A Warrior's Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Lances and unstrung bows lay against the wall, and swords, sword belts and quivers of goose-quill arrows hung nearby. A few straw targets stood in a corner, and a bag of goose feathers on one of the wooden shelves had split, spilling its contents, so that several feathers lay upon the dirt floor.

  His wife stood opposite the door, a longbow of yew in her hands and a smiling, but guilty, expression on her face. “I wasn’t aiming for you,” she said, “or I would have hit you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But what are you doing here?” he asked, coming farther inside. “Do you always make it a practice to inspect people’s weapons?”

  “Some people’s,” she said with an unmistakable leer.

  “I thought you had ascertained all you wanted to know last night,” he said.

  “Oh, no, my lord,” she said with mock seriousness. “That will take months or years yet.”

  He noticed several additional wooden crates and barrels and wondered what they were. He would have to ask Richard. Later. “This hardly seems the place for such intensive examinations,” he noted, sauntering closer, remembering that morning in the courtyard. And the afternoon under the oak. And last night in the bedchamber.

  “I was trying this out.” She pulled on the bowstring as she held it up for him to examine. “It’s made of the finest, most supple yew, with the very best leather for the string.”

  “I’ve never seen better,” he agreed, putting his hands lightly on her slender waist.

  She embraced him quickly with her right hand, while her left held the bow. “Nor will you,” she said proudly. “My father has six Welshmen in his castle to make bows, and he’s given a hundred of the best for my dowry,” she explained as she pulled away and began to unwrap a leather strap bound around her left wrist and forearm.

  Then she took three steps back and made a sweeping gesture at the crates and boxes, smiling happily. “I came to make certain all my dowry is here.” She pointed at the wooden crates and barrels in turn. “Bows and arrows for your archers.” She nodded at another corner, where something long and wrapped in leather leaned against a wall. “Ten very fine lances for you.” She nodded at another small pile of large wooden chests that he hadn’t seen. “Fifty swords and the same number of helmets and suits of chain mail.” She went to a quiver and selected an arrow. “And a thousand goose-quill arrows.”

  “Your dowry is composed of weapons?” he asked incredulously.

  “What would we do with more linen? Or plate? Or tapestries? You have more than enough already. Indeed, I think we have enough to last for several years. Besides, my father would not give you such useless things.”

  “I thought your father had given me a sword when Herbert said I would find you here.”

  A slight frown creased her brow at the mention of the household steward. “He told me you kept sending him away,” George remarked.

  She should have guessed a man like that would squeak on her. Next time, she would take care to avoid being seen at all, for she had absolutely no desire to talk over boring household business.

  Nor could she rid herself of the baseless and surely foolish notion that he was an evil man and so was his brother. “I didn’t see any great need for immediacy in discussing the accounts,” she said, giving George a sidelong glance and what she hoped was an enticing smile to take his mind away from matters of business. “After all, it is only the day after our wedding. Besides, I think it would be preferable to converse with a statue, something that man seems determined to emulate.”

  To her relief, he smiled. “Well, he isn’t the happiest of mortals, I grant you, but he’s very good at his work. Tomorrow, you must let him explain things to you. It is your duty now.”

  “I know full well what my duty is,” she grumbled.

  George raised an interrogative eyebrow. “You just don’t want to do it?”

  That was so close to the mark, she blushed. If he said she lacked the knowledge to do it, he would have hit the bull’s-eye. She had never learned about household duties and responsibilities; she had never wanted to, and apparently it had never occurred to her father that she should be taught such things.

  “George,” she said in a cajoling tone, taking hold of his arm. She felt warmed by the contact and pressed even closer. “George, let’s not talk about such things today.”

  Aileas’s smile was glorious, and instantly George was convinced she was absolutely right—he had been too hasty about asking her to get involved in household matters so soon after their wedding. “Well, tomorrow will do well enough, I’m sure.”

  Then he gathered her into his arms and kissed her, meaning to be tender and gentle.

  Until she responded with hot, fierce passion. He kissed her again, and her response was every bit as passionate as last night.

  They were not in public now. They were alone.

  His exhaustion vanished as desire and need overtook him and his kiss deepened. Pushing her gently until her back hit the wall, his mouth still possessing hers, he tore at the lacing of her bodice with one hand while the other lifted her skirt. She moaned softly, responding to the urgency of his passion.

  His lips trailed along her cheek and down her neck while his hands caressed and cupped her breasts before moving lower. His mouth, too, continued its downward path and his hands their passionate quest until—

  “God’s wounds!”

  “What?” she gasped, opening her eyes to see frustration on his face.

  “I hate these breeches you wear!”

  “So do I right now!” she replied, smothering her laughter by leaning into his broad shoulder.

  “How the devil am I to—”

  “The same way I do with you, I daresay,” she said seductively. “Undo them.”

  His expression softened, although the fires of desire still burned in his eyes. “I would rather cut them to ribbons.”

  “Then do that,” she murmured.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I never thought I would find an armory inspirational,” George said with a deep sigh. “Unfortunately, I fear my back may never recover.”

  Aileas was easily the most amazing lover he had ever known. She seemed to know instinctively how to move, and when. She knew that the sensation of her legs around his waist was incredibly exciting for him, and she had already discovered, with astonishing speed, the exact points on his body where a light touch or scratch would send the blood surging through him. The soft sounds she made were never too loud or too quiet to be distracting, but perfect. As she was perfect.

  “Your back?” Aileas muttered as she lowered her legs from around his waist. “It is mine that is against the wall.”

  George chuckled softly. “You’ve left me feeling a husk.”

  “After all that sleep?”

  George was in too serene a humor to discuss that particular point again. He planted a light kiss on her forehead. “Let’s to the hall for some sustenance before I faint.”

  She reached down and held up what was left of her breeches. “I fear these are beyond repair.”

  “What a pity,” George said with absolutely no sincerity as he grinned like the very embodiment of devilment. “Throw them into a corner. They can be used as a rag.”

  “What a waste!”

  “Herbert will be glad to hear that you favor economy. He’s always telling me I spend too much.”

  His wife eyed him sharply, and he wished he’d kept silent on such a point. To be sure, Herbert did occasionally recommend prudence; however, George was wealthy enough not to worry about a single article of clothing. “Rarely,” he said firmly.

  “I am glad to hear that,” Aileas said, tossing the clothing aside, albeit with a regretful frown.

  George took her hand. “Come, before everyone wonders where we are. Herbert will think we’ve fallen into the well.”

  They left the armory and strolled toward the hall.

  “I must say I’m surprised you have such a dour man in your employ,” Aileas remarked pensiv
ely.

  “Are you? Perhaps the contrast between his manner and mine makes me look all the better.”

  “Would you really have a man as a steward for such a reason?” she demanded, halting and staring at him. “Or are you teasing me?”

  “What, I, my lady?” he replied with a shocked tone and mockery in his blue eyes as he laid a hand to his heart. “Never!”

  She laughed and punched his arm. The laugh was loud and the punch so hard he winced. He hoped none of his garrison saw that reaction, he thought as he looked around. His gaze rested on the castle apartments where noble guests resided while they visited Ravensloft. “Margot will not be joining us in the hall for the evening meal,” he remarked. “She danced too much last night.”

  “Or had too much wine.”

  “Margot never imbibes overmuch,” he replied. “She loves to dance, and often does so beyond her strength.” George gave his wife a rather pointed look. “However much she enjoys dancing, her manners are beyond reproach.”

  Aileas didn’t say anything, but he felt her hand tense on his arm.

  “Of course, she is not nearly as fascinating as my wife,” he said softly, and her hand relaxed.

  By now they had reached the hall, which was no longer empty. Indeed, Aileas realized, it was nearly as full of people as it had been for the feast the night before. She was also pleased to note that the festive debris had been cleared away, the tables washed and set up anew, and the servants seemed to be going about their tasks competently, despite not having their mistress standing guard over them.

  It could be, she thought with some relief, that she need not interfere very much in the day-to-day running of the household.

  Just as George didn’t seem to have much to do with the day-to-day running of his castle.

  “I fear we are a little late,” Aileas whispered as George led her to their places at the high table, for Father Adolphus was already in his place.

  “Shall I tell them why?” he offered, his face grave but his eyes full of laughter. Until he noticed her bare legs below her shortened skirt.

  She grinned ruefully and hurried to take her seat as the priest began grace.

  When Father Adolphus was finished and everyone had started to eat, George said, “This seems to be a day for tardiness. I am surprised Richard isn’t here. He will be soon, no doubt. And Herbert, too. I know you will want to meet with him at once, to pick a daily time to discuss household matters.”

  Aileas gulped her ale to hide her dismay, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Daily discussions?”

  “Can you not use a napkin?” George asked in a whispered aside.

  “I do not see one,” she countered.

  His brow furrowed, her husband scanned the table. “Your first command as chatelaine,” he said, “can be to make certain there are napkins at the high table for every meal.”

  “Every meal?”

  “Yes.”

  “But surely it isn’t necessary to use such linens daily. They will need more washing and will wear out sooner.”

  He turned to her and elevated one of his eyebrows ever so slightly, so that she immediately felt extremely silly and parsimonious. “Very well, my lord,” she said. “Napkins at every meal.”

  “A small thing, I know,” he said, “but etiquette makes life so much more civilized and pleasant.”

  “And my lack of concern for such matters makes me uncivilized and unpleasant?” she charged.

  “Aileas, that isn’t what I meant at all!”

  Pleased by his rapid denunciation of the implication, she smiled and moved her hand toward his lap. “Last night I think we were both uncivilized, but it was very pleasant indeed.”

  He started when she touched him. “Aileas! We are in company.”

  Stung by the rebuke in his tone, she clasped her hands together in her lap and, truth be told, began to sulk. She had only thought to please him. Would he really rather talk about napkins than enjoy a little... teasing? If so, he was unlike any other man she had ever encountered. Why, to hear Rufus and the others talk, they would rather play such games than eat or drink or even fight.

  “Ah, here is Herbert now!” George declared.

  Aileas followed his gaze and spotted the household steward making his way along the wall like some kind of spider, and she shivered at the notion. A quick glance at George gave evidence that he did not share her sense of distaste for the man—and why should he, if he had known him ten years or more?

  “Greetings, my lord,” Herbert Jolliet said in a voice as mournful as his countenance. “I trust I find you and your lady wife well.”

  “Indeed—never better!”

  “Even if somebody forgot the napkins,” Aileas muttered.

  George turned to her sharply, a smile on his lips and what appeared to be a warning in his eyes.

  “Good evening, Herbert,” she said.

  “If it pleases you, my lord, I thought we could begin tomorrow morning by, um, talking about the dower goods.”

  “Ah. Since the dower goods are all in the armory, I think we may leave that for Richard.”

  “I...I see you have discovered what they are, my lord.”

  A discouraged expression appeared on his sallow features.

  “You look as if you do not approve,” Aileas said sternly.

  “Aileas,” George said, hoping to diffuse the building tension.

  “It is not for a steward to pass judgment on my dower goods.”

  “I’m sure Herbert was doing nothing of the kind.”

  “Certainly not, my lord,” the steward added immediately. “Forgive me, my lady, for giving you that impression.”

  “Very well,” Aileas said, not believing that his apology was sincere.

  Her skepticism was obvious to George from her still-offended tone and her pouting lips. Gracious God, she was as sensitive as a man with a toothache.

  Nevertheless, the way she pouted, with her full bottom lip pushed ever so slightly forward, only served to make him want to kiss her again. And as for sensitive—that need not always be a problem, as her incredibly sensitive reactions to his touch had demonstrated. Besides, she wasn’t used to Herbert’s manner, which he supposed was not the most agreeable in England.

  “At any rate, there is no need to concern yourself with the dower goods, Herbert,” he said placatingly. “Tomorrow, perhaps you could show my wife the linen?”

  “The linen, my lord?” Herbert echoed, a worried frown creasing his permanently wrinkled brow. “Much of it will be in the process of laundering.”

  “Then go over the foodstuffs Gaston thinks we need for the next fortnight.”

  “Whatever you wish, my lord. I shall be happy to wait upon you, my lady, whenever it will be most convenient,” Herbert offered.

  “Well then, I leave you two to work it out,” George announced. “In the morning, I am going to speak to the reeve about the mill rate.”

  “You fear something is amiss, my lord?” the steward asked.

  “Not at all,” George replied. “I only thought I should speak with him about it. He wanted to raise it a week ago.”

  Herbert nodded and made his obeisance, then turned and left his lord and his sharp-eyed bride to go in search of his older brother.

  Richard Jolliet glared at Herbert in the dim light cast by the glowing coals in the hearth of the main room of his house, a large edifice just outside the main gate of Ravensloft. “She wouldn’t speak with you? At all?”

  “She spoke to me,” Herbert answered in a low whine, “to send me away.”

  “How did you offend her?”

  “I didn’t!”

  “You must have done something,” Richard growled.

  “Nothing,” his brother declared.

  “Then it must be that face of yours that repelled her.”

  “We cannot all be as pleasing as you,” Herbert sneered.

  “You should try. It goes a long way to avert suspicion.”

  Since Herbert c
ouldn’t deny the truth of that, he fell into a sulky silence.

  “So you know little about her, then?” Richard asked.

  “Only that she is a most peculiar woman.”

  “To judge by her dress alone, eh?” Richard confirmed with a laugh. “Yet she seems to suit his lazy lordship well enough.”

  Herbert nodded, falling, as always, under the spell of his brother’s boisterous nature, something he both envied and loathed. “She was up before dawn but said nothing to the servants. She spent the morning in the barracks—”

  “The what?”

  “The barracks. The men seem to adore her now, too.”

  “No doubt.”

  “You are disgusting.”

  “What did Sir George make of this outrageous behavior?”

  “As far as I can tell, nothing at all.”

  “He is a fool.” Richard picked at his teeth with his fingernail. “What else did she do? Did Elma spend any time with her?”

  “She didn’t get the chance. They went riding, then he slept in his solar.”

  “Where was she while he was snoring?”

  “Apparently in the armory. With the dowry—the weapons.”

  Richard cursed softly. “There’s no money at all?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of.”

  Richard grunted. “The parsimonious Sir Thomas. The daughter will not be so free with money as Sir George, if she is like her sire.”

  “I agree,” Herbert replied. “She had the servants take away several candles and most of the coal for the brazier in their bedchamber, as well as half the bedclothes.”

  “Indeed?” Richard said, raising his bushy eyebrows. “What about the accounts? Do you think she’ll be able to figure them out?”

  “I don’t know,” Herbert replied honestly. “I was as careful as I could be, but she doesn’t strike me as a stupid woman.”

  Richard laughed scornfully. “You who are so wise when it comes to women!”

  Herbert flushed hotly. “I can manage Lady Aileas.”

  “You’d better. Now, how many weapons?”