Dudley rose and bowed, a pleasant smile on his face. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I have other duties to attend to.”
“Yes, of course,” Mina replied thoughtfully, wondering what it would take to make the curt, forbidding Sir Roger de Montmorency laugh now. And if it was worth the trouble to try.
Chapter Eight
Roger’s mood did not improve this time. He stayed angry all through the evening meal, especially when he noticed the way Dudley, Hilda and all the other servants regarded Mina with respect and approval. Somehow, and he wasn’t sure exactly how she had accomplished this, she had wormed her way into their affection. To him, she was still cold and distant, but among the others, her icy reserve melted away.
Even the remainder of the noble company were obviously comfortable and quite content, and blissfully unaware that he considered their good humor as something of a personal affront. It was as if it didn’t matter whether he was there or not.
Roger could almost hear Albert gently admonishing him for being childish again. However, Albert was too engrossed in listening to Mina detail how she had spent her afternoon to pay attention to him. It was as if Albert had never heard such a fascinating revelation of domestic trivia.
The food, including the most delicious mince pie Roger had ever tasted, was finally cleared away and people scattered for the evening. Some of the men began to play at chess and dice; some couples decided to dance to the music of the minstrel or listen to his songs, and the rest of the women retired to embroidery.
Roger took no notice of where Mina went or what she did. She was not the only one with resolve, and he was resolved not to pay any attention to her. Instead, he left the hall completely and went to the battlements, climbing up the steps to the wall-walk around the perimeter of the castle.
He surveyed his lands, spread out below his castle. From the hall below drifted sounds of merriment and music, muted and disembodied as though they came from some other world far, far away.
Down in the small village, a few dim lights showed. Smoke curled slowly upward from the wooden houses. The alehouse door opened and a man staggered outside, illuminated by the lights inside and clearly the worse for drink. Two others hurried after him to lend him their shoulders for support. A woman laughed, a short burst of joy that was at once mirthful and understanding. Somewhere farther away, a dog barked. The sky, darkening quickly, still shone purple and indigo on the horizon, with no clouds to make a pattern.
Roger idly wondered where Madeline was. Perhaps she had already reached her new home with her Welsh husband, and was looking at this same sky. Sometimes, during the years they had been separated, he had looked at the sky late at night or at dawn and thought of her, trying to have some link with the sister who had been taken away from him.
How well he remembered that terrible period after his parents had died of a fever within days of each other! He had begged Lord Gervais to take her, too, but Lord Gervais had said he could not, that she should be with the holy sisters, that they would take care of her. Roger had tried to believe it, but when the time actually came for Madeline to leave, Roger had to be forcefully restrained from running after her. It had taken the passing of years, as well as hard work and responsibility, to lessen the pain. If mere brotherly affection could cause such agony, he would very gladly do without any other kind of love.
Such a feeling was just a fantasy concocted by minstrels and lonely noblewomen, anyway. Something to lend excitement to their day, or make them feel important. He had no need for such fantasies. He had plenty of excitement. Nor had he ever lacked for female companionship, at least of one kind.
But perhaps, he admitted to himself as he stood alone, only one kind. His experience of the opposite sex had been limited to brief interludes of necessary physical release. Well, what more did a man need?
All he had expected from marriage was a wife to oversee his household and bear his children, with the additional compensation of having a woman available whenever he wanted one. He had simply not considered how his life might change once he was...domesticated.
God’s wounds, he sounded like some kind of wild animal! But then, maybe he had acted like one. He still couldn’t believe he had beaten Mina, not after Fitzroy had made it very clear to the squires that it was dishonorable to hurt a woman, who was by nature so much weaker than a man.
If only he could remember what had happened. He must have hurt Mina. In the kitchen, she had recoiled from him as if she loathed his slightest touch.
Frustrated by his inability to remember, Roger picked up a stone and threw it over the battlements with all his might. It hit the moat below, a small sound in the stillness.
A sentry gave a warning cry and hurried toward Roger, his mail jingling.
“It is no cause for alarm,” Roger said to the startled soldier, who stiffened to ramrod straightness when he saw who he had challenged. “Indeed, I am pleased that you were so alert.”
The sentry relaxed a little, but not too much. Evidently he had proper respect for his lord. “It looks to be a clear night,” Roger said companionably.
The sentry nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
“What’s your name?”
“Egbert, my lord.”
From somewhere beyond the moat, they both heard a woman’s giggle, which quickly changed to a low moan with a distinctly pleasure filled characteristic. Peering below, Roger saw a couple embracing passionately. He glanced at Egbert and jerked his head. “Somebody else is celebrating, I think.”
Egbert slid sideways toward the parapet, his back still absolutely straight, and leaned over sideways to see. “That’s Ridley. He’s gettin’ married next week, my lord.”
“Ah, yes. Ridley’s the one with half a thumb?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Not very clever, cutting himself and a loaf of bread at the same time, was it?”
Egbert relaxed a little more and nearly smiled. “No, my lord. He hasn’t touched wine since, neither.”
Roger smiled, too, and thought with some satisfaction that Mina wasn’t the only one who could have both respect and affection from underlings. He simply wasn’t used to having to work for it, and he had not planned to do so when it came to his wife. Not that he thought he should have to earn her respect or affection. It was his wife’s duty to please him, not his to please her. On the other hand, Mina might be worth an attempt at reconciliation, when he remembered the kiss they had shared.
After all, he wasn’t a beast. He was a nobleman. He would just take care to be very gentle, and like Ridley, he would stay away from wine.
“Stay alert, Egbert,” Roger said jovially as he turned on his heel and headed toward the hall, whistling tunelessly.
Mina decided she would not wait for Roger to return from wherever he had gone. He had said no word to anyone of his intentions when he had left the hall, or his destination, or when he would come back. He had simply stalked silently out, his face as grim as it had been for the entire meal, when he had sat beside her as if she were some kind of effigy in a tomb. Without the recovered Reginald and the ever-courteous Sir Albert to converse with, the meal would have been tedious in the extreme.
The whores of the alehouse in the village came to mind as a possible explanation for her husband’s continuing absence. She had heard Reginald speak of two alewives when they had first approached Montmorency Castle. It seemed he had fond memories of them.
Thrust a man like Sir Roger de Montmorency to corrupt a weak-willed fellow like Reginald!
As for Roger’s patronage of such an establishment, it simply didn’t matter. In fact, she was glad to be relieved of an onerous duty. As she had told Reginald on her wedding day, she knew what transpired between married couples to produce children, but it sounded disgusting. She could do very well without that intimacy.
With that in mind, Mina decided it would be better if she were already asleep, should Roger return with such activity in mind. She was, after all, his wife, and he would be within his r
ights to compel her to...
Suddenly Mina moved her wooden embroidery frame to the side of her chair and rose, addressing Hilda. “Put the sewing away, please. I am going to bed.”
The other noblewomen who were sewing or talking quietly among themselves looked her way. “I bid you all good night,” Mina said with somewhat forced affability as she turned to leave the comfort of the hearth.
Reginald, who was embroiled in a game of dice, didn’t notice that she was nearby, so she didn’t bother to say good-night to him. Nor did she wish to disturb Sir Albert, who was listening to the minstrel sing a mournful lay, obviously engrossed in the lyrics. His expression was so sorrowful that she was sure he would not welcome any interruption. As she passed by, it occurred to her that she couldn’t imagine the gruff Roger listening to a minstrel with such an expression. For that matter, neither would she. She had little patience for the fantasies minstrels sang about.
Once alone in her bedchamber, she drew off her headdress and rotated her stiff neck. She would have to adjust the frame of her embroidery tomorrow, she thought as she went to her small chest and took out her hairbrush. She walked to the narrow window and looked outside at the dark night sky. How lovely it was, with the stars shining above like fireflies in heaven.
With slow, pensive motions, Mina began to brush her hair. The gentle tugging on her scalp relaxed her and provided a welcome relief from the confines of the headdress. Perhaps she should consider committing a shocking breach of decorum and go with her hair uncovered tomorrow. It would certainly be more comfortable.
Sighing, she turned around—and caught sight of Roger standing in the doorway, his hand on the latch, watching her with his dark, intense eyes. She stared at him for a long moment, startled at first, then determined to hide her surprise and confusion. She swallowed hard and realized her hand shook as she clutched her brush. She lowered it quickly. “Have you never seen a woman brush her hair before?” she asked defiantly when he still did not speak or look away.
“Not in a very long time,” he answered, finally coming inside the room and closing the door, shutting them in alone together. “You have beautiful hair, despite its color.”
She felt a twinge of anger at his semicompliment. “I brush it every night,” she replied, trying to sound matter-of-fact. She put the brush on the chest and faced him.
He came farther into the room, then halted, his gaze still penetrating, the only sound that of their breathing, the only motion provided by the flickering flame of the candles. Did he feel the tension between them, too, as strong as the odor of the melting beeswax?
Wordlessly, still staring, he started to undo his tunic. Suddenly her courage abandoned her, and she quickly turned toward the wall, her heart pounding in her chest, her face warm, scarcely daring to breathe. Why had he come here? What was he doing?
Coward! she admonished herself. Face him!
She could not, nor could she see that Roger’s hands were not quite steady. “Everyone seems quite taken with you,” he remarked behind her.
Did he mean himself, as well? she wondered. What if he did? What if he didn’t? She wasn’t sure which would be worse. “I am trying to...” Her voice trailed off feebly. She wasn’t sure anymore just what she was trying to do.
“Be a fine example of a nobleman’s wife?”
He was close behind her now. She could scarcely think, remembering his first kiss the night before and the stirring sensation of his lips upon hers. Her legs felt curiously weak, her mouth dry.
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His touch was light. Gentle. Kind. She, so unused to tenderness, felt confused and powerless when he held her and scrutinized her face.
She could not bear to think that he would see her vulnerability and uncertainty which she feared she could no longer hide, so she fastened her gaze on his broad chest, which was rising and falling with a rapidity that nearly matched her own. A scattering of dark hairs covered the exposed flesh revealed by his unlaced tunic, power and virility lurking beneath that surface.
Was it so wrong for her to be weaker than he? Was it possible for her, with her woman’s body, her woman’s desire, to continue to resist him?
“You are doing very well, Mina,” he said softly, his deep voice almost a caress. “All you need do to please me completely is obey me.”
Mina stiffened and in that instant, new resolve and new strength filled her. “I am a thinking, feeling woman, not some beast for you to command,” she answered, every word a reproach, “nor a dog for you to train!” With flashing eyes and an angry heart, she twisted away from him. “I do not need your approval, Sir Roger de Montmorency. I know that I am doing ‘very well,’ as I did ‘very well’ tending my father—much good it did me!”
“There is no need for you to speak this way. I meant my words as a compliment.” His expression was shocked, incredulous, perhaps even disappointed, but she didn’t care.
“I am not a simpleton, my lord. I know what you meant. You want obedience. You want a dull, unthinking creature who will run your household, not upsetting the steward or servants, of course. One who will lie in your bed, submit to your embraces and bear your children. A fool with no more intelligence than a brood mare. Very well.”
With quick, furious movements, Mina undid the lacings of her gown and stepped out of it. She threw it over the chest and swiftly yanked off her shift. Naked and too indignant to be ashamed, she went to the bed and lay down, glaring at him. “So here I lie, Sir Roger. Do what you will, and if it pleases you to think you have married an obedient little wife, think it. For my part, I will do my duty and while you take your pleasure of me, I will ponder household matters.”
Roger’s face darkened into a scowl as he moved toward her, his motion like a cat about to spring as he circled the bed, his gaze riveted on her face. “Who is it you think you are speaking to? Reginald? Or some other dolt? You cannot mean to speak thus to me, Sir Roger de Montmorency, your lord and husband.” He sat upon the bed and slid toward her, coming closer and closer with agonizing slowness. “Or perhaps I have been tricked. Perhaps you are not, in truth, Lady Mina de Montmorency, but some shrewish alewife brought here to play a jest upon me.”
Mina sat up and inched away from him, very aware of her nakedness as he continued to stare at her.
“Is this what happened last night, Mina? Did you make me angry? Did you treat me like a recalcitrant child until I hit you?” He smiled, but it was a cruel, leering smile that chilled her to the marrow of her bones. “Is that the way you prefer to take your pleasure, with a little pain?”
Aghast at his depraved suggestion and frightened by the cold anger in his eyes, she lifted her hand to slap his face. Before she could, he caught it in his strong grip, his fingers like the talons of a hawk.
“Leave me alone!” she cried, twisting her arm to make him let go. When she was free, she scrambled away.
He was off the bed in an instant, his expression cold, his eyes pitiless. “I won’t beat you, Mina. If I did before, you have my apologies, and my word that I will never do so again.” He went to the door, then paused on the threshold. “Since you find my presence so distressing, I will go away, at least for a little while. I have a smaller estate to the north that I should visit, and that will be as good a place as any to go.” He ran his impertinent gaze over her once more. “Perhaps I would have done better to let the baron have you, after all. Unfortunately, the marriage cannot be undone. We shall both have to make the best of it. Farewell, Mina.” He swiftly left the room.
When Mina was quite certain he was gone, she drew in a great, shuddering breath and crawled under the nurturing warmth of the bedclothes, not bothering to blow out the candles. Shaking with suppressed emotion and the aftermath of her fear, she stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling.
Oh, dear God, what was she going to do? She should be glad he was gone. He was so harsh, so stern, so impossible. The accusation he had made, that she would want pain to give her pleasure, w
as abominable. Unnatural. Unforgivable.
Yet he had been tender at first. And he had apologized, albeit angrily. How often did a man like Roger express any regret? To a man, probably rarely. To a woman, surely never. But he had apologized to her.
What had his last words about the baron meant? It was impossible that such a man as Baron DeGuerre would ever want her. Yet Roger thought he had. He had even looked...what? Could he have been jealous?
If that were so, his jealousy and his grudging apology, which had to denote some respect for her, were the greatest compliments she had ever had in her life.
Then he had said the marriage could not be undone. Was that what he truly wanted? Perhaps.
Was it what she wanted? Mina forced herself to examine her innermost feelings, and the answer they provided offered little comfort. If someone had ever bothered to ask her the kind of man she would have wanted for her husband, she suspected the answer would very nearly have described Sir Roger de Montmorency.
Yes, she wanted Roger—she wanted him to respect her, to treat her as an equal, even to love her, if such a feeling truly existed—but only on her terms.
Nonetheless, as the night wore wearily on, she began to wonder if by trying to prove that she was the cleverer person, she had made the biggest mistake of her life.
Outside in the inner ward, under the shadow of his hall, Roger leaned against the cold stone walls, sick at heart, now convinced he was not the fine nobleman he had believed himself to be. For years he had prided himself on his cool detachment, on his ability to think rationally before making a deliberate attack. He had always prided himself on being the rational lover, too, practicing his skills with women the way other men practiced jousting. Mina had torn away his confidence there, as well.
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