
Deliberately she thrust aside those useless worries about what lay ahead. The weather was fine and, as Sarah had said, the countryside was beautiful. Sometimes the tracks took them through woodland, coppiced hazel and huge ancient oaks, the fresh growth of young leaves a delicate perfection of green. Sunlight dappled on primroses and dainty anemones, be-jewelling the grass beneath. Deer and rabbits started away at their approach, and birds flew up into the canopy, anxious for the safety of their nests. At other times they rode over heathland, thickly covered with heather, brown now, with fresh fronds of bracken unfolding at the wood’s edges.
Even though she had never before spent so many hours in the saddle, and had never been so far from Norwich, Meg found herself enjoying the ride—and there was not one word of complaint from Sarah.
The journey south, towards Essex, took three days. At night they stayed in the guest accommodation of great monasteries that would soon be dissolved on the orders of the King. Introductory letters from the Prioress assured that they were well catered for in every respect. The pace at which they travelled was unhurried, but every evening when they stopped Meg was tired, stiff and sore. In the women’s quarters, she slept soundly.
“That’s Bixholm,” Richard said.
She had grown accustomed to the sound of his voice. There was something in the timbre of it that caused a fluttering in her heart. It wasn’t exactly fear. On the journey he had done nothing that could arouse the slightest suspicion of such an emotion. Yet she was always on edge when he was near, would feel an awareness, a tension heightened by the vibrancy with which he spoke.
It was late afternoon on the third day and he rode up alongside Meg as the castle came into view—the house which had belonged to her father and which, by right, should now be hers. Her first sight of it was of two tall towers. They formed part of the gatehouse. The spread of red tiled roofs denoted a place of considerable size, and many tall twisted chimneys suggested opulence, lots of fires to warm the rooms in winter.
Meg caught her breath. “I was born there,” she said. Emotion flooded over her.
“At Bixholm?” Richard raised his expressive dark eyebrows.
“It belonged to my father. He was killed in the fighting in France.”
“So you know the castle?”
“I don’t remember anything, really. My uncle forced my mother to leave. He insisted it all belonged to him, declared that he had papers to prove it.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I cannot believe my father would have done such a thing. My mother tried to protest, but she did not have the strength to fight him—in addition to which she was afraid for my safety. We never came back.”
“Your mother was a wise lady.” He lowered his voice. Gervase Gisbon was not far behind. “I advise you to say nothing to anyone about your doubts, Lady Margaret. Most especially do not challenge your uncle on the matter.”
“I am not a fool,” she said. “I know there is nothing I can do about it.”
Richard’s mouth was held in a tight line. He knew little about her story, yet what she said did not surprise him. More than ever he feared for her, and cursed that he was powerless to do anything other than deliver her to that monster who waited within.
Meg gazed at the impressive structure in silence. Her thoughts were running riot. This should have been her home. Here she should have grown up, in security and some affluence, but for the untimely death of her father and her uncle’s subsequent treatment of her mother.
Only the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the jangle of harness disturbed the silence as they rode toward the great house, for it was more a fortified manor house than a castle.
A square moat surrounded the buildings, and they crossed by the drawbridge, which was seldom lifted in these relatively peaceful days. The horses’ hooves echoed as they passed through the guardhouse into a courtyard. Stablehands ran out to hold the horses, and, as he had done at the end of each day’s riding, Sir Richard was there, his strong arms ready to assist her to dismount. Even in her tense state she found comfort in the way he held her, although she tried to suppress such thoughts. When he released her, very quickly, as always, loneliness swept over her.
“Tell the Earl that his niece, Lady Margaret Thurton, has arrived,” Richard instructed the porter who had stepped forward to greet them.
“The Earl is at dinner,” the porter replied. “My instructions are to show you into the Great Hall, as soon as you are ready.”
Meg was nervous. With Sarah’s assistance she had quickly washed and changed her clothes, which were still creased from being transported in the pannier on the packhorse. Sir Richard had also washed and changed from his outdoor riding gear. He waited outside the chamber that had been alloted to Meg, ready to escort her to the Great Hall.
Again she wore her best gown of blue-green velvet, as she had when she had been called into the solar at the nunnery. Sir Richard now presented an elegant figure in a doublet of damask, his silk shirt gathered into a high band which emphasised the strength and shapeliness of his neck. His hat was of matching crimson velvet and ornamented with a magnificent ostrich feather. Paler coloured hose encased his athletically muscular legs and he wore shoes with the highly fashionable square toes. Although he had remained aloof for most of the journey, he was no longer a complete stranger, and he had always attended to her needs with gallant courtesy.
“If you are ready, my lady, I will escort you to the Great Hall.”
“I am ready, Sir Richard. And Sarah has also washed and changed. She is as hungry and tired as I am; may she come with us to the Hall?”
Before Richard could answer Alan stepped out of the shadows. “I am waiting to take Sarah to join the servants in the Hall,” he said.
“Oh, Alan—how smart you look!” beamed Sarah. Then anxiously, “You won’t leave me there on my own, will you?”
“Certainly not!” Alan said emphatically.
Satisfied that Sarah would be well looked after, Meg turned to Richard. She was grateful to place her hand upon his steadying arm as she walked from her chamber to the Great Hall. Alan and Sarah followed several yards beh
ind and took their places at a table lower down the room. The aroma of roasted meats tickled Meg’s tastebuds as they entered, reminding her that she was hungry.
About forty people must have been gathered there, but Meg’s gaze went immediately to the high table at the end of the room, beneath banners and armorial artefacts. In the central position, with a carved wooden screen behind him and page boys waiting on either side, sat a large man. He was red-faced, wore a soft flat hat of brown taffeta, and was clad in a padded velvet jerkin with slashed sleeves over a silk shirt. Though his clothes were of rich fabrics he wore them untidily, and wine from his pewter goblet had been slopped down the front.
At his side was a woman, about thirty years of age, blowsy-looking, whose plump bosom seemed likely to spill over the top of her low-cut gown. She stared at Meg, looking her over, nodding her head, not really welcoming but with an expression of intense interest—even, perhaps, with her eyes half-closed, of speculation.
Lord Edmund speared a large slice of beef on his knife. He lifted it to his mouth and chewed on it as Richard led Meg forward to the high table.
“About time you got here!” he said loudly. “I was beginning to think you’d got lost on the way.”
Richard ignored the jibe. He executed a polite bow. “My lord, I assumed that you would not wish me to tire the lady with too much hard riding.”
“No, indeed. We can leave that for another time and another gentleman, can we not! Ho, ho!”
The company around him all laughed at his lewd joke. Meg did not understand the play on words, but sensed that it was in some way derogatory to herself.
Sir Richard spoke again, quickly, to cover the uncouth comment. “Sir, allow me to introduce your niece, Lady Margaret Thurton.” He turned to Meg. “My lady—this is your uncle, Edmund, Earl Thurton.”
Chapter Three
Meg found it difficult to repress a shudder at the impressions that whirled through her mind as she curtsied low. Everything was worse than she had anticipated. It was a ribald company that sat either alongside the Earl and his lady at the high table, or at long trestles down the Great Hall. There were men and women, one with a baby at her bare breast, older children too, and dogs quarrelling over morsels dropped or thrown to them.