Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  But how was he to endure in the meantime? He was unbearably aroused. His lawful wife lay beside him, clad only in a thin linen shift, and he could not touch her. She was so beautiful, so passionate and fiery. When she did finally allow him to take her maidenhead, their coupling would likely set the bed linens ablaze.

  That is, if she ever gave in to him.

  But of course she would. He’d endured much worse tests of his resolve. This situation, frustrating though it might be, was only temporary. He would prevail. All his instincts told him his wife was actually quite innocent. He would use her naivete to his advantage. He would be subtle and cunning. And patient. Patience—he’d always had plenty of that.

  He took a deep breath, trying to relax and free himself from the maddening tension wracking his body. ’Twas only a matter of time, and then he would possess everything he desired. Not only Tangwyl, but the enticing woman who came with it.

  *

  Marared gazed unseeingly into the darkness. Was it simply a matter of standing her ground and he would give up? Nay, her adversary’s retreat was only temporary. He’d already prevailed in one way. She was sharing a bed with him, something she’d vowed earlier she would not do.

  But there was nowhere else she could sleep. If she got up and tried to take one of the blankets to bed down on the floor, he might grab her and start tussling. Her wrists already ached from resisting his iron-like grip.

  Although he’d won that battle, it didn’t matter. He would never have the victory he sought; she would never lie willingly beneath him.

  The thought aroused strange feelings inside her. Having his body pressed against hers had been…interesting. She could not truthfully say she had disliked it. But it was a far cry from being deflowered. She knew the first time was supposed to hurt. That was another motivation to fight him.

  But there were other things men and women did together that intrigued her. Kissing, for example. What would it feel like to have her husband’s well-shaped lips pressed against hers? Not in a dry ceremonial kiss like the one at their wedding, but a real one?

  Stop it! You can’t have thoughts like that! He’s your enemy! It bothered her that she had to keep reminding herself how much she hated him. She was already growing used to this man. Here she was, lying inches away from him, as if they had not grappled violently earlier. She’d meant to bite him or knee him in the groin or hurt him in some fashion. But she hadn’t managed to do so. He was stronger—and cleverer—than she’d expected.

  Of course, she hadn’t engaged in physical conflict for years. Not since she was a young girl wrestling with her brothers. They’d stopped before she reached womanhood, saying they didn’t want to hurt her. She’d scoffed at them, but it was probably true; they could have injured her. And this man possessed even greater strength and experience than her youthful brothers. He could easily force her against her will.

  But he hadn’t. And she had the uneasy sense it was because he didn’t want to hurt her. Could it be possible he wasn’t a crude brute like the English were supposed to be? Nay, she could not accept that. It made everything too difficult and confusing. More likely he had some other scheme in mind.

  Or, it could be he didn’t think bedding her was worth the trouble. He was obviously a practical man. And he had what he really wanted—Tangwyl. The challenge of conquering his wife was clearly secondary. He’d said the marriage must be consummated to be valid, but who would protest if it was not? Certainly not her father.

  Raising her head, Marared risked a quick glance at the man in bed beside her. He lay facing the wall and had not moved in a long while. She felt a twinge of anger at the thought he was asleep. A part of her wanted him to keep struggling with her. It had been exhilarating to match her strength against his. To feel his hard, muscular form pressing her down on the bed. What if he never touched her again?

  The thought didn’t inspire the sense of relief she expected. Indeed, she felt almost disappointed. A part of her wanted him to persist in fighting her. Such a man she could admire, even if she also hated him.

  *

  This was miserable. Lying beside Marared, he felt tormented by arousal and longing. If he wasn’t going to get satisfaction, he must find somewhere else to take his rest. There was another bedchamber, but it was on the other side of the keep. And if he slept there, the whole castle would learn of it. He must think of another plan.

  He thought of the two chairs in the solar. If he pushed them together, maybe he could bed down across the seats. Nay, he was too tall. It would have to be the floor. But he would need at least one of the blankets. The room was definitely chilly. He should have had someone light the brazier before they came to bed, for her comfort if nothing else. But he wasn’t used to having a wife.

  He repressed a sigh. Was she asleep yet? He shifted on the bed, moving slightly closer to her. After waiting to see if she moved away, he decided there was a good chance she had drifted off. He climbed out of bed and retrieved his tunic. After donning it, he lay down on the sheepskin rug.

  He wished he had his cloak, but he’d left it in the stables with his saddlebags and tack. Maybe if he turned on his side, he’d stay warmer. Even with the rug, the stone floor was uncomfortably hard, and he could feel the chill from it seeping into his body. He rubbed his arms with his hands and flexed his shoulders, trying to generate some warmth. It was going to be a miserable night. He wasn’t certain he would sleep at all.

  Then he thought of Marared’s cloak hanging from the clothing pole. It was made of soft, finely-woven wool and lined with fur. He would feel awkward if she woke and found him using her garment for a blanket. But it was her fault he was reduced to this circumstance.

  After shivering a few more minutes, he got up and fetched the cloak, then lay down again. This was much better. There was hope he could actually sleep. On the morrow he’d come up with something else. Maybe he could have extra bedding brought up. Hilda could be trusted to be discreet. She wouldn’t put it about the whole castle that his new wife had apparently banished him from the bed. He was less certain of Edith, the girl Hilda had chosen to act as Marared’s bodyservant. But there wasn’t much else he could do. It didn’t seem likely things with Marared would go any better the next night. Or the one after that. If she was ever going to let him bed her, he was going to have to find a way to thaw her attitude toward him. How was he to do that?

  He sighed and turned on his back. Take one step at a time. Go slow. If only his body would cooperate. It was one thing to tell himself to be patient. Quite another to get his over-eager body to agree. Despite the hard floor and his earlier struggle to stay warm, he was still aroused.

  Abruptly, he realized why. The cloak smelled of her. Some sort of flower scent, probably from the herbs used to freshen the garment when it was stored away. And some other fragrance that was uniquely Marared. The effect on his body was potent. Almost as bad as lying next to her. He sighed again. It was going to be a long night.

  *

  When he woke it was still full dark. His body was stiff and cold. He rose, intending to stretch, then decided he might as well start his day. The first thing was to arrange a proper bed. A straw-stuffed mattress, something that could be rolled up and stored out of the way. Marared had brought her own storage chest, so that meant he could use one of the two already in the room to store some blankets.

  He grimaced as he realized what he would be signaling to Marared by making these arrangements. If he didn’t insist on sharing a bed with her, she would know he wasn’t going to take her maidenhead by force and think he’d given up.

  He hadn’t, of course. Merely decided on a different approach. He meant to gradually win her over. Get her used to him and to the idea of being married. Once she didn’t see him as such an ogre, he would try again.

  There was a part of him that worried she would never relent. She seemed so determined. Like a wild animal that would rather starve than be tamed. But she wasn’t a wild creature. More like a skittish filly that need
ed careful handling. Some men thought you needed to dominate a horse and break its will in order to control it. He’d always believed slow, gentle coaxing and earning the trust of the animal was a better method. Certainly, it seemed a more appropriate approach with a woman. He didn’t want Marared to merely acquiesce to letting him bed him. He wanted her to enjoy the experience and want to do it again. And again.

  Simply thinking about coupling with his wife aroused him. He’d better get on with his day. Get busy and stop thinking about her. He glanced at the bed, compelled to seek out another look at the bedeviling woman he had wed. The curtains, although not drawn all the way, blocked his view. With a sense of relief mingled with regret, he left the room.

  *

  Marared sat up and stretched. She could see sunshine streaming into the room.

  Pushing the curtains all the way open, she got out of bed. Malmsbury was gone. She smiled at the thought of him sleeping on the floor. It was a sweet victory. But she knew it was temporary. The next night he would probably try again. She found herself looking forward to it.

  By day, the bedchamber was beautiful. She admired the play of light on the elegant objects in the room—the ivory and onyx chess set on the table by the cushioned window seat, the bronze brazier, the crimson and gold fabric hanging on the wall. Then she reminded herself that she was in an English castle, the lair of her enemy. Her stay here would be only temporary. Best not to get used to the luxuries of the place.

  From the storage coffer she’d brought, she fetched her clothes. Once dressed, she found her hairbrush, sat down on a stool and began to untangle her hair. She’d made some progress when a tentative voice called from the doorway, “Milady, would you like me to do that?”

  Marared looked up to see a skinny girl of about twelve years standing just inside the solar. She had straight, mouse brown hair, blue eyes and a snub nose. The girl curtsied awkwardly. “I’m Edith. I’m supposed to help you dress and wait upon you.”

  “Who ordered you to do so?”

  “Hilda. She said you were to be the new lady of the castle and I should do your bidding in all things.”

  Hilda. That was the older woman with the calm gray eyes and thin face who had assisted Marared the night before.

  Marared nodded to the girl. “You may start by helping me get the snarls out of my hair.”

  Edith took the brush began and began her work. She had a gentle, deft touch, which was helpful. Marared’s hair was thick and obstinate.

  “Tell me,” Marared said. “Are you Saxon?”

  Edith shook her head. “My family have always lived in this valley.”

  “Then you must be Cymreig, that is, Welsh.”

  Edith shook her head again. “I don’t speak Welsh, or the old English either. But my family has always served here at Tangwyl, even before it was a castle.”

  “That’s because a long time ago, a brute named William the Bastard conquered your people and made your family slaves and servants.”

  “William the Bastard.” Edith’s deft fingers stilled for a moment. “I haven’t heard of him.”

  “He was from Normandy. He came and killed the Saxon king, Edward, and seized control of nearly all the island. But he couldn’t conquer my people. They were too fierce and cunning.”

  “How do you know all this? If it took place so many years ago?”

  “The Cymry have long memories. Our bards tell us tales about kings and heroes who lived hundreds of years in the past. We are the only ones who belong here, everyone else came later.”

  “Not my family. I told you, they’ve lived in this valley as long as there have been people here.”

  “Then they must have been Cymreig. But since they are now English lackeys, it doesn’t matter.”

  Edith stopped combing her hair. “If you hate the English so much, why did you wed one of them?”

  Marared turned to look at the serving girl. Edith’s clear blue eyes focused on her with curiosity. “I had no choice. If your father chose a husband for you who you despised, what would you do?”

  Edith took a sharp breath. “You despise Lord Gerard?”

  “I do.”

  “But, why? He’s fair and reasonable in the way he deals with everyone. I’ve never seen him lose his temper. And he’s handsome as well. If I were a lady, I’d be pleased to wed him. And he is the lord of the castle.” Edith gestured. “All this is yours, this beautiful room and the leisure to enjoy it.” She looked at Marared again. “What sort of man did you think to marry who could offer you more than this?”

  “A Cymro, a Welshman. I care nothing for these fine things. I’d rather live in the mountains in a cave or a lean-to, as long as I was wed to a man of my own people.”

  Edith shook her head. It was clear the serving girl thought she was utterly witless. That was because Edith’s people had no pride. They had been ground down by the English for so long, they simply accepted their lot. But Marared would never do that.

  Where was Malmsbury? If he chose to ignore her, she would really hate him.

  *

  “You’ve given her a tour of the castle?” Gerard asked. “Tried to help her settle in and be comfortable here?”

  “Of course, milord,” Hilda answered. “We did exactly as you ordered. I took her everywhere. The kitchen, buttery and brewhouse. The weaving shed, stables, smithy, beehives, grainery and storage buildings, the chapel and the garden.”

  They were in the hall, not the most private place for a conversation. But since there were few servants around, Gerard dared to ask the question that had gnawed at him all day. “Did she say anything as you were showing her around?”

  “Milord?”

  “Did she express any opinion of her new home?”

  “Not to me, but…” Gerard braced himself as Hilda pursed her lips, as if tasting something unpleasant. “I sent Edith to help her dress and braid her hair. The girl was quite distressed when she returned. Said that milady had spoken openly of not wanting to wed you. Said you were her enemy.”

  Gerard exhaled a sigh. He might have known Marared would not keep her hostile attitude to herself.

  He glanced at the servant. Hilda had never been anything but dutiful and helpful since he’d come to Tangwyl. And he truly needed a woman’s advice. “I’m afraid my wife has not accepted her new circumstances. She’s a headstrong sort, and rather spoiled. Her father sprang this marriage on her with no warning. She nurses a bitter animosity toward me simply because I’m a filthy Sais, as she refers to me.”

  Hilda raised her brows, but said nothing.

  “I’m certain she’ll come around, although it might take time. Regardless what she says about me, I want her treated with all the courtesy and regard due my wife and the lady of the household. If she desires to supervise any aspect of the castle’s affairs, I will expect her orders to be obeyed without question.”

  The servant nodded. “That is as it should be, milord.” Hilda started to leave.

  “Hilda.” Gerard considered asking her advice about more intimate issues. Hilda was a widow. But even though he was certain she had been wed for some years, Gerard suspected she would not be able to give him the counsel he needed. Her lot in life was much different than Marared’s.

  He inclined his head to her. “Thank you.”

  *

  Marared dumped the belt she was embroidering on the bench beside her. She stood and began to pace. This morning, Hilda had shown her around the castle. Afterwards, the servant had escorted her back here to the solar, obviously expecting she’d spend the rest of the day sewing like a proper lady. Ugh! She’d lose her mind if she had to stay up here and sew all day!

  She went to the windows and stared out at the nearly cloudless sky. What she really wanted to do was to go riding. The weather had warmed, and it felt like spring was truly here. If she were home, she would not miss this chance to get away from the stuffy confines of the holding. The wind would still be brisk, but once she dismounted and made her way down into the little
hidden valley that was one of her favorite places, she would be sheltered enough. There would be wood violets and snowdrops, and daffodils spreading their golden beauty across the land.

  She sighed, thinking longingly of her days roaming the highlands. Until she was free of this wretched marriage, she would no longer be able to do such things. If she got her horse and left the castle, Malmsbury would think she was running away. Not altogether a bad idea. Although where would she go? If she returned to Caer Brynfawr, her father would simply have some of his men escort her back.

  She sighed again. Unless Malmsbury decided to repudiate the marriage, she was stuck here. Repudiate the marriage—now that was a thought. What if she was so disagreeable that he grew tired of her lack of manners, and decided to send her back to her father? Another reason not to let him take her maidenhead. An annulment of the marriage would be much easier to obtain if she were still a virgin.

  But what would it take to get a man like Malmsbury to give up? He was clearly almost as stubborn as she was. If he tired of her tart tongue and waspish behavior, he could simply avoid her or leave the keep altogether. She was the one who was trapped, not him.

  Indeed, she thought miserably, if she was Malmsbury, that’s exactly what she would do. Ignore her. Perhaps even lock her away if she became too difficult. Old King Henry had kept his wife confined to a convent for twelve years.

  A spasm of fear went through her. She’d die if she had to stay in this room forever. Hilda wouldn’t have shown her every nook and cranny of the place if she expected her to remain in the solar all day. She might not be able to venture outside the castle walls, but at least she could move freely within them.

  She went to the clothing pole by the bed and took down her shawl. Wrapping it around herself, she started toward the door. At that moment, her husband entered.

  “I thought I would go walking around the keep.” She met his gaze stonily. “If I meant to try and escape, I would have taken my mantle.”

  “Escape?” He looked startled. “You feel like a prisoner here?”