“Ah, here you are Guy,” boomed the first, “I was just saying to Temur…” But just what he was saying to his companion, they were not to find out. As he caught sight of Mathilde, the words seemed to freeze on his lips. Both newcomers stared at Mathilde, transfixed. She dabbed her lips with the napkin, and turned expectantly back to her husband.
Lord Martindale gave an irritable shrug. “Aye?” he growled. “What is it? Can a man not break his fast in peace?” These words seemed to astonish them still further.
“Guy?” said the younger man in an uncertain voice. “Who’s this lass?”
“That’s what I’m trying to ascertain!” Lord Martindale burst out angrily. “But I’m plagued and beset all round with interruptions!” Mathilde jumped at his words. What does he mean? She wondered uneasily. She had told him who she was. Did he feel some lingering doubts as to her identity? As if noticing her consternation, he made a brief gesture toward her. “This is the Lady Mathilde,” he said abruptly. “You will treat her with the accord due to a guest in my house.” A guest? Mathilde stared, crestfallen, as the two men bowed dubiously in her direction. The Lady Mathilde? She was the Lady Martindale, and his Marchioness! The two men looked frankly unconvinced by her credentials. Casting her a warning look, he said briefly. “These are two of my men, Waldon and Temur.”
“I’m happy to meet you,” she said with as much bewildered dignity as she could muster. What is going on? Clearly, he did not want these men to know that she was his wife. They started exchanging some words which Mathilde did not even attempt to make sense of. Her head was in a whirl and her eyes smarted. She sat with her back very straight as it dawned on her that it was not just these men he wished to be kept in the dark. He had not introduced her to anyone as his wife. Not even last night. The realization made her gasp and all three turn their heads in her direction. Quickly, she masked it with a cough, raising her balled fist to her mouth. “Excuse me,” she said, attempting to scramble to out of her chair, momentarily forgetting she was bundled in about ten blankets. She flailed around for a few moments, before managing to find her feet.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Lord Martindale harshly.
Mathilde did not answer him, for in truth, she had no notion. She just knew that it was imperative that she get away from him this very instant. She took a shaky breath and hurriedly started toward the table where Robin still sat in the center of the hall. Her view was blurry, as her eyes were full of embarrassing tears and her chest heaved with the effort not to let them fall. Although she succeeded holding back her tears, she could not say the same about her blankets which she seemed to be fast shedding with every step. She made a grab for the last one, and was just stumbling over one flapping round her ankles, when she felt her upper arms seized firmly from behind.
“Hold!” growled Lord Martindale’s voice in her ear. “What the hells do you think you’re doing, disrobing in front of everyone?”
“Unhand her at once!” yelled Robin, springing up from his seat.
“Who’s this young sprig?” muttered Waldon, turning to his companion.
Temur shrugged. “Think I must still be drunk,” he said, scratching his head.
Mathilde gazed accusingly up at Lord Martindale. “I want to leave!” she announced in an injured voice.
“You’ve only just arrived,” he pointed out tersely.
“Well, I’m clearly unwelcome!” She flung at him shakily.
“Keep your voice down! And stop wriggling, unless you want to give everyone an eyeful.”
Mathilde flinched, and glanced over her shoulder at their avid audience. There were a good many astonished faces, and open mouths. Turning back, she whispered “But I don’t understand,” She was unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. With a frustrated growl, he suddenly heaved her up and over his shoulder. Mathilde was too astonished to make a sound. The blanket she had managed to hold on to was twisted awkwardly about her, and she could definitely feel a frigid breeze around her nether regions. Before she could so much as protest, she was being borne precipitately out of the Great Hall. Squeezing her eyes shut, she sobbed, little comforted by the knowledge that no one could see how utterly defeated she felt.
VI
What the hells am I doing? Blood pounded in Guy’s ears as he flung open the door to his bedchamber and tipped his fair burden, almost entirely naked he noticed now, into the middle of his own bed. She squeaked as she hit the mattress and scrabbled for her blanket which was currently wrapped around her left knee. Guy had to turn away, and after kicking the door shut behind them, he turned his attention to safer quarters, restoking the dwindling fire in the hearth.
Why was his heart thudding so wildly in his chest? Why he had reacted so strongly, he knew not. But somehow her words, nay not exactly her words, but her expression had affected him. Or perhaps it was some potent combination of the two? She was hurt. He had hurt her. Then of course, there was the fact that everyone in the hall had been getting a glimpse of what belonged to him alone.
He cast a fulminating glance over his shoulder and found she had given up on the blanket and was disappearing under his bedcovers. The strong wave of satisfaction that broke over him, at the sight of her in his bed, took him aback. He struggled a moment with his thoughts. What was wrong with him today? Bringing her to his bedchamber was doubtless a mistake, a small cold inner voice nagged at him. If he had any idea of somehow renouncing this female as an imposter, then this was clearly a misstep. There had been several witnesses to his demonstration of overbearing behavior. On the other hand, all but one were his own loyal men and true. None of them would ever bear witness against him. As for her companion, he was still incapable of growing a beard, let alone swearing a grown man’s oath.
He brooded a moment on this, watching the flames grow in the fireplace. When he had himself under a tighter rein, he turned to face her again. She was huddled under the top blanket, such a sad, woebegone look on her face that he was immediately on the back-foot again. Were those tear tracks down her cheeks? Why does she have to look so young? He knew for a fact the woman he had married was supposed to have worked her way through two husbands before him!
“Why did you come here?” he asked, more harshly than he’d intended.
Her gaze flickered to meet his, but their expression of hopelessness didn’t change. “It doesn’t matter,” she said bleakly. “I was mistaken. I thought… At least, I hoped…” she swallowed. “But I was wrong.”
Her words were so quietly uttered he had to crane to catch them. She’d thought what? That she could twist him around her little finger? My gods. He let his eyes roam over that unruly mop of curls. What the hells had she done to herself? He felt a flicker of the concern he’d felt the previous evening. But she had assured him that nothing had befallen her on the journey. He frowned, except clearly something had happened, for no gently-born female had seen the inside of Wickhamford jail! He sighed with frustration and rubbed his temples. He’d already heard her account of how that happened, precious little sense that it made. “Why were you dressed as a boy?” he demanded instead, and for a moment he did not think she would answer.
“I thought it would be safer to travel that way,” she mumbled, still not meeting his gaze.
He frowned. With only another boy as companion, he supposed that made sense, but still... I decided that it was high time we met, were the astonishing words she had uttered earlier. His brain whirled as he came to the realization of what she was admitting. That she had run away. Like a willful, spoilt child. She had left the safety of her parent’s guardianship, and put herself entirely at his mercy. Little fool.
He kicked one of the logs farther into the fire. For some reason though, he left that harsh thought unspoken, and he wasn’t used to considering other people’s feelings. The problem was, she didn’t look like a spoiled, pampered courtier. She looked like a little waif and stray. Unbidden, the memory of her bruised toes swam into his brain, clouding his judgement. It annoye
d him that he couldn’t act rationally around her.
“I can leave on the morrow,” she said tonelessly, her eyes still lifeless and dull. Why did she look like that? Not so long ago she had gazed at him with clear, wide eyes that had tied him in knots. Then her words sank in, and struck him on the raw. “Oh will you?” he asked, his own tone pointed and brittle. Gods, these southerners. They thought they could saunter into his life, wreaking havoc and then dance back out again. It was about time she learned to fear him, as everyone else did. His expression hardened and he crossed his arms, regarding her with his nastiest expression. The one that made grown men quake in their boots.
“It would serve you right,” he said coldly. “If I keep you prisoner here, until you give me a son.” Let’s see how she took that! That will take the wind out of her sails no doubt, he thought, with satisfaction.
He heard the hitch in her breath and felt a sudden flash of regret. Why, he had no notion, he thought uncomfortably. Except, he would be a monster indeed to enjoy the tears of women. But when he looked at her, she had lifted her head from the mattress and an expression shone from her eyes that startled him. Naked longing and hope. Suddenly she was flushed with color, her lips parted. What the hells? That was what she wanted? He felt his breathing coming fast. His baby? It couldn’t be?
“Oh my lord,” she said, and clasped her trembling hands together. He was confused. Doubtless she was about to beg him now for mercy, to let her return south. But her words were warm and seemed to breathe life into parts of him that he had quite forgotten even existed. She raised her eyes to meet his, and they were shining. “I would like that above all things,” she confessed huskily.
Guy stared at her. She wanted his baby? He was reeling. Doubtless for some nefarious purpose, his brain shrieked at him, but his head wasn’t ruling him right now. He felt like he was struggling to even breathe. “My son?” he repeated hoarsely. Surely he had misunderstood her?
She nodded her head. “Oh yes. Yes, please,” she answered, so politely that he was struggling to remember why the request was so outrageous. Yes please? He gazed at her in amazement. She smiled back at him, a pretty blush spreading over her cheeks. She looked so entirely guileless that his survival instincts kicked in, overruling his pounding heart. She’s dangerous, a voice whispered to his soul, dousing him like a bucket of ice-cold water. He could still feel the steady pulse of his groin responding to her with an almost painful intensity. He shifted on his feet. Could she tell the state she had reduced him to? Doubtless, she was well versed in the arts of appealing to men. She was certainly playing him like a strung lute. The way she had identified the one chink in his armor, left him dry-mouthed with horror. Clearly, she was a master of this game of manipulation and he was the mere novice here.
He blinked, feeling like a stupefied mouse in front of a snake. How is she doing it? He was amazed by her arts. She sat there with her sawn off, uncombed hair, and despite it all, had the nerve to seduce him! He hadn’t even looked at a woman in years, except with suspicion. More fool him, he believed in keeping his word, even when it had been given under duress. Some ridiculous sense of honor had kept him faithful to the empty marriage vows he’d uttered. He’d had no idea at the time, he thought as he stared at her, that the wife he was pledging himself to could be represented by this. If he had known… he had the terrible suspicion he would not have resented it quite so bitterly. I must be out of my mind.
Guy found himself descending the staircase a few moments later, his head still reeling. Firmin, Waldon and Temur were waiting for him below. Feeling their keen gazes trained on him, he forced his thoughts away from the naked female he’d left in his bed, and tried to focus instead on the quizzing he was about to receive. Holding up a hand to forestall them, he led the way wordlessly to his study.
“Who in the name of the gods, is she?” demanded Firmin as soon as the door closed behind them.
Guy walked around his desk and collapsed into his chair. He passed a shaking hand over his brow and shook his head. “I’m not sure yet,” he said grimly. “I need to be sure.”
“Well her brother’s beside himself, poor little bastard!” muttered Temur. “He’d soon as run you through with a blade as look at you!”
Guy frowned. “He’s not her brother,” he answered shortly. For some reason, Temur’s words annoyed him, though why he had no notion. A husband’s rights far outstripped those of a brother, even if Robin Geddings did turn out to be some male relation of hers.
“You can’t just go exercising feudal rights on a wench that’s not even from round these parts,” protested Waldon, with a horrified expression on his countenance.
Exercising feudal rights? Guy dropped the hand from his brow abruptly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, staring from one appalled face to another.
Waldon couldn’t even meet his gaze. “It’s not right,” he muttered into his beard, staring miserably at his feet.
“Gods, surely you know me better than that?” Guy burst out indignantly. “No Marquess of Martindale has claimed that right in living memory!” He stared hard at them one after the other.
Firmin cleared his throat. “Of course not, Guy” he said uncertainly. “It just looked a little … er.” Words failing him, he turned and nudged Temur.
“I wouldn’t have invited you to my wedding feast if I thought there was a chance you’d claim Lettys’s first night,” Temur admitted frankly.
Guy spluttered incoherently.
“Then why did you do it, my lord?” piped up Waldon in puzzlement, scratching his bristly chin. “We all saw you strip the little maid and then carry her out over your shoulder…”
“I didn’t strip her!” cut in Guy coldly. “She hasn’t got a garment fit to be seen in…” He turned back to Firmin. “Did you send for clothing?” he asked irritably.
“Aye, I sent Roger, but he’s not returned yet.”
“Well, when he does, I want it sent straight up to her.” He hesitated a moment. “She’s in my bedchamber,” he added, throwing a challenging look their way.
“Your bedchamber?” repeated Firmin in stunned tones. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances which Guy ignored.
“Waldon, Temur, you’re dismissed,” said Guy in clipped tones. “Firmin, you stay.”
The other two did not look best pleased to be sent away, but Firmin was his most trusted man, and Guy wanted to keep his cards close to his chest on this one. Temur sent him a dark look over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door.
“She didn’t look that sort,” mumbled Waldon unhappily, as he pulled the door closed behind him, and for some reason Guy felt the tips of his ears turn red.
“What’s going on Guy?” asked Firmin in troubled tones. “This isn’t like you.” Guy waved toward a chair and Firmin grabbed one and dragged it over to the desk.
He took a deep breath. “She says she’s my wife,” he said heavily.
Firmin sat up abruptly “Your wife?” he echoed hoarsely.
“Aye.”
Guy watched Firmin’s eyes widen with shock. He sat stock still for a moment or two, then seemed galvanized into action. “Nay, that she cannot be,” his steward said firmly, shaking his head. “Not after the manner she arrived in last night. No gently-born lady would ever have borne such treatment.”
Guy shrugged. “It’s what she claims.”
“A horse thief? Marchioness of Martindale?” Firmin sounded appalled.
“She said she paid for that horse,” Guy found himself saying. What the hells? He gave a quick shake of his head. Clearly, his thoughts were still addled from earlier. Luckily, Firmin didn’t seem to notice his slip.
“She’s lying through her pretty little teeth,” his steward answered confidently.
Guy clenched his fist. “Thought her pretty, did you?” he asked in an odd tone.
Firmin looked pained. “Nay! Her teeth only I noticed,” he hastened to explain. “She had them all,” he added lamely. “And they were whit
e and straight and even.” Guy breathed out again. “You need to have a care, Guy,” his friend was saying earnestly. “Who knows what this wench is up to? She clearly moves in criminal circles and could even have been sent by your enemies…”
Guy looked up with a frown. “What enemies?”
“The enemies of the north, of course,” said Firmin. “The Argent King himself!”
Oh. “To what end?” asked Guy listlessly. The truth was, he had grown heartily sick of such talk in the last few years. In all honesty, the so-called southern king was now King of all Karadok. The north had surrendered and the last of the northern royal bloodline had been taken. There were endless rumblings and treasonous toasts drunk to the lost princess, the so-called rightful heir.
As for Guy, he had renounced all thoughts of plots and daring rescues after one fateful night five years ago when he had actually met the Princess Una. Nothing had prepared him for the pale girl with tired eyes, who had begged only to be left in peace. Far from chafing under the yoke of King Wymer’s imprisonment, she seemed to view her would-be deliverers with actual dismay.
“You see, unlike my father, I do not believe in the divine right of kings,” she had murmured apologetically. “I never have.” He had been profoundly shocked as every tenet his father had instilled in him from childhood had crumbled around his ears. The last of the Blechmarshes did not even believe the northern cause.
“It could be lots of things,” Firmin was waxing lyrical now on the subject. “Those southerners are equal to anything. They may want to cheat you somehow. To send a false bride and then accuse you of breaking your marriage vows.”
That seemed a little far-fetched to Guy, but he just nodded absently. After all, what did he know of the woman he’d married? Precious little. Maybe she wanted to remarry? By all accounts, old men were her preferred quarry. She certainly wouldn’t get her hands on any more of Guy’s fortune now. Maybe she’d already spent her way through the gold he’d been forced to relinquish? His mouth twisted bitterly. That would mean the female upstairs was some creature of hers, which might make more sense. He’d expected his thrice-married bitch of a wife to be some conniving harridan, not some waif with big eyes and an exquisite little body. So maybe she was an imposter? He leaned back in his chair, trying the thought out and rolling it around in his mind. There was something to be said for it. He ignored the faint bitter aftertaste it left him with. Luckily, he was far too jaded to have allowed himself to seriously believe that little temptress upstairs was his true marchioness and fate. If his thirty-one years of experience had taught him anything, it was that he was just not that lucky.
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 5
