At least the guests appeared to be enjoying the celebratory meal. Dudley had compelled the cooks to outdo themselves. Every dish of meat had a special sauce, and many smelled of an extravagant use of spices. The bread was wonderful, the fruit as fresh as could be, and the wine the best.
The decorations in the hall had been enhanced, too, with more flowers and linens. Reginald had provided a multitude of candles, so that the large room would continue to be brightly lit as the evening wore on.
Unfortunately, Roger’s pleasure in regarding the scene before him was definitely diminished by his growing obsession with the woman sitting beside him, now his wife.
He had expected his bride to be a vain, foolish woman of no particular beauty. He had anticipated finding his wedding ceremony no more exciting than any trade arrangement, and his wedding feast to be simply an expensive extension of the transaction. He had thought that he would take more pleasure in the baron’s company than anyone else’s, and find his new wife’s presence less distracting than that of a horsefly.
Instead, he had discovered that Mina Chilcott was quite unlike any other woman he had ever met. As she sat beside him tonight, he couldn’t help noticing how the green gown she was wearing enhanced her eyes and brought out the subtle purity of her skin beneath the few freckles, or how the gold circlet emphasized the golden highlights in her astonishing red hair.
His first impression of Mina, though, which had been rapidly corroborated, was of her fortitude and astounding inner strength, not usually qualities that excited one about a woman.
Tonight, it dawned on Roger de Montmorency that to win Mina Chilcott’s respect would be no common thing, and to have her desire him would be worth any effort it might take. He didn’t doubt that later, when they were alone in bed and he caressed her with his expert hands, he would bring her such ecstasy as she had never known. Yes, he would earn both her respect and her desire. More than that, he didn’t need or want.
Harboring such thoughts, Roger slipped into a companionable mood. Now he could overlook Father Damien’s mumbling of the blessing outside the chapel that had made him a married man, although at the time he had ground his teeth with frustration. Instead, he remembered the moment he had put the ring on Mina’s slender finger and repeated Father Damien’s words. She had not trembled or blushed, but thrust her hand toward him with a vigor he found exciting. No timid wench, Mina, and he hoped she would do everything with such enthusiasm.
Glancing at her seated to his right, he noticed that she was not eating, despite the plethora of fine foods placed before her. Well, he supposed many brides lacked that kind of an appetite.
“A bountiful feast,” the baron, who was seated on Roger’s left, remarked, as if he had been reading his host’s mind. “You’re not eating much.”
Startled, Roger looked at his own trencher and saw the baron’s observation was not without merit.
“I regret I cannot stay beyond today,” the baron said.
“I, too, my lord,” Roger responded.
“Reginald told me you have invited him to remain with you?”
Both men turned and looked to the other side of Mina, where Reginald Chilcott was already displaying every sign of getting drunk. “I’m glad,” the baron said quietly. “He’s a nonsensical young man, but I have hopes he might improve under the proper supervision.”
“I’ve invited him to stay until after Michaelmas.”
“Excellent. And then he plans to return to France?”
“I believe so.”
“Try to persuade him to stay in England over the winter. As I said, I have hopes for Reginald, but I am not so sanguine about his brother, Herwin, whom I understand is getting quite a reputation for viciousness.” Roger remembered Mina’s scars and wondered if this Herwin was responsible for any of them.
Hilda sauntered over to the table and began to clear away the trenchers and platters, moving very slowly, with her eyes demurely lowered. She took a very long time when it came to the remains of the baron’s food, and as she finally moved off, the baron turned to Roger with a questioning look. “What’s her name?”
“Hilda, my lord.”
“Is she married?”
“No, my lord.” By now, Roger was very aware that Mina was watching them, and that she had been watching Hilda, too.
“Send her to me later.”
Hilda overheard the baron’s order and stood motionless, her face pale and her eyes wide. Roger knew Hilda enjoyed being pursued, once she had made her desires known, but this blunt command was not the same. The baron’s order made Hilda look like a common whore and Roger feel like a pander. Still, this was the baron....
Mina, her green-gray eyes flashing with what could only be anger, broke into the men’s conversation. “Baron DeGuerre,” she began softly so that only those closest could hear, yet so firmly that there could be no mistaking her outraged feelings, “if you would care for sport, I suggest you find a brothel. My home is no such place, and I will not allow any man to treat it like one.”
The baron’s eyes narrowed and Roger waited with bated breath, too shocked and angry to speak. No one had ever, ever, dared speak to the baron in such a manner in all the years Roger had known him, not even those nobles closest to the king. Although he quite agreed with Mina, he wasn’t sure this was the appropriate response to the powerful Baron DeGuerre’s command.
Fortunately, the baron did not seem overly annoyed as he rose slowly and took Mina’s hand in his. “Forgive me, my lady. It was not my intention to offer you an insult.” With great deliberation, he kissed her hand—and Roger was suddenly, absolutely convinced the baron wanted Mina.
God’s blood, he himself had barely touched her, and she was his own wife! But that look in the baron’s eyes—Roger had seen it before, and he knew what it meant. Baron DeGuerre lusted after Mina even more than he had for Hilda!
To think he had idolized this man, given him all the respect due a king, only to have the lustful, base villain dare to look at his wife that way....
The sly speculation in the baron’s eyes disappeared with a rapidity that made Roger question its original existence.
The baron glanced at Roger, who, though somewhat relieved, had to struggle to keep his face impassive. “If you will excuse me, Roger,” the baron said with a far too astute expression, “I have a long journey to one of my more northern estates tomorrow, so I shall retire.” His gaze shifted to Mina. “Alone, my lady.”
In a small show of defiance, Roger took his time getting to his feet as the baron made a bow to Mina. Then, to Roger’s even greater astonishment, the baron smiled at his wife with what seemed like brotherly affection. Perhaps that had not been lust at all in the baron’s eyes but, incredible as it might seem, simple admiration. “I envy you your obvious good fortune, Roger.”
“I thank you, Baron DeGuerre,” the groom replied, thankful he had not voiced his earlier objections.
Everyone rose and bowed as the baron strode out of the hall. Roger sat down heavily and turned to Mina, who remained standing. He didn’t know what to say, although he had every intention of remarking upon her unladylike brazenness. Not tonight, perhaps. Tomorrow would do well enough.
“I believe I, too, shall retire, my lord,” she said flatly.
Roger had planned on remaining in the hall for the lavish entertainment that Dudley had arranged and Reginald paid for. However, he had never liked either minstrels, with their ridiculous fantasies of love, or dancing, and there was the nuptial bed awaiting, so he was quick to stand before she moved away. “Good night, everyone,” he said loudly. “Stay and enjoy the music. My wife and I are going to go to bed.”
Some in the hall gave each other knowing looks. Several of the soldiers raised their cups in a silent salute. A few of the noblewomen, and not just the younger ones, sighed softly.
Filled with a growing sense of excitement and anticipation and quite ready to forgive his new wife’s insolence—at least for one night—Roger grabbed Mina, lift
ed her into his arms and carried her from the hall.
Whatever Mina had expected at the end of the wedding feast, it certainly had not included being swept up into Sir Roger de Montmorency’s arms and carried off like a piece of baggage, or with several of the wedding guests cheering like an unruly mob of peasants in the marketplace.
But they were not peasants, and she was not some peasant wench. She was a noblewoman from a more important family than many of those gathered in the hall.
Afraid of falling, she clung to Sir Roger tightly as he took the stairs two at a time, until she realized that she seemed to weigh no more than a piece of cloth to him. He had to be very strong. Extremely aware of the powerful arms around her, she struggled to breathe normally and was relieved when he finally reached the topmost chamber in the tower adjoining the hall. He kicked the door open and then set her down. Slowly. With a meaningful smirk on his darkly handsome face.
She still couldn’t breathe properly, which was quite absurd.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly, and then he smiled. A superior smile. A vastly knowledgeable smile.
She stepped away and turned, spying the carafe of wine on the small table. Then it was her turn to smirk, and be thankful that she had taken care of her sick father. From a necessary habit of frugality, she had kept the remainder of the sleeping potion the alchemist had prepared for him. It had little taste, and the strength of the fine wine should easily mask it. “Would you care for some wine?” she asked, approaching the table and reaching for one of the goblets.
“If you will join me,” he replied, coming close to her. Much too close. His proximity made her hands shake as she poured the wine into both goblets. With a tremulous smile, she held one out to him.
His hand brushed hers as he took it. Quickly she stepped away. Roger picked up the other goblet and gave it to her, saying, “Please, my lady. You look as if you need it.”
She pretended to sip the wine, and watched carefully as Roger downed a large gulp. “This is very good,” he commented.
“It is a gift from Reginald.”
He set down the goblet. “Come here, wife.”
When would the drug take effect? she wondered desperately. It had worked quickly on her father, but he had been old, thin and ill. Perhaps she had used too little.
Roger reached out and took hold of her goblet, setting it down beside his. “I said, come here, wife.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close, so that she was pressed up against his muscular chest.
She couldn’t look at him and didn’t know what to do. She had little experience of men in general, and none of men trying to bed her. Was she supposed to feel this way, her heart pounding, her legs weak, her body hot? Frightened and excited at the same time?
He ran his strong, slender hands up her arms, then tilted her chin so that she had to look up into his face and his intense, hungry eyes. “You don’t have to fear me tonight, Mina. I will be gentle with you.”
How many other virgins had he said that to? How many other women had he taken into his bed?
Did it matter?
Then he kissed her. Gently, tenderly, as if he cared for her.
Mina had never been kissed in her life, either. Indeed, she had never known gentle touch of any kind since her mother’s death when she had been but five years old. At once, a flood of emotions poured over her—surprise, delight, exhilaration—then all were swamped with a single devastating fear.
He was making her weak.
She had vowed that she would never let anyone make her feel weak and helpless ever again.
Mercifully he pulled away, a confused and uncertain look on his face as he shifted slightly and put a hand to his forehead. He walked slowly to the bed as if he were on the deck of a ship, and sat on the bed’s edge. “I don’t...I feel...”
“Are you ill?” she asked.
“Help me with my boots,” he replied dully.
Slowly she went toward him and bent down to take hold of one of his feet. Suddenly he grabbed hold of her arms and yanked her into the bed, then rolled so that his weight was on her and she couldn’t move. His lips crushed hers, and his hands fumbled with the lacings of her gown.
What was he doing? What was happening? Why was he being so rough? Did he suspect?
She could smell the wine on his breath, knew he had drunk from the goblet. Unsure of what to do, she could only lie still, submissive, convinced her plan was a failure and hoping it would be over soon. She would not struggle. She would not protest.
Hot tears stung her eyes as he continued to tear at the lacings impatiently. One hand reached inside her bodice to caress her roughly.
Then he gave a low moan and was still, his body a dead weight on top of hers.
For a long moment, Mina could only lie panting heavily, relief slowly replacing her terror. Afterward she cautiously eased herself out from under her husband’s slumbering body and stood, looking down at him.
The great Sir Roger de Montmorency, brought low by a woman. How vast was her satisfaction, until she remembered the response his kiss had inspired. She hadn’t guessed a simple touching of the lips could affect her so.
Perhaps it was only because it was the first time she had experienced a kiss that she had enjoyed his embrace. Roger certainly hadn’t felt anything approaching her awe, not to judge by his subsequent loutish behavior. Maybe that was typical of grooms on their wedding night.
Mina didn’t know, and she didn’t care to find out. He had bragged to the baron of his manly prowess, and she had set out to destroy that overweening male pride, to prove that she was more clever than he, and she wasn’t finished yet.
She went to the table, took the carafe of wine and poured the remainder out the window. With more haste she emptied both goblets there, too. She went to the bed and started to disrobe her husband, gomg carefully at first, then with less gentleness when it was clear he was not going to wake with every movement. Finally he was naked.
Feeling somewhat guilty but more curious, Mina allowed herself to look at her husband’s body. Again she noticed that he was extremely well built, with powerful shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His long, lean legs were no doubt developed from years of riding and hunting. As for the other parts of his body, she had little with which to compare, but she would not be surprised if he felt qualified to brag about that, too.
She went around the bed and drew back the covers, exposing the clean white linen. Taking Roger’s dagger, she pricked her finger and squeezed out a few drops of blood, watching bright red fall onto pure white. Then, she shoved Roger under the covers and pulled them over him.
She stood beside the bed and wiggled out of her torn dress, reflecting that although she hated to see such a pretty garment destroyed, it was in a worthy cause. She crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. With even more regret, she took hold of the neck of her silk tunic and jerked, tearing it, too. Going to one of the goblets, she dipped her fingers into the small bit of wine left and rubbed some spots on her arm, staining the skin so that it looked like purpling bruises.
Her preparations finished, she sat in the chair to wait until Roger awoke.
Roger moaned softly and rolled over in the bed. His head hurt as if he had been trampled by a horse. Several horses. Big destriers, too. What had happened? Wine had never affected him like this before.
He ran his hand over the bed. Where was Mina...his wife. He had vague yet pleasant memories of kissing her last night. Yes, a gentle, delicate kiss to lessen her anxiety. That was what he had meant it to be. He had expected her response to be in keeping with what he already knew of her—cold, unfeeling, as if performing nothing more than a necessary duty.
Instead, to his surprise, her reaction had been tentative and vulnerable. Absolutely virginal, but not without more than a hint of passion. A completely breathtaking sensation of genuine desire had come over him. He had been shocked by that, too, so astounded he had felt light-headed and had to sit.
Once safely on the bed,
he had looked at her again, expecting to see that virginal innocence in her eyes. Instead, he had perceived a calculated expectation there, a shrewdness that made him certain the emotion of the first kiss had been a fraud.
Then he had recalled the way she spoke to the baron, his overlord. Was it her intention to rule here? To take command, starting in the bedchamber? He had decided at once that must never happen.
So he had called her to him and kissed her again, forcefully. And then...and then... everything seemed a blank in his memory.
Slowly and cautiously, he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was Mina’s wedding dress, a disheveled heap on the floor opposite the bed, with her obviously torn shift beside it.
Then he saw Mina sitting in the chair, her hair covering her face and her head leaning against her hand as if she had slept in that position. Her feet were bare, the nails tinged blue from the cold floor. She wore a gown that he had not seen before, a plain and simple blue one with long, tight sleeves.
“Mina?” he asked hoarsely, shifting to a sitting position and realizing he was quite naked beneath the sheets.
She slowly turned to him, a questioning look in her bluish gray eyes and a frown on her full lips. God’s holy rood, he must have been mad, imagining that initial maidenly yet passionate response to his kiss. “Yes?” she inquired defiantly.
“What time of day is it?”
“Dawn.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Because you are there.”
There wasn’t loathing in her voice, or indeed any strong emotion at all, which made her simple, unexpected reply worse. It was as if only an idiot would welcome sharing his bed, and perhaps other things, as well. “It’s my bed, and now it’s yours,” he replied, trying not to sound annoyed.
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