Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Cullen was perfectly calm. “It is my duty as your champion to anticipate your command, my lord. I know what is expected of me, in every arena.”

  “Gallantly spoken.”

  “And true.”

  Preston’s gaze moved to Teodora, lingering on her long figure and silken hair. It was not odd or misplaced that he felt a sudden stab of jealousy, but not because Cullen had taken a liking to his wife. It was because she had taken a liking to him, too. It had been apparent from the beginning that there was attraction between them, or at least a semblance of friendliness. Perhaps, in some way, she was attempting to steal the earl’s champion, in more ways than Preston could compete, and a fierce sense of possessiveness swept him. Cullen belonged to him, and Preston had to make sure that Cullen remembered that.

  “I care not what you do on your own time with my wife, so long as it does not interfere with my plans or desires for you,” Preston said, his eyes riveted to Cullen. “As long as you understand that it is your duty to impregnate her, I shall rely on your judgment in this matter. When this duty is complete, your obligation will be finished. She is nothing more than breeding stock and I trust you are aware of this.”

  The words were harsh for Teodora’s ears but Cullen didn’t waver. “I am, my lord.”

  “After she has given me a son, I plan to return her to Quellargate and see her no more. She’ll be banished, a recluse, persona non grata. Is this clear?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “I shall not have my champion distracted by a whore.”

  Near the window, Teodora flinched as if preparing to say something but, mercifully, she kept silent. Cullen could only imagine how this conversation was affecting her and if he’d had any less control, he would have planted his fist in Preston’s mouth.

  “Shall we proceed to the field, my lord?” He thought it best to change the subject at this time, not strangely, more for his sake than for Teodora’s. He was seriously afraid of what he might say or do if Preston provoked him further. “We’ve dozens of men to interview and I would waste no more time.”

  But Preston was oblivious to Cullen’s weakening control, his attempt to return to business. Preston was determined to drive his point home.

  “I will not tolerate any more of these unplanned encounters, de Nerra,” he said as Cullen moved past him and headed for the chamber door. “Do you understand me?”

  “Completely, my lord.” Cullen paused at the door, gesturing for Preston to pass through before him. “After you, my lord.”

  There was something in Cullen’s tone that infuriated Preston. Somehow, it seemed to him that the man was mocking him by not giving him more of a fight on his demands. Cullen was obedient, but he was also extremely cunning and clever. Perhaps he is toying with me, Preston thought. He knows I have no use for this wench, and he seems to like her. Perhaps, he thinks to undermine me somehow. Perhaps… perhaps, they are even conspiring against me somehow.

  Preston was not a man to be toyed with, nor was he one to relinquish control in any manner. He had to show Cullen, once and for all, that it was he who held the power, in all aspects. He could not permit his position to be usurped by any knight, not even by his beloved champion.

  Ignoring Cullen, he moved swiftly across the room, grabbing Teodora by the arm so brutally that the shawl fell away and she gasped with pain and surprise. Before Cullen could say a word, Preston struck out and slapped Teodora across the face. Her head snapped viciously and she stumbled back, steadying herself against the wall lest she topple over.

  Preston’s eyes blazed at her, twin orbs of evil as they looked upon her semi-nude body with disgust and anger.

  “Your duty is to bear me a son and nothing more. You have no money, no lands, no dignity unless I say so. You are nothing without me, wench, and although your repulsively nubile body has managed to tempt my champion, be aware that your perverted feminine wiles can do nothing against me. I find you revolting as well as insipid.” He grabbed her again, squeezing her arm viciously as if to tattoo his hatred into her very bones. “Do you hear me, wench? Do you?”

  Teodora should have been terrified but, at the moment, she couldn’t manage to feel fear. Only anger. She did not like being struck, nor spoken to as if she were no better than the lowliest slave girl. She was not normally combative, but something in Preston’s eyes spurred an extreme sense of self-defense. Sometimes men were bullies because they were allowed to be. Though she knew she had no right, Teodora wondered what course Preston would take if she decided to stand against his belligerence. She thought, perhaps, that if she didn’t, the violence would only grow worse. And in truth, she feared for her life.

  It was time to show the man what kind of woman he had married.

  She wasn’t going to take let him hit her again.

  “Get your hand off me,” she growled.

  The room filled with shocked silence. Cullen stared at Teodora, at Preston, his big body tensing for what was surely to come. He simply couldn’t believe what he had heard. Apparently, neither did Preston. When his momentary surprise wore off, he growled in fury and brought his hand up again to strike her. This time, it was obvious that he intended to seriously disable her.

  Teodora saw his big hand swinging toward her and it suddenly didn’t matter that she was his chattel, with no voice and no rights. Something deep inside her told her to defend herself, to protect herself from yet another brutal blow, and she brought her arm up to block his strike. Preston’s hand jerked away, but he balled his fist and came back around for another strike. This time, Teodora beat him to the punch, literally, and hit him squarely in the face.

  Blood spurted from Preston’s bruised nose. He fell back, hands to his face as red rivers emerged from between his fingers. Filled with courage and fed by anger, Teodora planted her foot against his stomach, shoving and kicking him at the same time. Preston went down to the floor. Moving in for another strike, Teodora was suddenly blocked by Cullen’s big body.

  His massive form stood in front of Preston, his hands grasping her firmly to stop her. Distracted from her rage, Teodora glanced up at him and was shocked by the expression on his face.

  “Christ, Teodora,” he hissed, his fingers digging into her arms. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  She knew in that instant that he was terrified for her. No anger, simply fear reflected in his dark eyes. But Teodora refused to back down, not even to Cullen.

  “He’ll not strike me again,” she said, her voice filled with uncharacteristic emotion. “I am not a servant to be whipped or a dog to be disciplined. I am Lady Barklestone and demand the respect of the title, even from my own husband. I am an intelligent, obedient woman who responds quite adequately to reason and kind orders. And I tell you now that I will no longer tolerate his abuse.”

  “Abuse?” Cullen repeated, incredulity in his tone. “Teodora, he’s…”

  He’s defending him! She thought madly, and her emotions began to run wild. He’s defending a man who would hit me! “And you!” She was suddenly furious and tore herself free from his grip. “You stand by and permit him to beat a woman? What kind of man are you that you would allow this, de Nerra?”

  The expression on Cullen’s face was difficult to describe. A mixture of fear, guilt, and anguish. He could hear Preston behind him, struggling to his feet, but Cullen’s attention was solely on Teodora.

  “He is my liege,” he said hoarsely. “I am his champion. I do not need to explain to you more than that.”

  “Kill her!” Preston screamed through the hands still clenched over his face. “Take her to the blocks and execute her!”

  Cullen turned to Preston. “She is distraught, my lord. I can assure you that this will never happen again and there is no need to…”

  “You will not speak for me,” Teodora said heatedly. “If he tries to strike me again, most assuredly I will defend myself. ’Tis a weak, foolish man who preys on those weaker than himself.”

  Cullen moved faster than he
had ever moved in his entire life. Grabbing the shawl that had fallen to the ground, he thrust it at Teodora and grabbed her all in the same motion. Preston was still shouting orders for her execution as Cullen hustled her through the main chamber, making sure to take Regal by the arm, and squiring them both from the apartments.

  The blind old woman sputtered and stumbled in his grip, surprised by it, and Teodora grumbled and struggled. But through it all, Cullen’s determination never wavered. He knew he had to remove Teodora to safety and then return to calm Preston, or the woman he was becoming quite fond of would surely see the executioner come the morrow.

  The trio disappeared down the hall. Down the maze of corridors they marched, taking two flights of stairs and ending up on a lower level of the manse. Teodora was cooling now, thinking how foolishly she may have acted and knowing her emotions had fed her actions.

  But she had been so very angry.

  Aequo animo, he had once told her. Calm of mind. She most certainly had not been calm. And Cullen, in defending both her and the earl, had placed himself in serious jeopardy. Although she did not regret defending herself, she did regret the position Cullen found himself in. When she turned to him to offer some semblance of an apology, she was met with an expression of stone. Knowing in that instant that an apology was not enough, she simply kept silent and allowed him to escort her and Regal down the hall.

  It seemed as if they had been walking forever but it was, in fact, only a few minutes. Finally, Cullen came to a halt and pounded heavily on one of the many oaken doors that lined the dim corridor. When the door opened, he shoved Teodora and Regal inside and followed.

  A thin woman with large eyes gazed at back at them. She was not pretty, but rather average in coloring and appearance, with nondescript green eyes and dull brown hair caught back in an elaborate net. Yet when she spoke, her voice was low and seductive.

  “Sir Cullen,” she said hesitantly when she saw the women in his grasp. “May I ask… how can I be of service?”

  Cullen’s features were hard. “Lady Victoria, may I present Lady Barklestone and her grandmother, Lady Regal.”

  Startled by the unexpected introduction, Victoria collapsed in a deep curtsy. “My lady,” she greeted. “Welcome to Rodstone. It will be my pleasure to serve you.”

  Teodora didn’t reply, too disoriented and distressed to form a proper response. Cullen grunted for her. “I would ask that you entertain them until such time as I return for them,” he said. “Do not let either of them leave this chamber, for any reason. And bolt this door when I have gone.”

  Victoria nodded eagerly. “Of course,” she said, trying not to be obvious as she stared at Teodora’s torn dress. “I apologize I was not on-hand for the countess’ arrival. My husband informed me that the countess wished to rest and recover, with only family to attend her.”

  Cullen merely nodded. Then, he looked at Teodora, hardness and sorrow in his eyes. “This is Lady Victoria Sudeley, Sir Godfrey’s wife and your new lady-in-waiting. She will take care of you while I return to repair the damage you have done.”

  Teodora’s cheeks flushed a dull red. She didn’t reply, moving away from him and taking a seat on a cushioned chair. Victoria watched her curiously, with confusion, but Cullen offered no other explanation.

  “I will have gowns sent to her for this eve’s ball. See that she is properly clad,” he said as he moved for the door, his eyes on Teodora, wrapped in the black shawl and looking pale and drawn. He could only pray that Preston would be soothed, or the lady might be gazing at her last sunset. “Verbum sat sapienti est.”

  The words were meant for her and Teodora looked at him, their gazes locked, smoldering. A word to the wise. He was lecturing her, the fewer words the better. They both knew what she had done and they both knew that she would never admit that she had been wrong. After an eternal moment of tumultuous emotions passing between them, Teodora turned back to the window. She had nothing to say.

  Cullen continued to stare at her, feeling unbalanced and torn. What kind of man are you that you would let him beat a woman? The words echoed in his head. He wished he could explain to her, but now was not the time or the place. She didn’t fully understand, and he was sorry that she apparently thought him such a weakling. More than once, she had accused him of weakness because she had not understood the circumstances. But if she had given any thought to the matter, she would have realized that he was stronger than she could possibly comprehend.

  “Nil desperandum,” he finally muttered.

  Teodora closed her eyes tightly as if to block out the meaning of the words. Never despair, he had told her. She had never felt more despair in her entire life.

  Cullen waited a brief moment for her to reply, but receiving none, he simply quit the room. Victoria bolted the door in his wake and turned uncertainly to her new guests. The old woman with the white eyes had already managed to topple the wine pitcher and now stood licking the alcohol off her fingers. But the tall, beautiful woman with the torn dress sat glumly, gazing from the window and staring at the sky beyond. At a loss for what to say or do, Victoria smiled weakly.

  “Congratulations on your marriage, my lady,” she offered. “I pray to God that you have much happiness for the future.”

  Teodora gave her a look that immediately quelled her smile. “God has nothing to do with this marriage, Lady Victoria. The devil is at work here.”

  Victoria could hear the despair in the new countess’ voice. She knew, from her husband, that Barklestone was a vile man with foul tendencies. She felt such pity for the beautiful young woman, but she suspected that any expression of condolence at this time would be unwelcomely met.

  Unsure what to do or say next, she went to a shelf and collected a board game, the pieces made from ivory and onyx. Cullen had told her to entertain Lady Barklestone, and entertain she would. The woman didn’t seem to be in a talking mood, so she would not force her into conversation at the moment. But it was clear that something was needed to fill the heavy silence that settled.

  Any diversion would do.

  Moving to the chair opposite the countess, Victoria pulled up a small table and set the game down. Teodora eyed it.

  “Backgammon?” she said.

  Victoria nodded. “Indeed, my lady. Do you play?”

  Teodora looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “Surely… surely you want to know what has happened?”

  “You will tell me when you are ready,” Victoria said. “Shall we play?”

  “I don’t feel like playing.”

  Victoria smiled. “I do,” she said. “I get so bored here, all alone, waiting for a glimpse of my husband when he sees fit to grace me with his presence. Won’t you take pity on me, my lady, and beat me in this game as he does?”

  Teodora open her mouth to refuse her again but thought better of it. She supposed it was better than sitting there, worrying over what had just happened. Victoria grinned encouragingly at her and Teodora couldn’t help but relent. There was something likable about her new lady-in-waiting and, God only knew, she needed a distraction after everything that had happened. Truth be told, she appreciated that the woman wasn’t peppering her with questions about the situation. She wouldn’t even know where to start. After a moment, she tied the ends of the shawl tightly so they would not fall off when she tossed the die.

  “Very well,” she sighed. “But I will not hear your complaints when I triumph over you.”

  Victoria handed her the small white die. “I have long learned to be a gracious loser.”

  “Even with your husband?”

  “He is most fortunate that I let him best me.”

  “Is that what a wife does? Let her husband best her?”

  Victoria’s smile faded and she fixed Teodora in the eye. There was a great wisdom in the plain green depths. “A wife must never let her husband know how clever she truly is. To allow him the illusion of supremacy is the greatest power we have o
ver them.”

  The words were spoken directly at her, their meaning gaining weight and dimension. Teodora stared thoughtfully at the plain-featured woman, realizing that Lady Victoria was correct. There was prudence in restraint, and in the subtle art of manipulation. If she couldn’t outfight Preston, there were other ways to best him.

  Nil desperandum.

  She wasn’t going to permit Preston to beat her. Even at the cost of her own life. But somehow, she knew Cullen would never let that happen.

  An hour and two games of backgammon later, the gowns began arriving.

  Up until that time, Teodora kept expecting the door to burst open and men to arrest her for the incident with Preston but, so far, nothing had happened. Then, a knock on the door brought servants bearing half-finished garments for her, and the parade of clothing turned a tense situation into something quite different.

  Soon, she found herself trying on one gown after another, standing with her arms raised as several women bustled around her, pinning hems and stitching sleeves. Another group sat in the corner, sewing the alterations on other gowns that had already been marked. As evening fell, Teodora was accumulating quite a wardrobe.

  It was all a little confusing, but she knew that Cullen had sent them. In spite of what had happened that afternoon, he was proceeding with the plans for the feast as if nothing was amiss. Therefore, she tried to relax a little and cooperate with the servants. Her favorite gown thus far was a crimson beauty with gold accents and although she had never been one for fanciful clothing, the sheer beauty of the gown caught her attention.

  Lady Victoria, noting that Teodora seemed to be paying more attention to that gown than any of the others, declared that it would be the garment of choice for the feast that evening. With that in mind, the hive of busy women set about to create the perfect party confection.