The Overlord's Bride

by Margaret Moore

  He saw understanding growing in her eyes. “And the bridges and roads on the estate, too?” she queried.

  “Yes. I spent the last of my ready money preparing for your arrival, to impress your uncle. That is why I insisted he leave the day after we married. I didn’t want to spend any more.”

  “You should have asked him for more money for my dowry.”

  “I didn’t want to lose you.”

  She blinked. “What did you say?”

  “I did not want to lose you.”

  Her face flushed, the roses blooming in her cheeks making her more lovely than ever. “Even then?”

  “Even then.”

  She gave him a long, slow kiss that made him regret not making this confession sooner.

  Then she drew back and fixed him with a chastising look. “You certainly gave no sign of that, my lord.”

  He grinned.

  “I think you, sir, could have made a fortune as a charlatan.”

  “The fortune would be welcome, at any rate,” he observed.

  “How much was my dowry?”

  “Five hundred marks.”

  She gasped. “But that is a huge sum!”

  “What is left is necessary for repairs.”

  “What is left?” she repeated questioningly.

  “I have already spent all I could spare.”

  She wiggled off his lap and stared at him, arms akimbo. “Spent? On what?”

  Raymond discovered he could still feel sheepish, too. “On presents for my wife.”

  She put her hand to her chest. “On me?” she whispered.

  “On your new clothes, and more in Chesney.”

  “This is terrible!”

  “That is not the reaction I had counted on.”

  “But my…Raymond! You shouldn’t have, and if I had known—”

  “It is too late to speculate on that now.”

  “But surely there must be some left to provide a few special dishes…”

  He shook his head again.

  “Not even a little?”

  “A very little.”

  He watched as she started to pace briskly, and realized her mind was working with even more speed. “How long before he could come here, do you think?”

  “Five months at the earliest. He goes to France after London.”

  “Wonderful! Five months should be long enough for us to save the necessary funds.”

  “Elizabeth, he never travels with less than thirty men, plus his wife and servants.”

  She paused and fixed her keen gaze on him. “How many people in total, do you think?”

  “Forty at the least.”

  “Well, five months takes us through the spring and into summer,” she began thoughtfully. As she continued, she grew eager. “I have seen the stores, and the linen is quite good enough, if plain. And we certainly have the room. A little good planning, some careful management of our resources…yes, five months and we could do it!”

  A few moments ago, when she had first proposed the visit, he had been absolutely certain it was foolhardy even to think of it.

  But now, as his pretty wife stood before him, her eyes shining, her whole body alight with suppressed excitement and happiness, he could believe that not only could they find the money to cover the cost, but that the earl was in for the most pleasant and comfortable visit of his life.

  Five months later, Elizabeth gasped and shoved her pricked finger into her mouth.

  Raymond stopped strumming the harp and glanced at her worriedly. Sprawled on the floor beside him, Cadmus opened one eye.

  She had been delighted by his present, but after he had corrected her several times, she had persuaded him to play and discovered that he was a far better musician than she. In the days that followed, they learned to make music together. She would sing, and he would accompany her.

  “It’s nothing,” she assured him as she checked to make sure no blood from her finger had fallen on the napkin she was embroidering. “But that is the fourth time this afternoon I have done this. I tell you, Raymond, it would have been much better if the Reverend Mother had made me sew as much as she had me scrub the floors. I would undoubtedly be much better at it.”

  “You do well enough,” he said, picking up the harp again. “Sing that song I like, about the spring.”

  Elizabeth gladly set aside the detestable sewing and placed her hands in her lap below her rounded belly. She began to sing, and as she did, she watched him play. She liked to do that, especially when he didn’t know she was watching. While he played, it was as if all the cares of his life melted away.

  Just as they did when they were in bed together.

  She felt a rolling motion inside her. “Oh, Raymond, quick! The baby is moving again,” she cried happily.

  Her husband set down his instrument and rushed to her side, placing his hand on her stomach.

  His smile delighted her as much as the baby’s movement. “I think the babe is going to be very strong,” she noted.

  She saw Raymond’s face cloud. “I am very strong, too,” she reminded him. “Didn’t the village midwife say so? Please don’t worry, Raymond. My mother was up and about the day after I was born, or so they say. Indeed, my aunts seemed to think she was impertinent to do so.”

  Raymond straightened. “Nevertheless, I’ve sent for a midwife from Chesney.”

  “But Raymond, that will cost so much!” Elizabeth’s brow lowered and her indignation was only partly feigned. “Here I have been trying so hard to save money for the earl’s visit, and you do something silly like that.”

  Her husband knelt beside her low chair and looked deep into her eyes. “I insist.”

  “I think it’s a waste.”

  “I will not lose you in childbirth.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him again that she was perfectly healthy, but when she gazed into his eyes, she could not. “Very well, my Raymond. We shall have the midwife—but more for your sake than for mine. Just as long as I don’t have to have a physician and an apothecary and a priest all milling about, too. I daresay I will not be at my best.”

  “Not unless I think them necessary,” he agreed.

  Deciding it was time to change the subject, she asked, “Tell me, what did Aiken say this morning about the bridges? Are they nearly finished with the repairs?”

  Raymond rose and went to put away the harp. “The important ones are. The rest should be before winter.”

  “Good.” She watched him a moment, then thought there might be no better time to broach a subject she had already delayed mentioning. “We will have to invite Montross to the feast for the earl.”

  Her husband glanced at her sharply.

  “He is the earl’s vassal, too.”

  “He is my enemy.”

  “And mine, too,” she agreed. “Nevertheless, I think we should do the courteous thing—and the wise thing,” she hastened to add before he could protest. “If you do, and he refuses to come, nobody can reproach you.”

  “I don’t want him here.”

  “I know. Neither do I. But I don’t think he’ll accept anyway, so what harm inviting him? Then if the earl asks or comments, you can say you did, and he refused. Who looks the worse under those circumstances?”

  “You do not know Montross as I do. He has gall.”

  “Then let him come. Indeed, let him come and see you with the earl. It may be something he should witness for himself, to understand that you are not without some influence now, as well.”

  He still looked doubtful.

  “My lord,” she said, using the term she instinctively did when she wanted to make her point strongly, “did you not tell me when you returned from Chesney that your marriage to me has given you connections to some of the most powerful barons in the land?”

  “Yes. The DeLanyeas of Wales, and DeGuerre.”

  “Then why be afraid to invite Montross?”

  “I am not afraid,” he growled.

  “He will say you
are if you do not,” she pointed out.

  He blinked. “God’s wounds,” he said, regarding her with a mixture of pride and awe. “What a wise warrior I have wed.”

  She laughed softly. “There is but one warrior here, my lord, and it is not I.”

  “I disagree.”

  “I don’t want to be a warrior. I would rather be a wife.”

  “You are the best wife a man could have,” he assured her tenderly, drawing her to her feet and looking deep into her eyes. “A wife as fierce as any warrior, wise as one twice her age, and a worthy mother for my son.”

  “The babe may prove to be a daughter,” she whispered, her breath coming fast as his eyes darkened with passion.

  “Then a son after.”

  “I hope to bear you many sons and daughters, my Raymond.”

  “Whatever God wills, I will be content, for he has already given me a gift more rare than any gem-stone and more precious than my lost voice.”

  She held him tight, loving him, needing him, basking in the warm glow of his tender, heartfelt words.

  Then suddenly, from outside in the courtyard, she heard a noise. A horrible, terrible, familiar sound that made her break from his arms and dash to the window.

  “What is it?” Raymond demanded as he followed her. “Who has come?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Is it Montross?” Raymond demanded. “The earl too soon?”

  Cadmus barked as if also asking what was the matter.

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth continued to stare at the person who had ridden into the courtyard, a small mounted guard behind her. “It’s the Reverend Mother.”

  “From the Convent of the Blessed Sacrament?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth gripped the edge of the window and watched as the stout woman got off her white horse. “Why has she come? What does she want?”

  “Sit down,” Raymond said, taking her arm. “You look ill.”

  Elizabeth felt ill, sick with the memories of that hated voice and even more hated face, as well as the hand that struck the blows. “It must have been my letter to the bishop.”

  Raymond picked her up and carried her toward the bed. “You must lie down,” he ordered gently.

  She leaned her head against him, feeling protected and cherished.

  “I will speak with her,” he said as he laid her on the bed.

  Elizabeth half rose, her arms behind her for support. “No,” she said firmly. She swung her legs over the side and prepared to stand. “I am not a frightened, hungry child any more. I am the wife of Lord Kirkheathe.”

  “Beloved wife,” he amended as he helped her to her feet. “Yet I think she will want to speak to me as well.”

  Elizabeth looked up at his grimly resolute face. “Why?”

  “Because I added to your letter.”

  “You added to it?”

  He inclined his head. “I wrote that I believed every word you said and the woman should be removed from her high office.”

  “You did?”

  One more nod. “Stay here and rest,” he ordered. “Let me deal with her.”

  “And have her think me a coward, afraid to face her? After all I have said to you about Montross? Oh, no, Raymond, I cannot.”

  “You are sure you are well enough?”

  “I have felt better in my time, but I am not going to plead an indisposition.” Then she smiled and put her hand in his. “Besides, I want her to see me with my husband. She always claimed I would come to a bad end, and I want her to discover how wrong she was.”

  “Just as I would like to meet the woman who thought she could break your spirit.”

  Together they left their chamber, followed by Cadmus.

  As they went down the steps and entered the hall, Elizabeth realized all trace of her kind and tenderly affectionate husband had disappeared from the man beside her, as if they had been transported back in time to the day of their first meeting.

  She had nearly forgotten how cold and imposing Raymond had been that day, and how much he had frightened her.

  The Reverend Mother stood near the hearth, and she turned toward them when she heard them approach. The woman seemed to have aged in the past months. There were new lines of worry about her mouth and eyes.

  Yet as she watched them draw near, her brow wrinkled with consternation, an expression Elizabeth remembered well. And although she was fond of dogs, including her own great brute who had attacked Elizabeth two years ago, she eyed Cadmus warily.

  He began to growl, a low rumble of menace emanating from the back of his throat, and that seemed to disturb the woman even more.

  Elizabeth almost felt like patting him on the head as he settled on his haunches beside Raymond when they halted.

  “Mother,” Elizabeth said, giving a little bow to her old nemesis. “This is my husband, Lord Kirkheathe. My lord, this is the Reverend Mother Superior of the Convent of the Blessed Sacrament.”

  Raymond didn’t say a word.

  The Reverend Mother looked taken aback, but only for a moment before she addressed Elizabeth with her customary arrogance. “Elizabeth, I have come—”

  “Lady Kirkheathe,” Raymond growled, his voice even lower and more rough than usual.

  The Reverend Mother went a little white. “Lady Kirkheathe,” she began again, not quite so arrogantly. “I have come to demand that you retract those things you said in your infamous letter to the bishop.”

  Raymond crossed his arms.

  The Reverend Mother took a step back.

  “Won’t you please sit down?” Elizabeth asked with cool politeness. “I do not like to stay on my feet overmuch in my condition.”

  It was almost painfully obvious that the Reverend Mother had not noticed—or taken the trouble to notice—that Elizabeth was with child.

  Elizabeth took a seat in one of the chairs, and the Reverend Mother sat opposite. Raymond came to stand behind Elizabeth and she had no doubt he was glaring at the woman as only he could glare, for the Reverend Mother looked more discomforted than Elizabeth would have believed possible. “You wish to discuss the letter I wrote to somebody else?” she asked.

  “The bishop told me what you said and—”

  “Did he? I must say I’m surprised, considering it was very unflattering. I always assumed the bishop was a kind man, but apparently I was quite mistaken.”

  The Reverend Mother’s thin lips became even thinner. “He told me because he was removing me from the convent and sending me to Ireland!” She spat the last word as if it were a curse.

  “You always said we were all little barbarians going straight to hell,” Elizabeth remarked. “You should feel right at home.”

  “I want you to write him again and retract your hateful, dishonest remarks.”

  “You are speaking to my wife,” Raymond said as he put his hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders. She had to fight to keep still as he slowly, and gently, kneaded her shoulders.

  This was nearly as bad—or good—as having him caress her intimately in front of the woman.

  The Reverend Mother looked as if she could scarcely believe her eyes, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. “You…you owe it to me,” she stammered, the last vestige of arrogant domination slipping away. “I took you in when nobody else wanted you.”

  Elizabeth reached up and covered her husband’s right hand with hers in a gesture of undeniable alliance. “You had to. It was your duty and your obligation at the convent. My uncle paid you, too. In fact, he paid you very well.”

  “Eliz…” the Reverend Mother began. She glanced up at Raymond and amended her address. “Lady Kirkheathe, I did my duty by you and if you feel hard done by, perhaps you should look to your family, who left you in my charge.”

  “That did not give you license to starve and beat us.”

  Raymond came around the chair. “I know how you mistreated those girls,” he said, and his tone was enough to make even Elizabeth shiver.

  The Reverend Mother’s eyes darted from one t
o the other. Her face red, she rose swiftly. “You know only what she has told you.”

  “I have seen the scars.”

  “She stole things.”

  “Food because you starved her and the others.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  Raymond crossed the distance between them in an instant, and for a moment, Elizabeth feared he meant to grab the Reverend Mother and throttle her. Instead, he halted inches from her. “You would dare to call my wife a liar?”

  When the Reverend Mother stared speechlessly, he said, “I added my confirmation in that letter. Would you also presume to upbraid me?”

  Elizabeth felt a horrified fascination as tears began to ooze out of the Reverend Mother’s small black eyes and run down her plump red cheeks. “She has cost me my place,” she sniveled.

  “No,” Elizabeth declared. “If there is fault here, look to yourself, and yourself alone.”

  Desperation in her eyes, the Reverend Mother wrung her hands as she looked past Raymond to Elizabeth. “I am too old to go to that awful place!” she spluttered. “I will die.”

  Raymond stepped back and out of the way as Elizabeth came toward her. She stared at the woman with unflinching scorn. “How many girls died because we were cold and not properly fed? Your dog ate more meat than we did.”

  “I did my duty!”

  “No, you did not. You took our relatives’ money and spent it on food and wine for you and your chosen few. Do you think we didn’t know? Do you think the nuns who were not your favorites didn’t know? That we all couldn’t smell the food and that our stomachs didn’t growl because of it?”

  “It was hard work taking care of you all.”

  “Hard work ordering us about, you mean. We were supposed to be learning useful skills and to be sure, we did—scouring pots, washing linen, scrubbing those detestable floors. You treated us as ignorant slaves, and I will never forget it.”

  “I did my best.”

  “You did your worst. You are not welcome here. Good day, Mother.”

  In desperation, the Reverend Mother turned to Raymond. He raised his brow quizzically, and that was enough to send her back to Elizabeth. “Have you no mercy, no pity?” she pleaded.