by Jody Hedlund
But at the same time, I realized he could do nothing less than what he’d been born to do: be a champion and fight for those in need, even if it meant he might sacrifice his life in the process.
As though sensing the danger of what was to come, and sensing that he might not see me again, he dropped his reins and crossed to me in two swift strides. His arms closed about me, and he dragged me against him in a crushing hug that was followed by his lips claiming mine. His kiss seared me deeply. Each move of his lips against mine told me of how precious I was to him, how much he loved me, and that I would be his through eternity.
When he finally broke our kiss, we were both breathless. I had to work hard to hold back my tears. For in my heart, I realized the kiss was also his good-bye, and that it could possibly be the last time I ever tasted of our love.
With one last, piercing look, he released me, leaving me cold and shivering in spite of the warm early summer sunshine. As I watched him mount, I prayed fervently that the kiss would not be the last, and that we would still have many more in the days and years to come. And I prayed that he would not only be able to return to me, but be able to do so swiftly.
“You take my heart with you,” I whispered in a choked voice as he spurred his horse away. “Godspeed.”
Chapter
1
Maidstone Castle, Hampton April, in the year of our Lord 1391
“YOU HAVE ONE MONTH TO PAY THE DEBT,” CAPTAIN FOXE stated, his tone as rigid as the plate armor he wore. “Or we will attack Maidstone and claim what you owe by force.”
My backbone stiffened and pushed me to my full height. “Your master can’t expect me to come up with the funds in one month. I need at least two.”
“You get one.” Foxe’s voice lowered into a menacing growl, revealing pointed incisors that seemed too sharp for any one man. My fingers automatically grazed the smooth, worn hilt of the arming sword that rarely left my side, even in the privacy of my home.
At my reflex, Foxe’s gloved hand moved to his own sword. Although he’d removed his helmet, his face was dark in the scant light afforded by the two narrow, glass-encased windows that graced one wall of the solar.
No, his face was not only shadowed, it was decidedly hostile.
“Lord Pitt has already waited six months.” Foxe’s gaze strayed to the silver candlesticks on the mantle above the large fireplace.
Although the flames on the hearth blazed and popped, the warmth didn’t touch me where I stood near my mother, who sat motionless in her chair. She hadn’t spoken since the porter had ushered Captain Foxe into the chamber. Instead, she held herself regally, with all the elegance and grace I fondly remembered about her from my infrequent visits over the years.
Nevertheless, even if Mother appeared outwardly composed, I caught the tremor in her fingers where she gripped the heavy linen of her skirt, and her exquisite embroidery work now lay abandoned in the sewing basket beside her chair. She’d called me home from Rivenshire, had practically begged me in her latest missive to return to Maidstone with all haste.
Now I knew why . . .
“Tell your master to rest assured,” I began again, “that whatever debts my brother, Lord Windsor, has incurred will be paid in full.”
I was tempted to stalk to the closed door that separated the solar from my brother’s sleeping chamber. I would have liked nothing better than to drag him out of bed, give him the thrashing he needed, and then make him sober up.
But as usual, I had to be the practical, level-headed son, the one who acted responsibly while my brother once again endangered the family. “We shall indeed pay the debts. But we—I—need two months.”
Foxe’s attention flitted to the ornate glass medallion gilded with silver that rested on a pedestal atop the mantel, next to the candleholders. It was one of my latest discoveries, a treasure I had found not a month past in an abandoned monastery.
Something in the way he studied the solar was too calculated, almost as if he were already counting the profits his master would gain if he took Maidstone Castle away from us. More likely, Foxe was considering how to line his own pockets and advance himself.
“That is all, Captain,” I said with a wave toward the door. “You’ve delivered your master’s message. You’re dismissed.”
The slide of metal against metal warned me of his intentions. Before his sword was even halfway out of its scabbard, I’d drawn mine and had it pointed at the bare spot in the armor at his neck. His eyes rounded for an instant with his surprise, but just as quickly flared with anger.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” I ground out. “It’s time for you to leave Maidstone.”
Foxe didn’t make a move. In fact, he didn’t so much as budge. There was a challenge in his eyes that I didn’t like. I might not have inherited a title like my brother, the Baron of Windsor, but I was still a knight and ranked far above a captain of the guard. Surely he knew his place. And certainly he knew that I wasn’t an ordinary knight. I’d been knighted by the Duke of Rivenshire, the brother of the High King. I’d trained with the duke and fought with the most skilled knights in the realm. I was one of the best.
Foxe’s lips finally pulled into a tight smile that said he did know his place but resented it, thought he deserved more, and likely took whatever he could to advance himself—regardless of those he hurt. “I’ll look forward to returning, Sir Bennet.” His emphasis on Sir was derisory, as though he didn’t consider me worthy of his respect. “And when I return, I’ll take great pleasure in ushering you out at sword point.”
Without another word, the captain spun and strode from the chamber, his footsteps echoing ominously.
Once he was gone, I exhaled a long breath and sheathed my sword. I’d run into men like Captain Foxe before—men who disdained the nobility but served them if doing so was profitable to themselves. I had no doubt Lord Pitt had promised Foxe a portion of the spoils that would come from taking over the Windsor estate.
“Do you think Lord Pitt will allow two months?” Mother rose from her chair. With her fair hair and complexion, she was as beautiful now as she was in the portrait my father had commissioned of her shortly after they’d wed. Even after rearing two sons, losing a husband, and weathering the recent problems, she had not a single strand of gray hair or a wrinkle.
She glided toward the fireplace and held her trembling hands out to the flames. The only physical sign of her aging was the course of bluish veins that were more marked in her hands. She was also more prone to worry, although she apparently had every reason to do so in this situation.
“I shall pen a letter to Lord Pitt this very morning,” I said, “and reassure him that we’ll repay him every pence we owe.”
“’Tis not just Lord Pitt we owe,” Mother said, rubbing her hands together and holding them out again toward the warmth. “We are in debt to many of the neighboring lords.”
The open ledgers on the desk behind me had already told me as much. I’d pored over them for hours. In fact, I’d done little else since arriving home two days ago.
I jabbed my fingers through my hair, then ran my hand over the scruff that had formed on my cheeks and chin. I did so to hold myself back from storming into my brother’s chamber and punching him full in the face like he deserved. It didn’t matter that he’d suffered unspeakably this past year. That was no excuse for squandering the family’s fortune.
“Aldric’s been a fool.” I couldn’t keep my frustration from lacing every word.
Both Mother’s head and shoulders drooped. “If only I could have done more to help him . . .”
“It’s not your fault.” She’d always been tenderhearted and permissive with her children and had left the disciplining to Father. Even so, I didn’t blame her for the problems. The only one to blame was Aldric. I breathed out the need to hit him and sucked in the guilt of distressing my mother. I quickly crossed to her and put a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
She lifted her wide blue eyes. That feature was the onl
y thing I’d inherited from her. The rest—dark hair, tanned complexion, height, and breadth of shoulders—had come from my father, who’d boasted of a long bloodline of Norsemen.
Mother smiled sadly and squeezed my arm in return. “I regret that your homecoming had to be under such dire circumstances.”
I thought of the parties the Duchess of Rivenshire had held that winter in honor of her husband’s return—of the tranquility, the games and laughter, and especially all of the ladies that had congregated around me. I suspected the duke had encouraged the gatherings in the hope that I would find at least one of the women suitable.
My other two companions, Sir Derrick and Sir Collin, had both wed not long after our return from the borderlands. But as of yet—even with all the young noblewomen I’d met in Rivenshire—no one had caught my attention. Of course, every woman paled in comparison with the fair and kind Lady Rosemarie, the woman I’d fought valiantly to win during the duke’s contest one year ago. I would never find anyone like her.
Nevertheless, I hadn’t given up hope that perhaps I’d find someone who came close. If my father had been able to captivate a woman like my mother, then surely I could find someone just as poised, elegant, and beautiful.
“I’m glad you called me home,” I assured my mother. “Now that I’m here, I shall do whatever I can to help.”
“What are your suggestions?”
“What have you tried?” Heat from the fire bathed me, taking away the chill that the rest of the room contained. Although spring had finally arrived with the coming of April, the thick stone walls of the keep had not entirely thawed.
“I have tried everything.” She sighed wearily, her shoulders dropping again. “Petitions, additional loans, higher taxes on the people. I have even considered dividing up the land among the neighbors.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Without the land and the earnings that come from it, we might as well hand over Maidstone altogether.”
“It could come to that,” she whispered.
“I won’t let it.” But once again I raked my fingers through my hair, lost as to how we could begin paying off the enormous debts my brother had accrued from his reckless gambling these past months. I’d already spent many hours on my knees in the chapel beseeching God for answers. But at the present, he seemed impossibly silent and far away.
Mother picked at a loose pearl sewn into the waist of her gown. “As all else has failed, I see only two ways left to save Maidstone.”
I watched her expectantly.
“I hesitate to bring them up,” she continued, “but I can find no other options.”
Something in her tone set me suddenly on edge. I had the suspicion I wouldn’t like her suggestions. And when she lifted apologetic eyes to mine, I was certain.
“We could sell the artwork and relics,” she said with a glance toward the new medallion I’d brought home.
“No.” Protest pierced me as sharply as the tip of a dagger. “Absolutely not.” Many of the heirlooms had been in the family for decades. They were priceless, not only for the monetary value they could bring, but because of the richness of their history, their art and beauty. Our family had become their keeper and preserver. It was our sacred duty for future generations.
“I know several nobles who might be interested—”
“I won’t even consider it.” No one else would realize their intrinsic worth. I’d rather lose Maidstone and keep the heirlooms than give them to someone who wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate them. After all the hard work my ancestors had done to safeguard them, I couldn’t relinquish them. “We wouldn’t get enough compensation from them to make the trade worthwhile.”
Mother sighed as though she’d anticipated my answer.
“What’s the second option?” I asked, steeling myself for something equally loathsome.
“You could make an arrangement,” she started, then plucked again at the loose pearl on her gown.
“What kind of arrangement?”
“Of marriage. To a wealthy young noblewoman.” I started to shake my head, but she quickly continued. “A large dowry might be enough to cover the debts—”
“I could never marry a woman for her money.” I fairly spat the words in my disgust. “When I marry, I want it to be for love.”
“But people marry for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is financial considerations.”
“I won’t use a woman in that way.”
“You would not be using. Such an alliance would be mutually beneficial.”
“And what do I have to offer a bride, especially now that my family is on the brink of poverty and facing the prospect of war with angry neighbors?” As the younger son, I’d had little to recommend to a woman in the first place. But now? I had even less.
“You have the Windsor name, and you have been knighted by the High King’s brother.” Her voice grew more impassioned. “Not to mention you have your father’s charm, good looks, and valor.”
I shook my head. What woman would care about those things? “If a dowry will save us, then Aldric should be the one to marry for money, since he’s the one who put us in this situation.”
The words on Mother’s lips died, and her chin dipped. She turned away from the fire and crossed the room toward the chair she’d vacated. She lowered herself gracefully and spread her gown around her feet. Even though she appeared outwardly calm, her slumped posture was noticeably one of defeat and dejection.
She didn’t need to speak for me to know the thoughts running through her mind. Aldric’s pain ran too deep. He’d rather die than consider marrying. Perhaps that’s what he was doing—slowly killing himself so that he didn’t have to face his empty life.
If either of us had to marry to save Maidstone, I was the only choice. I would have to be the one to put aside my own needs, desires, and dreams in order to help my family. Aldric was no longer capable—if he’d ever been.
For a long moment, I stared at the door separating me from my brother. No matter his foolishness, I still loved him. I prayed that somehow God could save his wounded soul. And I loved my mother. I didn’t want her to come to ruin. I didn’t want her to suffer. And she would indeed if Lord Pitt carried through on his threat to attack Maidstone in a month—or two.
But could I really wed myself to a woman simply for her dowry? Even though my mother was correct in saying that marriage alliances happened frequently regardless of love, I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that I would dishonor a woman by marrying for her money. Could I live with myself, knowing that I’d dishonored my wife?
Yet how could I live with myself if I didn’t marry for the wealth? I alone had the power to save the Windsor name, estate, and lands that my father and forefathers had established. I alone had the power to protect my mother and brother. I alone had the power to protect my father’s honor.
“Then there is no other way?” I finally asked, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Except by my marriage?”
“’Tis the only way,” Mother said, her tone ringing with finality.
I swallowed any further objections. “Then let it be so.”
Chapter
2
One Month Later
“I have no need for a man to run my life,” I declared, dragging my attention away from the carriage window to focus upon my grandmother, who sat on the seat across from me. “Why would I have need of a man to tell me what to do? You’re perfectly capable of doing the job.”
“I am quite capable,” Grandmother retorted, her lips pursed slightly inward with permanent wrinkles, as though she made a regular habit of sipping vinegar.
The endless carriage ride over hardly visible roads had become unbearable during the past hour. The mud, windfall, and ruts had grown more pronounced in the woodland. The thick forest had apparently not allowed the May sunshine to visit, and now we were paying for its stinginess.
With both of our ladies’ maids sitting next to us, we had little room for stretching. Saying that the ride h
ad been confining and uncomfortable was actually much too flattering.
The covered wagon was elaborately decorated with plush cushions and thick tapestries and was pulled by five fine thoroughbreds. It was the envy of many noblewomen. I was fortunate to be safe and dry for the duration of our travels, but I still couldn’t keep from craning out the window and wishing for my mare.
“Although I deem myself the expert at running your life,” my grandmother spoke tartly, “it’s past time for me to train someone else—preferably your husband—on how to keep you in line.”
“Past time? Well, yes, I suppose at seventeen I have become impossibly old. In fact, I was just thinking that for my eighteenth birthday next month, you could have a cane fashioned for me, particularly one with a jewel-encrusted handle. I’d especially like it if you could replicate the pattern found on the cross of Saint Genevieve.”
Grandmother didn’t smile. Instead, she lowered her head so that she was staring at me levelly with her sharp, somewhat watery eyes.
“Very well. Don’t bother with a cane,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “A litter for the servants to carry me around will do just fine.”
My grandmother’s lips pinched tighter, if that were possible, making a shriveled prune of her mouth. She waited, letting the silence stretch between us. And like a tortured man upon the rack, I had no choice but to give in. If she wanted to talk about my future and husbands and marriage and all other kinds of nonsense, then I’d have to pacify her or she’d keep pestering me until I passed out from weariness.
“I see no need to bequeath the responsibility for running my life upon some poor man who likely won’t have the slightest idea how to placate my obsessive need for bread with cheese in the middle of the night. I think it’s asking too much for any man to have to learn that I really must have both pieces of bread slathered in butter. Do you not?”