A Warrior's Bride

by Margaret Moore

  George glanced about, wondering if Aileas had noticed.

  The moment he thought it, he was sure she probably had.

  Then it occurred to him that if anybody could ride in unchallenged, they could ride out, too.

  His steps quickened. Surely Aileas wouldn’t have been so stupid as to go riding alone. His land was safe enough, but no lone woman should risk such a venture.

  He pushed open the stable door, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light as he entered. Bits of chaff swirled in the sunbeam and a horse whinnied. Another stamped, and he realized that was Aiteas’s beast, who was still in its stall, thank the Lord.

  “Tom?” George called out, looking for the head groom. Or any groom. Even a stable boy would do.

  A low moan, a sneeze, a giggle and a cascade of loose straw from the open hatch of the loft overhead heralded the appearance of the head groom. Tom was of middle years, with a long, thin face and long, thin nose, so that he looked rather like a horse himself. “Me lord?” he asked stupidly, as if he’d never seen George before.

  A woman’s bare foot appeared and started to play with the groom’s ear. “Stop that!” Tom muttered, shoving it away so that it disappeared from George’s sight.

  “Have you hired a new stable hand?” George asked gravely.

  The foot reappeared, moving slowly up Tom’s beefy arm. His grip tightened on the hatch, his face bloomed scarlet and his voice became a little strained. “No. me lord.”

  “It that Elma?”

  A younger woman, whom George recognized as one of the laundresses, showed her face, which was not the most attractive George had ever seen. Her shoulders were bare, the rest of her not visible. “I’m Tilda, my lord.”

  She batted her eyelids, but her brown lashes were so sparse the effect was quite lost.

  “Hello, Tilda. Don’t you have table linens to wash today?”

  Her face fell. “Yes, my lord,” she muttered.

  “Have either of you seen Lady Aileas lately?”

  They shook their heads.

  “It seems that the bridegroom has misplaced his bride,” he said ruefully, turning on his heel to leave. “Now, to work, both of you.”

  Once outside, George stood for a moment in the courtyard, wondering where to look next, when a burst of hearty laughter came from the men’s barracks. He thought he detected a familiar feminine note among the boisterous sound.

  He strode over to the wattle and daub building, then shoved open the door and stood on the threshold, his arms akimbo as he regarded the men gathered there around Aileas. She sat on a stool in the midst of them, with one ankle resting on her knee, holding court like a queen—or something rather different.

  “And so he said, ‘Then next time, watch where you aim!’” Aileas concluded, eliciting another roar of laughter from the men.

  What in the name of the saints was she doing? She was a lord’s wife now and had no business hanging about with his foot soldiers like a camp follower, no matter what her father might have countenanced. “Then there was the time Sir Ralph’s squire lost a boot,” she began.

  “I think you have amused the soldiers quite enough,” he remarked coolly.

  Aileas’s foot hit the floor with a thump as she twisted to look at her husband standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips. Surprisingly, there was something about his lips that altered his grin from one of jovial good humor to something indicating very slight disapproval.

  Happy and quite comfortable in the spartan barracks among the soldiers, Aileas glanced around, wondering what was amiss, and noticed that the soldiers all looked completely stunned, as if George’s presence were not just a surprise but something extremely unusual.

  Despite their peculiar reaction—for surely a lord who commanded his men well often arrived unannounced in their quarters to inspect their weapons or armor—and the fact that his grin was not quite a grin, her mind was quickly overtaken by the memory of being in George’s arms and then watching him this morning as the first streaks of dawn tinted the clouds a rosy pink.

  She had delighted in how young he looked as he slumbered, with a stray lock of blond hair falling across his smooth brow, his darker eyelashes like fans against his skin and his mouth temptingly half-opened. She had wanted to kiss him very much. She had not, reflecting that he might need to rest after all his efforts.

  And such efforts.

  So, quickly and quietly, she had washed, including the few smears of blood on her thighs. She gently and cautiously raised the covering from George, who slumbered on, and with a stifled giggle, she had cleaned him, too. And bestowed a light little kiss.

  Then she had dressed in her usual clothes, delighted to feel the comfort of her breeches and shortened skirt, although the rough fabric of her shirt made her wince. It seemed too much attention had rendered some parts of her rather sensitive.

  “You woke up,” she said cheerfully, standing. “I feared you would sleep the entire day away.”

  “Someone else should be on the gate,” he replied, sauntering into the room and running a measuring gaze over his soldiers.

  “Derek is there, and Baldwin,” she replied, for she had ascertained first thing that the proper men were at the gate. Indeed, that was what had brought her to the barracks in the first place.

  “I saw only one.”

  “Baldwin must have been inside the gatehouse. I sent him there myself. Otherwise, anybody could have ridden in unannounced.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “By the time you got out of bed and saw to the guards, we could have been overtaken,” she observed. “It’s a good thing I am a light sleeper.”

  “The soldiers are not your responsibility,” he reminded her. “The hall is.”

  Aileas flushed. “You were—”

  “Herbert can see to the household this morning,” he said, in no mood to hear any excuses, even from her. “However, he takes his orders from you now.”

  “It seems your household can run by itself, my lord, without anyone to issue orders,” she retorted.

  George suddenly took her by the arm and said, “I believe we should continue our discussion elsewhere, my dear.”

  His grip was strong and his expression, although he smiled, inexorable. Rather than let it appear as if he were pulling her away, Aileas turned and stalked from the barracks, leaving the men glancing nervously at one another. The moment she was outside and saw that nobody was nearby, she faced him angrily. “You made me look foolish in front of them!”

  George leaned his weight casually on one long leg and regarded her with what looked suspiciously like bemused condescension. “Perhaps, then, you shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “But I wanted to see about the guards. There was only one there, and he’s half-drunk yet.”

  “I see. So then you felt compelled to stay and entertain them rather than return to the hall and direct the servants?”

  “I...” Her gaze faltered and she felt as if the wind had been taken from her sails. She shrugged her shoulders sullenly, wondering if he could possibly understand. She gave him a sidelong glance. “I was enjoying myself, that’s all,” she muttered.

  George suddenly smiled, all hint of displeasure gone. “I should have expected Sir Thomas Dugall’s daughter to think first of guards and watchmen before the usual tasks of a chatelaine,” he said, his tone more amiable. “I will have Richard ensure that the guards are always on duty.”

  “Richard? You should do it.”

  “Aileas,” he chided gently, “your father may have commanded his castle and his family with an iron hand, but he is the exception, not the rule. Richard is more than capable of seeing to such things.”

  Aileas was about to protest, but she was afraid of risking that look of censure in his eyes and decided to keep silent. There were other expressions she would rather see upon his handsome face. With that in mind, she embraced him and gave him a playful nip on his earlobe, although she had to subdue a cringe at her abrupt movement. She
was rather sore elsewhere, too.

  Yet whatever pain she had to endure was immaterial, for she had surely shown her husband that, in some things, she was a very worthy bride.

  And, indeed, the reality had far surpassed anything she had ever overheard.

  He gently, but deliberately, pushed her away, then took her hand and placed it formally on his arm. “You shouldn’t do things like that in public,” he said softly. “It’s not proper.”

  She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him into a narrow recess in the stone wall between the barracks and armory, then pressed against him in a provocative embrace. “We are in the courtyard of our home and I see no reason why anyone should doubt that we are happy in each other’s company,” she said huskily.

  “Aileas,” he warned, albeit without a convincing tone as he tried to maintain some semblance of self-control.

  She looked about in a furtive manner, her brown eyes twinkling mischievously. “Oh, dear me! Look! A kitchen boy drawing water at the well has seen that I like being close to my husband! What a scandal!”

  George bit back a curse at her blithe response, fighting the impulse to take her at that very moment, despite the location. “You are embarrassing me, Aileas. You are not a soldier in some barracks,” he reminded her. “You are a lord’s wife and—”

  “And you are a lord,” she whispered, her fingers toying with his tunic, then slipping inside to brush his naked skin. “A marvelous lord. The lord of lovers. And such a lover.” Her voice grew huskier, her breath warm against the hollow of his neck. “I thought I would die when you took me, or that I was already in heaven.”

  “Aileas!” he moaned, not wanting her to stop, telling himself she must. “Please!”

  To his relief and chagrin, she finally obeyed.

  He took a deep breath and willed himself to be dignified. “Aileas, a lady doesn’t talk that way or entice her husband as if she were a whore in an alley.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “What?”

  “God’s wounds, I didn’t mean to use such language,” he said, embarrassed by his coarse comparison. “Forgive me.”

  He felt her relax, her body grow soft against his, and again had to fight his impulse to make love with her there in the courtyard.

  Aileas spoke, her head against his chest. “I accept your apology, although I’m quite sure you use such language when you are with your friends. Or even more colorful terms.”

  “I do not!”

  She drew back with a decidedly skeptical look. “Truly? When you are with your companions, you do not talk about your women? Or what you will do the next time you go to a brothel?”

  He winced at the last word. “No, I do not.”

  She raised her eyebrows and grinned, and there was mockery in her eyes. “Then you are indeed a rare man.”

  “Aileas,” he began, fighting to keep his tone even and casual, “there is a time and a place for such conversations among men, perhaps, but never—”

  “Among women?” She regarded him studiously. “Not even alone, with one’s wife?”

  “No.”

  She frowned a little but mercifully remained silent.

  Having won his point, he grew calmer, inwardly as well as outwardly. “I daresay women also discuss certain personal subjects when they are alone,” he remarked, “but never...that.”

  She grinned suddenly and stroked him in a most intimate place. “I will try not to embarrass you anymore. I will not touch you in front of the soldiers or servants,” she whispered slyly. “Or kiss you before the stewards. Or caress you where the tenants might see.”

  “Aileas!” he moaned, losing the battle to maintain his outward calm.

  She withdrew her hand, and he was suddenly as frustrated with the cessation of her caress as he had been by the initiation. “As long as you do not intend to stop doing what we are talking about,” she said, “I suppose I can be silent upon the subject in company.”

  She broke away and gestured toward the stable. “Come! Let’s go for a ride. I simply cannot stand to be cooped up inside another moment and I want to be alone with you—Oh!” She put her hand over her mouth, although her eyes danced with merriment. “I’m not supposed to say such things, am I?”

  “Aileas!” George warned, his anger less than it might have been, subverted by the excitement engendered by her words.

  She laughed gaily and dashed away.

  “A short ride,” he called after her. “Then you must address the servants about their duties and talk to Herbert concerning household matters.”

  By then, Aileas had reached the stable door, where she turned and stuck her tongue out at him before she disappeared inside.

  “Sir George, forgive me if I am disturbing you...”

  George awoke with a start and a snort. “What?” he demanded. He rubbed his bleary eyes and saw Herbert Jolliet standing before him in his solar.

  He must have fallen asleep here after a short, but swift, gallop over the fields in Aileas’s wake. Fortunately, she had taken pity on either him or his horse, or perhaps herself, for she had slowed as soon as they entered the wood.

  How lovely she had looked, astride her horse like some kind of Amazon, her face glowing, her eyes bright. They had talked of her brothers, all six of them, from the oldest, who was twenty years her senior, to the youngest, only one year older than she and nicknamed Snout, because he had a tendency to snoop. No secret was safe around him, and in self-defense, she explained, she had learned to keep very close counsel.

  She was so delightfully frank and open, a wonderful contrast to women who simpered and smiled too much. Even with Margot, he often sensed that she was talking only to tell him what she assumed he wanted to hear, not what she really thought.

  Then they had stopped and sat beneath a large oak tree and... He smiled at the memory of their heated passion and covered his secretive smile by rubbing his chin. They had stopped short of making love, however, because the ground was too rocky.

  He regarded his grave steward. Upon returning to Ravensloft, he had suggested to Aileas that she would find Herbert with either the pantler or the bottler, and that he was probably anxious to discuss the state of the food stores with her. She had nodded and walked off toward the larder, he had retired to his solar—and promptly nodded off.

  “What is it?” George asked, wide-awake now and quite certain that some kind of domestic catastrophe was responsible for this uncharacteristic behavior. Herbert wasn’t the kind of man to wake his lord, even during the day, unless there was an emergency that required his immediate guidance.

  “My lord, James was just telling me that the wine merchant from Venice is going to be here soon. Unfortunately, James has heard that his prices have increased again, due to some very unfortunate weather in Italy this past year.”

  “You’re speaking of Guido Valleduce?” George asked, relieved that his steward’s concern was of no great import, yet puzzled as to why Herbert had come to him at all over this.

  “Exactly, my lord.”

  “Then pay the extra. His wine is always excellent.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Herbert replied with a small bow. “Also, Lady Margot sends her regrets that she will be unable to join you in the hall this evening. She says she is too tired from the feasting and begs to be excused.”

  George nodded, still confused as to why Herbert, was here. “Of course. Make sure Elma or one of the other servants takes her something to eat. She likes bread and cheese and a little mulled wine for a light supper, if memory serves.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Herbert cleared his throat deferentially, as he always did when broaching an awkward subject. “I also thought to speak with you about the household accounts.”

  “You should have talked to my wife about that,” George replied, trying to keep his frustration from his voice. “That is her province now.”

  Herbert’s already gloomy frown grew deeper.

  “Unfortunately, my lord...”

  “What?
” he demanded impatiently.

  “She doesn’t seem to want to speak to me. Every time I’ve seen her since you returned, she’s sent me away.”

  George’s first impulse was to frown, but he forced himself to smile. “Perhaps she’s too tired to want to deal with such things. And I’m sure you didn’t want to insist.” Herbert neither confirmed nor denied George’s comments, so he continued. “I can understand your reluctance. Rest assured, Herbert, I will make sure she understands her duty as my wife and she will go through the accounts with you tomorrow. Where is she now?”

  “I believe you will find her in the armory, my lord.”

  “The armory?”

  “Yes. She said she wanted to ensure that her dower goods had arrived in good order. My lord, I—”

  But Sir George was already on his feet. “My father-in-law must have sent me a sword for a wedding present,” he murmured as he walked past his steward. “Thank you, Herbert.”

  Herbert listened to his lord’s retreating tread before going to a cabinet and removing one of the parchments there containing a list of the castle weapons.

  A sardonic expression darkened his face. Wait until you see the dower goods, he thought glumly. Sir George was in for a surprise.

  What kind of creature was this new lady of Ravensloft? Herbert wondered, with her outlandish clothes and masculine manner? That she was pretty and spirited was obvious, and of course some men liked that kind of woman, so it wasn’t necessarily surprising that Sir George had chosen her.

  But was she intelligent? Would she watch over the accounts with those sharp brown eyes, or did her preference run to sport and entertainment? For her sake, he hoped it did.

  At the same instant George opened the door of the armory, an arrow thudded into a knothole in the door frame three inches from his left eye.

  George stared, and Aileas, reacting to the startled look on her husband’s face, burst out laughing.

  “I hardly think murdering the groom is an appropriate way to begin married life,” George observed as he came inside the stone building. Windowless, it was dimly lit by a flambeau and the light from the open door, which slowly swung shut.