Lily swished her hand. “Oh, that. I tried to apologize, but it seems he knew the whole time.”
If Bronwyn thought she was in a state of shock before, she was truly in one now. Ranulf had been toying with her. She felt sick. How could she have been so stupid? He knew the first time he saw her she could not have been the famed Lily, his real bride. How many times did she need to learn the fickleness of a man’s heart when in the presence of astounding beauty?
But nothing in her past had prepared her for this. This time she wasn’t just to be rejected…but replaced.
“Are you sure you want to marry him, Lily? Marriage is a serious vow and you really don’t know the man.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Who really knows anyone before they marry? And while his lordship may not be very handsome, he is exceptionally clever, don’t you think? I mean, he did come up with the plan to save us all and let us stay.”
“Yes, very clever,” Bronwyn murmured. “But just what if things cannot be ‘resolved’ with the new king?”
Lily shrugged and twisted her hands chaotically. “Well, then you are protected through your marriage. His lordship assured me that his best friend would honor the agreement and his commander would have to if he ordered it. So do you?”
Bronwyn blinked, not understanding the question. “Do I what?”
“Do you accept?” Lily asked with exasperation. “His lordship said that the marriages would take place only if both you and Edythe agreed to the plan. Edythe said that she would do whatever you want, but you and I both know she would rather stay here than go to Scotland. Syndlear is her home. So please? I would miss you so much.”
Bronwyn stared incredulously at her little sister. Lillabet actually seemed serious about marrying Ranulf regardless of Bronwyn’s decision. “You really want this? If you marry him, then you understand that you cannot change your mind. Lord Anscombe is here and will undoubtedly claim his rights on your wedding night.”
Lily sprang off the bed and kneeled down by Bronwyn’s chair, nodding her head enthusiastically. “To be married to a wealthy nobleman who is close friends with the most powerful king in the world? Yes, I would. I mean I don’t think he would be my pick if it weren’t for the situation, but you have always told me that someday I would have to grow up and face life as it is and not how I want it to be. So here I am doing just that. His lordship is a good man—I mean you wouldn’t have stayed to help him if he wasn’t. So please say yes.”
The reminder that it had been her choice to stay was a sharp prod to the gut. Bronwyn’s pride finally bubbled to the surface, pushing all her other emotions—anger, shame, even jealousy—aside. Ranulf was shallow, but so was Lily. They were ideally suited for each other. “I happen to think this plan is perfect. It solves everything. My only reservation was your happiness, and if you truly want to do this, then Christmas weddings we shall have. I am actually looking forward to the day.”
And she was, but not for the reasons Lily believed.
“Wonderful! Come and let’s go tell his lordship. They will all be excited.”
Bronwyn stood up and walked over to open the door. “No, you go down and tell everyone that I am relieved by the solution and couldn’t be happier with the plan. I hope you and Edythe don’t mind, but I think tonight I would like to eat alone. All the riding today tired me out more than I realized.”
Lily widened her eyes and let go a small shrug of her shoulders as she moved toward the exit. She gave Bronwyn one last hug and kiss and then exclaimed, “Won’t Father Morrell be surprised when he arrives tomorrow?”
Bronwyn nodded as a picture of the pudgy conservative priest’s expression flashed through her mind. The man’s already ruddy face exploded with color. There was a very good chance he wouldn’t perform the ceremony on such short notice and it being proxy. And if he refused, Bronwyn wasn’t sure how she would feel…relieved? Or hopeful?
Chapter Six
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1154
THE EVE OF THE NATIVITY
The Eve of the Nativity in medieval times primarily meant no more than the night before Christmas, the day observed as the birth of Christ. Modern-day religious traditions developed over the past few centuries. Some customs, such as decorating the Christmas tree, have related pagan roots, but primarily stem from mid-nineteenth-century influences. However, the Eastern Christian orthodoxy did practice a very strict fast day called Paramony through Christmas Eve, unlike the Western Church, which holds a Midnight Mass, typically performed much earlier in the evening.
The midnight hour passed, making it Christmas Eve and the beginning of possibly the worst day Ranulf could remember. The embers in the hearth were dying and he had no more logs for the fire. For hours, he had paced the planks of his solar unceasingly and every once in a while out of frustration and the need to do anything physical, he tossed a piece of wood violently into the flames. As a result, the room was hot, he ran out of logs, and his mind was no calmer for the effort. Over and over again, his thoughts repeated the folly of his decision and how he had been deceived.
Ranulf spun a small clay pot in his hand, the last happy duty he had attended to before Lily had relayed the bad news of Bronwyn’s happy acceptance of his offer. The pot plus dozens more would be ready for St. Stephen’s Day. His father had never observed the tradition of giving thanks to those who worked for him—especially monetarily—but Ranulf had the means and for the first time felt the compulsion. Tossing the pot onto the hearth chair across from him, Ranulf glanced at the tray of food to his side. The goose was the first meat that had been prepared and offered since his arrival and he had not even touched it. Everything about the meal reminded him of his perfect afternoon and how it had gone so wrong.
Sinking down in the chair, Ranulf intertwined his fingers over his stomach and stared at the ceiling. Nothing had gone according to plan and he could not fathom why. Making love to Bronwyn had been indescribable, emotionally wedding him to her for life. He had thought their coupling had meant as much to her. He had never intended for their first time to be in such rustic conditions—or to be so fast—but at the time, it had not mattered. Even now, when he conjured up the memory of her face and reaction to his touch, he knew—knew—she had connected with him, and not just physically, but emotionally. He certainly knew what it was like to be with a woman who felt nothing. So, why? Why was Bronwyn so eager to marry another man? And why was she so accepting of him with her sister?
When Lily had reemerged with the news of Bronwyn’s full support to his plan, Ranulf had refused to believe it. Thinking just her pride had been pricked, he had been seconds away from marching up the Great Hall backstairs when Lily completed her accounting. Bronwyn had not just acquiesced to the idea, but had been eager to participate in it—all of it. Applauding his solution as perfect and looking forward to her union with his much younger, and much handsomer, commander. Ranulf made Lily repeat it twice, each time affirming that those were indeed Bronwyn’s sentiments.
Ranulf pushed himself back to his feet and plodded to the window. With his hand on the frame, he locked his arm and leaned forward to look down at the courtyard. A few torches were lit, casting moving shadows in the breeze, indicative of his own mental state.
The idea of Bronwyn in his commander’s arms was intolerable. Rolande, of all people! Why did he have to suggest him! But he knew the answer. Because Rolande would have been perfect for Lily.
The man was an incredible soldier and a damn good leader, but he was also exceedingly good-looking with jet-black hair, a tall muscular frame, and a suave personality that made Tyr’s attempts to woo women look amateurish. Incredibly charming and very polished, Rolande knew just how to enchant a woman. His reputation was known to all, which was why Tyr had cornered Ranulf that evening about his ludicrous idea for a “solution.” His friend had held nothing back, letting Ranulf know just what an idiot Tyr believed him to be.
Instinct and pride had caused Ranulf to blank his expression and hide his true feelings fro
m his friend, but in truth, Ranulf had felt physically ill. Testing Bronwyn to prove her feelings for him had seemed like the perfect idea. But jealousy stemmed from deep emotion. Something Bronwyn obviously did not feel; otherwise she wouldn’t have readily agreed to wed someone else. He had been a mere itch she had had for days, and once he had finally let her scratch it, she desired him no more.
And now he was pledged to Lillabet. Pretty girl, undeniably attractive—to all but him.
Almost every one of his men had stared at his supposed wife-to-be during the dinner service. And Ranulf couldn’t blame them. If a man could dream up the most beautiful woman ever created, most would conjure Lily. And while Ranulf could acknowledge her beauty, the attraction and driving need to hold and caress her he had experienced with Bronwyn was not just lacking, it was nonexistent.
Understanding suddenly slammed into Ranulf. He lifted his hand from the window frame and slammed it back in place. How could he have been so blind? Lily possessed the type of beauty that captured young men’s attentions and probably changed the mind of more than one suitor originally interested in Bronwyn. Could she believe his feelings for her to be so fickle? Didn’t she know that she would always be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, for she was the first to truly see him?
Damn woman just didn’t trust him enough. Well, she better learn how. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to let her punish them both with another sleepless night.
Bronwyn jumped at the abrupt and very loud pounding at her door. She pushed herself up to a sitting position on her bed and glanced out the window. It was pitch-black outside, hours before dawn. Only one person would be causing a commotion at such an hour and be able to get away with it. Ranulf. She rubbed her eyes and tried to ignore the deafening banging, hoping he would get the hint. He did not.
“Bronwyn, open this door or I swear on all the things you hold sacred, I will break it down.”
Bronwyn slid her fingernails along her scalp and then through her hair. She wasn’t ready to see him. What she needed was distance and had intended to minimize their meetings and, most of all, keep them public. Seeing him at night—especially alone—would be a form of torture and her heart was not prepared for the pain.
Unfortunately, her opinion did not matter.
Grabbing her shift, she threw it on, followed by her robe. Squaring her shoulders, she strolled over to the door and opened it. She leveled her slate blue eyes directly at his amber gaze. “What do you want?” she asked pointedly.
The moment the door slipped away beneath Ranulf’s fist as she opened it, his heart had stopped. It had been racing with anticipation, but the second he saw her, he froze and stared, in shock. A pink crease line ran down her cheek. “You’ve been sleeping!” he bellowed, barging his way into the room. All this time, he had been frantic, concerned that Bronwyn was upset with him, worried about her feelings…and instead of weeping inconsolably, she had been blissfully unconscious.
Bronwyn flicked the door closed, turned to face her accuser, and admitted her guilt. “Maybe it’s because I have had little sleep during the past few nights!”
Ranulf walked over and inspected the plate of food that had been sent up earlier that evening. It looked completely untouched, strange for someone who had declared herself to be starving when they returned. Maybe the afternoon’s events hadn’t left her quite as unaffected as she appeared. Pointing at the uneaten dish, he demanded, “Are you trying to starve yourself?”
“I wasn’t hungry,” Bronwyn ground out defiantly.
Cursing under his breath, Ranulf clutched the back of one chair and spun it around. “Sit down and eat.”
Bronwyn stood firm, determined not to capitulate. Unfortunately, Ranulf was not in the mood to restrict their contest of wills to defiant stares and silence. In two steps, he was by her side, deflecting her attempts to push against his chest and keep him from advancing. He snatched her arm and Bronwyn yelped involuntarily. Growling, he moved his grip to her elbow and forcibly sat her in the chair. “Do not move.” And then he pointed to the food. “Eat.”
Bronwyn ignored the second order and watched him rummage through her things as he had before. When he pulled out another piece of linen and began ripping, she said, trying to discourage him, “My arm is fine. Just tender.”
Seizing the basin of water, he walked back and knelt down by her side, gesturing for her to outstretch her arm. Exasperated, Bronwyn did as commanded, knowing it would be easier than arguing. “You really are a beast.”
A low hum of a chuckle rumbled through Ranulf’s chest. “I’ve been called a beast before, but not because I had bullied someone into letting me nurture them.”
Bronwyn watched as he carefully pulled back her sleeve and unwrapped the binding. Relief flashed across his face. The wound had scabbed over and was just as she claimed, healing well. Bronwyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could not do this. She could not let him continue to play with her feelings. Maybe he didn’t know, maybe he didn’t care. He had stolen her heart, and she needed to protect what little bit of her self-respect she had left.
“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “I want you to know that I never meant to lie to you. I had to…for my sister.”
“I know.”
“Yes, you did,” Bronwyn mumbled, reminded how enormous her folly had been. “How long did you know who I really was?”
Tossing the bloody binding aside, he tenderly bandaged her arm with the new cloth. “From the beginning.”
From the beginning, she repeated to herself. He had been amusing himself. Rallying, she continued with more conviction, “Well, I’m glad we are both free now of our deception and can go forward as you have planned. I hope Lily told you how happy I was by the offer to marry your commander.”
“She mentioned it,” Ranulf grimaced.
“Who knows? Maybe Rolande and I will meet and decide to stay together, forgoing the annulment.”
Ranulf rocked back on his feet, picked up the basin, and stood up, causing water to slosh on to the floor from the abrupt movement. She sounded so damn happy. He plopped the water bowl back on its table. And why shouldn’t she be? “You will like my commander. He is as handsome as Lillabet is beautiful.”
Pain flashed in Bronwyn’s eyes, turning them dark, almost black. If Ranulf’s aim had been to hurt, he had struck true, resulting in a desire to inflict similar anguish. “As long as he doesn’t lie to me and make me out the fool, I will be content.”
“I suspect he won’t if you don’t lie to him first.”
Bronwyn pushed herself out of the chair as a frisson of anger shot up her spine. “Maybe I won’t if he doesn’t order me away from my home without the courage to look me in the eye when he does so.”
“I never pretended to be someone else.”
“In that you are correct, my lord. You made it very clear from the beginning that you were a hateful man,” she seethed.
“Didn’t seem to bother you when you used your female wiles to entice me to your bed,” Ranulf hissed back.
Bronwyn marched over to the door and swung it wide open. “I wonder just how my sister will deal with your barbarism. She is sweet, beautiful, and innocent, but she also knows nothing about running a castle. So prepare yourself, my lord. In a few months you will have a rundown estate and no commander either, for after I use my feminine wiles on him, I doubt we will be staying here at Hunswick.”
Ranulf stomped over and grabbed the handle from her hands. “Lily may be far less capable, but she has the only thing I ever demanded in a woman. She was honest.”
The door slammed and the reverberating sound bounced back and forth down the hall. Edythe and Lily sat perfectly still and stared at each other, eyes wide open. For once, their thoughts were in accord.
When Ranulf had first arrived and started banging on Bronwyn’s door, both had awakened wondering if they should do something. When the racket ceased, Lily scurried into Edythe’s room. “What’s going on?”
; “I don’t know,” came Edythe’s simple reply.
“Why is Ranulf so angry with Bronwyn?”
Again Edythe shrugged.
“Well, should we go and see if Bronwyn needs help?”
Edythe bit her bottom lip. The situation was foreign to her. She supposed they should go, but her gut was telling her to stay put. She was still debating the decision when voices rose again, and this time Bronwyn’s was in the mix. And she never yelled.
The door slammed and heavy footsteps retreated. “I think…I think I was just insulted,” Lily mumbled. “By both of them.”
Seeing the stunned look in Lily’s gray eyes, Edythe reached over to pacify her. “They also said some flattering things.”
Lily slipped out of the embrace and shook her head. “Edythe, what have I done?”
“What do you mean?”
Lily bounded off the bed and passionately stabbed her finger toward the wall separating Edythe’s and Bronwyn’s room. “Them! Didn’t you hear?”
Edythe nodded her head in relief. “I did. I just wasn’t sure you had.”
Slump-shouldered, Lily returned to the bed and collapsed on it. “Oh Lord, Edythe, I just announced to everyone that I was going to marry the man our sister loves.”
“It’s my guess that he loves her, too.”
“I have to go and say something. Stop this. Take it back.”
Edythe reached out and seized Lily’s arm before she bounded off the bed again. “Do you think either of them is going to let you? Pride is dictating their actions right now. Neither is going to listen to anyone as angry as they are. They’ll marry as planned just to spite the other.”
“Then we better think of a way to stop them—and fast.”
Edythe took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it go. It was still early in the morning and it would be hours before the day began, but when it did, they had to have a plan. “You’re right. But we’re going to need help.”
The Christmas Knight Page 21