Then she realized the handsome man sitting at the center of the high table was staring at her. From his position of importance, she knew he must be Sir Roger de Montmorency, her betrothed.
But such a look! Cold, appraising, arrogant. He must know who she was, yet even now, he did not rise to greet her. He simply sat and stared at her with those dark, forbidding eyes.
Did he think he could intimidate her with that look? She was no spoiled young girl raised in sheltered gentleness. Nor was she a peasant to be overwhelmed with any nobleman’s rank and wealth. She was Lady Mina Chilcott, and she could be just as self-confidently arrogant as any man. Her father had raised her to be that way, even if that had not been his intention.
So she stared back. Her betrothed was extremely well formed, with muscular shoulders and a broad chest that narrowed to a slender waist. He wore a simple tunic of dark green with no ornamentation of any kind, nor did he wear any jewelry. It struck her that he had no need for extra adornment.
Surprised by this observation, her gaze returned to his undeniably handsome face. Unexpectedly, he did not wear his hair in the conventional Norman manner, cut around the ears as if a bowl had been overturned on his head, the way Reginald did. Instead, he wore his hair long, like the wilder Celts. Indeed, he seemed to have more in common with those brazen warriors than Reginald or the other noble Normans she was used to.
Despite her bravado in the inner ward, her refusal to be alarmed and her very real hunger made worse by the abundance of food around her, Mina wondered if she had made a mistake by not taking the steward’s advice to go to her quarters.
No, I am in the right, she thought resolutely. He should have greeted them in the courtyard and offered them the hospitality of his castle. Instead, he had left them outside as if they were merchants or traveling performers, not honored guests.
With that thought to bolster her courage, she took a deep breath, lifted her chin and reminded herself she was the legitimate daughter of a knight, even if her mother had been a Saxon. Then she marched straight down the center of the hall between the tables.
The gray-haired nobleman on Sir Roger’s right rose, a welcoming smile on his pleasant, careworn face that warmed her as much as the blazing fire. One by one the other men and women who were gathered in the hall fell silent, waiting expectantly. Only an elderly priest seemed not to notice the interruption as he continued to eat.
Still Sir Roger only looked, although his brow lowered ominously. What would he think of a woman who dared to embarrass him in front of all these people? No matter how she felt about the arranged marriage, Mina had given her word. Was it wise to anger her future husband?
Mina slowed her steps and lowered her eyes demurely. When she reached the dais at the far end of the curved hall, she made a deep obeisance. “Forgive my intrusion, Sir Roger,” she said softly. “I fear, however, that no one informed you of our arrival.”
Finally, finally, Sir Roger de Montmorency got up, still fixing her with his dark, measuring stare. His thigh-length tunic was belted about his waist and exposed long, lean legs. She noticed that his hands were slender and sinewy, obviously strong and surely capable of handling the heaviest weapons with ease.
“You are late and sent no word,” her betrothed said in a voice as unfriendly as his expression. “We could not wait the supper.”
“The bridge not five miles from here has been washed away... my lord,” she added, with just enough of a pause to give her time to glance up at him. Let him see her eyes, too. Let him realize that she knew he had been unforgivably rude to herself and to her half brother, who was of a higher rank.
A vein in Sir Roger’s forehead began to pulse, and she surmised she had scored a hit. “I’m sure it is not your fault,” she said sweetly. “Underlings are often all too anxious to take advantage of a kind and generous lord.” What a lie! she thought as she waited for him to respond. She could well imagine how he would treat his tenants. They would probably all welcome a mistress who understood what it was like to be mistreated.
Sir Roger made no answer, nor did his expression alter.
A particularly colorful curse rose to her lips. How could he continue to be so rude, with all these people watching? Was he that sure of himself that he did not fear their censure?
Looking at him, she thought he probably was.
“May I sit?” she asked, though it was not a request.
“My lady, please, take my chair.” The gray-haired knight moved quickly aside. He smiled again, a kind but knowing smile. “I am Sir Albert Lacourt. Naturally we are delighted by your arrival, but you are quite wet through. Are you certain you would care to—”
“I was most anxious to meet my future husband,” Mina interrupted calmly as she came around the table, removed her cloak—and suddenly realized that her soaking dress was clinging to her body like a second skin. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, and a quick glance at the assembly proved that she was making a spectacle of herself. Even the ancient priest was looking at her as if he had never seen a woman before. Considering she might as well be naked, perhaps that was not so far from the truth.
Nevertheless, she said not a word and took her chair as if nothing untoward had occurred.
“I, um, trust your journey was most pleasant except for the final portion,” Sir Albert said.
“Yes, it was,” Mina replied.
A serving wench with enormous breasts and a brazen manner that suggested her duties did not end with the hall but probably extended to the lord’s bedchamber, as well, set down a platter of meat with a clatter.
Mina turned to Sir Roger and realized his gaze was fastened on her own breasts. “I see you are hungry, too,” she remarked evenly.
A disgruntled frown flew across her intended’s face before he turned his attention to the trencher before him.
“The storm was so severe, we were sure you had taken refuge somewhere along the road,” Sir Albert observed after a moment of awkward silence.
“We would have, but Reginald was most certain of a kind welcome here and insisted we continue,” she answered truthfully, keeping any hint of irony from her words.
Reginald finally appeared at the entrance to the hall. The reason for his delayed arrival was apparent immediately. He had changed his clothes and dried his hair as much as he could. Now he wore a long tunic of a heavy brocade that seemed to emphasize his thinness rather than make him look sturdier, which, Mina suspected, was its intention. He stood there awkwardly, frantically trying to curl his hair with his fingers.
To Mina’s considerable chagrin, Sir Roger immediately stood up and strode toward her half brother. “Lord Chilcott!” he cried, his deep voice decidedly pleasant. “How pleased I am to see you again!”
Mina tried to stifle the flush she felt coloring her face. She rose immediately and spoke to Sir Albert. “If you will excuse me, sir, I fear I am greatly fatigued after all. Good night, Sir Albert. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance.” Her gaze fixed on the buxom serving wench, who was once again making her way along the table refilling wine goblets. “I wish to be shown to my quarters.”
“Of course, my lady,” the wench said, her air of insolence noticeably diminished. Mina heard the men approaching, but she did not look at them or say anything.
Instead, she followed the maidservant, who tossed her long, honey brown hair and led the way toward the stairs leading upward to what Mina assumed was the upper hall.
Once away from the crowd, Mina smiled to herself, for she was certain that whatever else she had accomplished in the hall, she had shown the mighty Sir Roger de Montmorency that she could not be completely cowed.
As Roger walked back to his place with Reginald Chilcott at his side, he watched his future bride glide toward the stairs behind Hilda. She had not waited to be excused, or even said a farewell. God’s blood, what kind of woman had he agreed to marry?
“Sit down and eat,” he growled at the overdressed Reginald, who blushed noticeably, his face tu
rning nearly as red as his scarlet tunic. His elaborate garments were quite a contrast to the severely plain gown his relative had worn. Either Mina Chilcott was not nearly as vain as her half brother, or her garments were merely an extension of her frigid personality.
His almost brother-in-law cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mina is...she is not an easy person sometimes, Sir Roger,” he explained haltingly, “but she was most competent in managing my father’s estate in his final years when he was not able to do so himself. Perhaps once you are married, she will...mellow?” he finished hopefully.
Roger thought it highly unlikely that a woman of Mina Chilcott’s coloring and temperament could ever be made to “mellow.” He caught Albert’s censorious eye and pushed some particularly savory venison in a rich, spicy sauce toward the younger nobleman. “Please, eat.”
With a grateful smile, Reginald started consuming an astonishing amount for one of such slender build. Mercifully it seemed that Reginald would rather eat than talk. Albert, too, stayed quiet, and most of the guests talked softly among themselves.
At last Reginald belched delicately and said, “A very fine meal, my lord. My compliments to your cook. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I, too, shall retire.”
“If you wish, I shall have someone bring you some mulled wine to your bedchamber,” his host offered with more graciousness, since Reginald was leaving. Roger signaled for Dudley to come toward the table.
Reginald’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes, Sir Roger. I would like that. Thank you very much.”
Roger kept his amusement to himself, though it seemed the young fool was taking an offer of mulled wine in much the same way another man would take an offer of a vast estate.
“Excuse me, Sir Roger,” Reginald continued as he rose to follow Dudley. “Thank you.” Reginald and Dudley headed toward the stairs, with Reginald pausing to greet some of the guests on his way out of the hall.
When they were gone, Roger took a large gulp of his wine.
“That was an interesting display of childishness, Roger,” Albert noted dryly, “although I was pleased and surprised to see that you were not totally without some manners.”
“Is it childish to make it plain that I do not care to have my meals interrupted for any reason? Is it childish to expect to be informed of a delay? Nor do I consider it childish to be less than impressed when a person I do not know dares to chastise me in my own hall about my tenants and my bridges.”
“I’ve warned you often enough about that bridge. Besides, they are your guests.”
“Bridge or not, they were late.”
“If the bridge is out, they couldn’t have sent a messenger on ahead.”
“So they should have stayed at an inn.”
“She said she was anxious to meet you.”
Roger’s only response to this observation was a derisive grunt as he reached for more wine.
“Granted she’s not very attractive, but there is a certain something—”
“She’s a shrew. Or a harpy. Call her what you will. I hate red hair and blemished skin.”
“She knew she was in the right, and she acted like it,” Albert said firmly as he eyed his companion. “I found her rather refreshing. And those are freckles, not blemishes, and there were only ten.”
“You counted?” Roger raised one eyebrow speculatively. “If you think her such a prize, why don’t you marry her?”
Albert flushed and looked away. “You know why not. Besides, you made the bargain, not me.”
“With that buffoon Reginald. I must have been mad.”
“You could always break it off.”
“It is a tempting thought.”
“She has a fine body,” Albert noted while his attention wandered to the huntsman, Bredon, who was tossing bones to his favorite hounds. The dogs yapped and scrambled through the rushes for the tasty titbits.
“A fine body she displayed to the entire hall,” Roger replied, still sounding annoyed. In actuality, he was recalling her exquisite shape. Indeed, she might have been nude, the way that soaking gown clung to her body, with her nipples puckered from the chill.
“It could be worse, you know,” Albert said. “She could be much uglier.”
“She could be much prettier, too.” Roger shoved back his chair and stood up. “With courtesy in mind, I believe I shall see that my guests have been attended to properly. Is Dudley back yet?”
“Here, my lord!” the steward replied, rushing forward.
“Where did you put them?”
“The two new chambers in the upper hall, my lord.”
“Good. Now have something to eat and get yourself dry or you’ll catch your death. I have no desire to find myself another steward.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Ignoring the rest of his guests, Roger strode toward the stairs leading to the new upper hall, added within the past year. His castle was not a large one, but he had been expanding it since he had come of age and been confirmed as lord dependent upon swearing fealty to Baron DeGuerre.
His plans had not included marrying the half-Saxon half sister of Reginald Chilcott. To be sure, Reginald was willing to be generous to get her off his hands, but Roger didn’t doubt that with his looks and reputation, he could have married a very wealthy, influential woman instead of this red-haired termagant.
Did she think him as foolish as Reginald, to be tricked by that little act of ostensible contrition? He had seen the determined, haughty look in her eyes as she came toward him in the hall. Those big green eyes of hers said everything: that she was a stubborn, arrogant creature who had been insulted and meant to let him know it. It had only been toward the last that she affected the docile woman’s role.
She would soon discover that he was not so easily fooled, although he had to admit that she had been wise enough to be subtle with her criticism.
But God’s teeth! She was not the type of wife he wanted. He wanted lineage, wealth, beauty and submissiveness. He wanted a wife who would understand who ruled this castle.
Of course, there would be compensations for such obedience, not the least of which would be provided by her husband’s prowess in the nuptial bed. Every woman Sir Roger de Montmorency had ever made love to had said he was the best.
Mina Chilcott would have to learn that he would not countenance another such performance as she had given tonight, and the lesson might as well start immediately.
Roger took the short flight of stairs toward the upper chambers two at a time and strode along the narrow corridor, the resounding thump of his boots on the wooden floor sounding like a drumbeat heralding the start of battle.
As for Mina Chilcott’s compensation, that would have to wait.
Chapter Two
Roger rapped once on the door to his betrothed’s bedchamber, then shoved it open. He had not bothered to check the preparations for this guest chamber, but a quick glance assured him that all was ready and quite comfortable, from the brazier that provided some warmth against the chill to the new tapestries on the walls and the thick coverings on the bed. He had even purchased a carpet for this room, an almost unheard-of luxury that he intended to have moved to his own bedchamber after the wedding.
Hilda stood inside. She half turned and giggled when she saw who was in the doorway. Roger looked past Hilda to encounter the frosty gaze of his bride. Clad only in her wet white shift, Mina Chilcott glared at him while she reached for her gown, which had been laid out to dry on the only chair. He had thought her soaking gown had displayed her body outrageously; he instantly realized that a wet linen shift was truly next to nothing. He could see the pink tinge of her nipples and the reddish triangle between her legs.
He suddenly realized he had never made love with a redheaded woman, and the idea was not completely distasteful to him.
Mina grabbed hold of her gown and held it against herself in a futile and late attempt at modesty. “Sir, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” she demanded.
Roger forced his
expression to remain impassive as he returned his gaze to her face. His bride was not as unattractive as she had appeared before, now that she was no longer chilled. Her skin was smooth and pale, pink tinged with a blush that hid her freckles. Her drying hair no longer hung limply about her slender shoulders, but waved and curled about her heart-shaped face. Her eyes, which had looked green in the hall, appeared bluish gray in the flickering light of the candles. They dominated her features and offset the luscious fullness of her lips. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his judgment of her.
“Hilda, go below,” he ordered, his tone tempered by his continuing appraisal of the woman who was to be his wife.
With a toss of her head, Hilda obeyed. However, she came much closer to him than necessary on her way to the door as if to remind him of the countless nights of mutual pleasure they had shared. Unfortunately for Hilda, he had already decided to end their liaison. For one thing, as aptly demonstrated by her departure, the serving wench was becoming far too impertinent. For another, once he vowed to be faithful to his wife, he had every intention of abiding by his pledge. His honor would not allow him to do otherwise, even if he didn’t particularly care for the woman. He simply would not break any vow, for any reason.
“Sir Roger, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” Mina Chilcott repeated, her tone calmer and her eyes much more enigmatic than they had been at their first meeting, or even moments before.
Sir Roger de Montmorency was reminded that he had intended to put his betrothed firmly and forever in her place. He was used to unquestioning obedience, respect or fear, and his wife was not going to be any different. “Perhaps I came to assure myself that my servants were attending to you properly,” he said. “You implied that I was somewhat remiss in my supervision.”
The Norman's Heart Page 2