Norwyck's Lady

by Margo Maguire

She would be forced to wed Carmag MacEwen, her father’s most powerful ally, that rude and crass warrior who made her stomach turn at the mere thought of his touch.

  Mairi covered her mouth with trembling fingers and fought tears. What would Bartholomew do when he learned the truth of her identity? He would believe the worst, of course—that all along, she’d known she was Lachann Armstrong’s daughter, washed up on Norwyck’s shore. He would think she’d somehow used the shipwreck and her strange recovery against him.

  There was naught she could say that would convince him otherwise.

  Mayhap ’twould be best if she said nothing about her recovered memory.

  She pulled a clean chemise over her head and arms, and reached down into the trunk for a pair of woolen hose. Her hand bumped something odd, and she pulled out the sock that held the forgotten cache of jewels. Resting back on her heels, she let out a tremulous breath. She had to get this treasure back to Bartholomew before he discovered it missing. He would be only too willing to believe she was a thief once he learned she was the Armstrong’s daughter.

  Do not tell him, a faint voice in the back of her mind advised.

  In near despair, Mairi leaned her head against the edge of the trunk. Could she avoid telling him? Could she remain at Norwyck as Lady Marguerite?

  Alain was dead. And her stubbornness was to blame. She should have died alongside Alain, but by some grim miracle, she had survived.

  Would Lachann have any reason to think she had survived the shipwreck? Nay, he would not. There was little or no communication between Norwyck and the Armstrongs—besides the occasional raid—and Mairi doubted any gossip was exchanged then.

  And Carmag MacEwen…Mairi would rather die than wed the brute. If she stayed on at Norwyck, then—

  The tower door was thrown open and Eleanor’s bright red head popped in. “Have you been sleeping all this time?” she exclaimed. “I’ve been waiting hours for you!”

  Mairi pulled the jewel-laden sock from the trunk and lifted it up for Eleanor to see, but the child ignored it and came to her side. “Bartie said you were not feeling well last night and we were to leave you alone,” she said. “What ails you, Lady Marguerite? Your eyes look strange.”

  “There is naught wrong with me, Eleanor,” Mairi said, brushing one hand over her eyes. “Do you see this?”

  “Aye,” Eleanor replied, taking the sock from her. “The Norwyck jewels.”

  “We must return this to your brother’s chamber,” she said. “This morn, and no later.”

  “The morn is nearly gone,” Eleanor replied. “You slept so very long, and I want to go and play in the village, but Nurse Ada said I could not!”

  “Mayhap later, Eleanor,” Mairi said. She took a gown from the trunk and stood. “Take this sock to Bartholomew’s chamber and put the jewels back where you found them. I will meet you in the great hall after I’ve finished dressing.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say, Eleanor,” she said, more harshly than she intended.

  The child stuck out her lower lip, but Mairi ignored it. She walked to the wash basin and poured fresh water into it. By the time she’d soaked a cloth, Eleanor had gone.

  “Oh!” Little Eleanor was startled by Bart’s presence in his study, and her face flushed as red as her hair. She carried a bundle hidden in her skirts, but nearly dropped it.

  “Oh?” he asked, coming ’round the desk to grab her before she could turn and run away. The rule of no children in the lord’s study was not a new one. Ellie knew she was trespassing.

  Bart wanted to know why.

  “What have you there?” he asked, indicating her awkward hold upon her skirts.

  “I…n-naught, Bartie!”

  She tried to turn and run, but Bart held her fast. In her struggle, a load of trinkets fell from her skirt.

  “What’s this?” he asked, frowning. He knelt to see what had dropped and was shocked to note that the jewels from the locked cabinet in his chamber were now scattered about upon the floor. “Eleanor!”

  Tears fell down the girl’s face as she chewed her lip and wrung her hands. “I—I was just coming to get the key from your drawer….”

  The little minx knew where he’d hidden the key?

  “To what purpose?” he asked.

  She began to weep in earnest now. “T-to put the jewels b-back where I f-found them.”

  He refused to be moved by her tears. “And why did you remove them to begin with?”

  “I gave them to Lady Marguerite,” she cried, using her tears to great effect.

  “What?”

  She nodded, and it took a moment for her to speak. “I gave them to her because I wanted her to stay at Norwyck. I thought if I gave her—”

  “You gave her the Norwyck jewels in order to convince her to stay?”

  Eleanor’s wailing increased as she tipped her head in assent. Bart ignored her for the moment, picking up every precious piece that had been dropped. He gathered all the jewelry—the bracelets, brooches and necklaces that had been worn by every lady of Norwyck for centuries—and locked them in his book cabinet until he decided upon a safer place.

  “Aye,” she cried, “but Lady Marguerite made me bring them back—”

  “Enough, Eleanor,” he said. He cracked his knuckles and turned to face her. “You will go to the nursery and stay there until I say you may come out.”

  “But, Bartie—”

  “No arguments, Eleanor,” he interjected. “You behaved very foolishly, and this time, you will suffer the consequences.”

  “But I—”

  “You need to learn some sense, my young lady,” he said, “and you will be doing so in the nursery for the foreseeable future. Go.”

  “But—”

  “And be grateful I do not insist upon bread and water for the duration.”

  He watched her turn and run from the study, nearly knocking over Sir Walter as she went. The old knight raised one eyebrow, but walked into the study and began speaking in a grave tone, leaving Bart no time to consider what Eleanor had done.

  And how Marguerite had responded.

  Bart had had a spectacular morning already, and was prepared to work with his men all afternoon, too. But tonight…he had plans that included the most sensual, most responsive woman he’d ever known.

  He was sweat-covered and grimy from his exertions on the training field. He unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it upon the desk.

  “I’ve finished my investigation into the accident, my lord,” Walter said. “Thom Darcet had the men mixing too much water into the mortar. It weakened the wall, and that is the reason for its collapse.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Bart paced a path to the window of his study and back. The very last thing he wanted to be thinking of was the disaster at the wall, while beautiful Marguerite lay naked and sated in the tower bed they’d shared. “Are you certain?”

  Walter nodded. “Reeve Edwin Gayte was ill for a few days before the accident,” he said. “And Darcet was in charge. I questioned the men who were laying stone. They all said the mortar was too watery….”

  “Why did they not go ’round Darcet? Surely the man did not watch them every minute.”

  “They, er, did what they could while Darcet was not present, my lord.”

  Bart would have to dismiss the bailiff. He did not see that he had any choice. The man had made many errors over the years, but this was the worst yet.

  “You are entirely justified in giving him the sack, my lord,” Sir Walter said. “His harsh methods have done the Norwyck lords no good over the years.”

  “But my father kept him on—”

  “Aye, but when your stepmother became ill, he left matters too much in Darcet’s hands. He was warned many times to take care.”

  Bartholomew blew a breath out through pursed lips. ’Twould be a distasteful task, one he did not look forward to.

  “Shall I tell him, my lord?”

  “Nay,” Bart said, sitting down
in a large chair near the desk. He would not pass this unpleasant duty to Walter. “Send someone for him, and I’ll deal with him today, now.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Walter said as he turned to leave. “By the way…Lady Marguerite…How does she fare after being caught in the storm?”

  Bart looked into the man’s canny eyes. “Very well.”

  “I beg your pardon for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I hope you recognize that this lady has naught in common with your late wife….” Sir Walter said.

  “’Tis not your concern, Sir Walter,” Bartholomew replied sharply.

  “I realize that, my lord,” he replied. “But as a man who has cared for and cherished your family for two generations, I wish to point out that Lady Marguerite has given you no reason to mistrust her. She has been honest and—”

  “And Felicia was not?” Bart asked caustically. “You saw through her duplicity from the first?”

  “Nay, my lord,” Walter said quietly. “I will not say that I did. But I did not trust her when first she came to Norwyck. And I knew she was hiding something during those months before you returned home.”

  Bart stood up abruptly and went to the window. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Ah, well. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

  “Aye. ’Tis.”

  When Bart heard the door close, he turned around and let out the breath he was holding. ’Twas clear Sir Walter knew and did not approve of his liaison with Marguerite, though why the man should care was beyond Bart. ’Twas not as if he intended ever to marry again, and Walter knew it.

  Henry would be the next earl of Norwyck, for Bart had had enough of marriage to last a lifetime.

  Still, ’twas intriguing to consider Marguerite’s reason for returning the gems. Why had she not kept them? Likely because she was after a bigger prize than a mere handful of jewels.

  Mairi stepped into the great hall just as Sir Walter rounded the corner.

  “Ah, my lady,” he said as he approached her. He gave a slight bow. “I trust you are well after your soaking yester-even.”

  Mairi nodded. The knight’s eyes were kind, but shrewd. Would he be able to see through her lies this morn? Would he somehow know that she’d remembered everything? Would he be able to detect her sorrow? “Aye, Sir Walter. Have you heard aught of the injured men—Master Alrick and the others?” she asked, hoping her question would divert Sir Walter’s attention from her.

  “Naught has changed,” he replied, giving her a short bow.

  Ah, but all had changed, Mairi thought. However, she nodded and watched him take his leave.

  Alain was dead.

  She was Lachann Armstrong’s daughter.

  And she would have to wed Carmag MacEwen if her father ever found her.

  She closed her eyes and braced herself against the grief that threatened to swallow her whenever she thought of Alain. She could not show her pain, or surely someone would notice. Nay, she had to continue as before, as if naught had changed.

  She looked around the hall. Eleanor was not in sight, and Mairi wondered what mischief the child had gotten into now. She wandered past the fireplace and into the corridor beyond, looking for her. ’Twas possible she’d come to Bartholomew’s study.

  She opened the door and called, “Eleanor?” There were so many nooks in here for a child to hide, and Eleanor had been piqued enough when she left the tower room, ’twas entirely possible she would want to give Mairi some trouble. But ’twas Bartholomew whose head emerged from behind one of the large chairs by the fireplace.

  He rose swiftly to his feet and came toward her.

  Mairi’s throat went dry at the sight of him. He wore a plain linen shirt, belted at the waist. A fine sheen of sweat coated his features, and there were flecks of mud on his clothes. He looked broad and powerful as he moved, and he bore an expression she did not understand.

  Without speaking, he slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her slightly, meeting her mouth with his own.

  He kissed her hungrily, as if they had not just spent most of the night intimately entwined. Lips, teeth and tongue possessed her, teased and tantalized her. His scent enveloped her. His arms overpowered her.

  When his mouth finally slid from hers, only to rain kisses down her jaw and neck, Mairi said breathlessly, “My lord, this is unseemly! I—”

  “I want you, Marguerite,” he growled. “Anywhere. Anytime,” he said as he loosened his hold upon her. “But I will yield to you…for now.”

  “Thank you, my—”

  “But only after another taste,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her again.

  A noise from behind startled Mairi and she jumped away from Bartholomew, embarrassed to be found in his arms.

  The man who had stepped forward cleared his throat. “My lord, you wished to see me?”

  “Aye, Darcet,” Bart said, letting go of her arm. “Come in.”

  With eyes downcast, Mairi slipped out of the chamber. Flustered, she returned to the hall to look for Eleanor, but the child was not in sight. Mairi wandered into the kitchen and to the pantry, but none of the servants had seen her, either.

  “Mayhap you will find her in the solar with her sister,” one of the maids said.

  Mairi hoped that would be true. Returning to the great hall, she ran into Henry and John, just returning from the practice field.

  “My lady!” John called, while Henry merely gave a curt bow. “Are you all right? We wondered last night—”

  “Aye, I’m fine,” she said with a quick nod, and considered what else they wondered about last night. “Thank you for asking, John.”

  “Bart told us you’d taken a chill—”

  “Nay, John, I am fine,” she said. “Just looking for Eleanor.”

  “That little pest is likely into something she shouldn’t be,” Henry said.

  “I’m afraid you might be right, Henry.”

  “Would you like me to help you look for her?” John asked.

  “I would not want to trouble you.”

  “’Tis no trouble, is it, Hal?” John said with enthusiasm.

  “Mayhap not for you, Brother,” Henry replied. “But I have other plans.”

  “Very well, my lady,” John said, looking askance at his twin, “just the two of us, then.”

  Henry headed for the stairs, and Mairi and John followed close behind.

  “Is that music?” John asked.

  Mairi listened. To be sure, music emanated from the far end of the gallery. It sounded like the gittern, and the chords Mairi had taught Kathryn. Mayhap Eleanor was there.

  They opened the door and walked inside, startling Kathryn. She quickly set aside the gittern, clearly unhappy to have been caught playing it.

  “I—I—”

  “Kate, d’you know where Eleanor is?” John asked.

  “Nay,” she said with a frown, “though mayhap she’s in the nursery. I have not seen her since we broke fast.”

  “I shall run across to the nursery and check on her,” John said. “If she is there, do you want me to send her to you?”

  “Nay, John,” Mairi replied as he turned to leave. “Unless she is into some mischief.”

  “I will see.” The next moment, he was gone.

  Mairi did not understand Kathryn’s uneasiness at having been discovered playing her mother’s gittern. ’Twas almost as if the child believed she’d been caught at something forbidden.

  Yet music should never be forbidden, Mairi thought. She knew now that music was as much a part of her as her own limbs. She had learned to play the psaltery when she was no older than Eleanor, and now played most stringed instruments well, although the lute was her favorite.

  Mayhap Kathryn’s reaction to being discovered was because she felt she was somehow neglecting her “duties,” which she took very seriously. “Your music sounds lovely,” Mairi said in an attempt to put the girl at ease. “Would you like me to show you some more?”

  Kate seemed unsure whether to run away or remain
in the chapel. “Nay,” she said. “I must go to the kitchen and see that—”

  “I was just in the kitchen, Kathryn,” Mairi said, picking up the gittern and sitting on the settle, “and Cook has everything in order. Why don’t you take a little time here with me?”

  Kathryn’s lips thinned in annoyance as she looked down at Mairi.

  Mairi ignored her. “Which instrument did your mother prefer? The psaltery or the gittern?” she asked as she strummed the instrument that rested upon her lap.

  “The gittern.”

  “Ah, that seems to be your instrument as well!” Mairi said. “You have become very proficient in quite a short time.”

  Kathryn’s expression softened slightly.

  “There are many more chords and notes.” Mairi patted the cushioned seat beside her. “Sit here, and I’ll show you.”

  Kathryn seemed unable to keep herself from the promised lesson, and, still keeping her silence, she sat down.

  Mairi handed the gittern to her and did not hesitate to show her more notes and chords. She helped Kathryn to position her fingers upon the neck of the instrument and to pluck the strings singly to add depth to the music.

  “You have a natural musical ability, Kathryn,” Mairi said, grateful to have something besides her own troubles to occupy her thoughts. “Your talent would have pleased your mother, I think.”

  Kathryn’s lips pressed together tightly.

  “Once you’ve mastered the gittern,” Mairi said, “we should try the psaltery.”

  Kathryn started to put the instrument aside. “Nay, Lady Marguerite, I haven’t the time for this—”

  “Surely you could make time?”

  Kathryn seemed torn between anger and yearning. She stood suddenly, leaving the gittern on the settle. “You speak to me of my mother, yet you never knew her,” she said as anger won out. “How could you possibly know what would have pleased her?”

  “I know th—”

  “My mother was far more beautiful and had much more music in her than you will ever have!”

  “Certainly that is tr—”

  “And I have work to do here in the keep,” she said, “things Bartholomew trusts me to take care of….” Her chin quivered and her hands worked at the folds of her kirtle.