“You will have no fear of me, Lady Elizaveta,” she said, seeing the terror on the girl’s face. “I will not harm you, I swear it, but I have a plan that I need your complicity in. Will you listen?”
Terror wasn’t quite what Elizaveta was feeling; positive that Lady de Winter was going to beat her for her insolence, she had decided she was going to fight back and was relieved and thrilled to realize that a motherly beating wasn’t what Lady de Winter had in mind. In fact, she was relieved nearly to the point of collapse, for this entire day had been trying and stressful. The mention of Lady de Winter’s plan had Elizaveta’s curiosity peaked.
I need your complicity….
“Aye, my lady,” Elizaveta nodded, still somewhat wary. “I will listen.”
Devereux paused before continuing. She was studying Elizaveta’s face, seeing great beauty and great strength there. She didn’t sense a truly spoiled lady as much as she sensed a truly strong one. The woman wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
“Thank you,” Devereux said. She let go of the girl’s wrist. “I will ask you a question and you must be completely truthful with me. Will you do this?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Are you agreeable to this marriage or were you forced into it?”
Elizaveta hesitated. She wasn’t sure that truthful is what Lady de Winter really wanted. She didn’t want the woman to go back on her word not to beat her.
“My parents want this marriage, my lady,” she said. “I am obeying my parents.”
It was the answer Devereux suspected. “Then you are not keen on the idea.”
Elizaveta’s expression looked pained. “It is nothing against your son, my lady,” she said. “I… well, it is all rather perplexing and complicated. I….”
Devereux cut her off. “Say no more,” she said. “You do not want this marriage and my son does not want this marriage. But it is possible you will both change your minds if you met one another. My son is a fine example of a man, my lady. He is tall and strong and handsome. He has been decorated for valor. Did you know that?”
Elizaveta shook her head, looking somewhat surprised. “I did not, my lady.”
Devereux nodded to confirm the information. “His marriage to you was a gift from Edward for valor in battle,” she said. “You were not told that?”
Elizaveta again shook her head. “I was only told that Edward had selected a husband for me from a fine family.”
Devereux cocked her head. “So you know nothing of my son?”
“Nothing, my lady. Only that he is a de Winter.”
Devereux was coming to realize that the young woman was nearly in the dark about the man she was to marry, which was rather surprising given who she was and the value of her family name. It was little wonder that she had fussed so about facing a sword for a groom. To her, quite clearly, it must have looked slanderous and calculated, which Drake had intended it should. Devereux, however, was trying to smooth things over, to undo the damage her son would do. She sighed heavily.
“Drake is not cowardly, my lady, not in the least,” she finally said. “I cannot allow you to think such things about him. He is an honorable and virtuous knight. He is much loved by his friends and family and I am sorry that was not conveyed to you. He has waited a very long time to marry, to find a wife worthy of him, and we had hoped it would be you.”
Elizaveta listened carefully to all Devereux told her, describing the man she was to marry from the mother’s point of view. She was still hesitant, and somewhat frightened, but she was also very curious now about the mysterious Drake de Winter. That expression of interest was exactly what Devereux was hoping for.
“Forgive me, then, if I insulted you for calling him cowardly,” Elizaveta said. “But for a knight to send his sword to the wedding mass seems quite cowardly to me.”
Devereux cocked an eyebrow. “It seemed quite cowardly to me, too, when his father did it to me,” she said, watching Elizaveta’s eyes widened. “Aye, he did it to me so I know exactly how you feel. However, I met him under certain circumstances where I did not know who he was, at least at first. You have not even had a chance to meet my son. I think that if you do, you may not be so resistant to the marriage.”
Elizaveta was quite intrigued with what Lady Devereux was suggesting. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
A twinkle came to Devereux’s pale eyes. “Are you willing to go along with what Drake might consider a very bad joke?”
Elizaveta’s lips twitched with a smile. “It is very possible, my lady,” she said. “I would be willing to get back at him for sending his sword to a wedding ceremony and not coming himself.”
Devereux rather liked the young lady’s train of thought. “Not to punish him, mind you,” she said. “But mayhap to let him see what he would be missing by not showing up to his own marriage.”
“Agreed.”
“Then this is what we shall do.”
*
“Mother has returned,” Devon said, peering from the lancet window into the eastern bailey of Thetford Castle. “And she has someone with her.”
Drake, who had been sitting at a small table in his father’s solar using a pumice stone to sharpen an assortment of daggers, glanced up from the blade he was working on. “She’s returned from the church?” he clarified curiously. “Why would she do that? Isn’t there a marriage going on?”
“You should be the one to answer that question, not I”
Drake spit upon the stone he was grinding the blade against and ignored his brother’s remark. “Who is with Mother?” he asked.
Devon couldn’t quite see who it was, for both women were too far away to really see much. He turned away from the window.
“I will go and see who it is,” he said. “You will stay here.”
Drake grunted at his twin. “If I want to stay here, I will,” he said. “If I do not wish to stay here, then I will be gone when you return.”
Devon stood at the door, eyeing the man he was almost identical to physically. In personality, they were miles apart, for Devon didn’t have the roaming spirit and aggression that Drake sometimes had and he certainly didn’t share his views on marriage. He thought his brother was being quite ridiculous about the whole thing.
“I would advise that you do not run,” Devon said. “I will be forced to follow you and I will catch you. I will subdue you, tie you to a tree, and beat you with a switch. I will have the village children come and throw rocks at you. It will be too humiliating for you to bear.”
Drake cast him a droll expression. “You are frightening me, little sister.”
Devon rolled his eyes and headed through the door. “Be here when I get back or this little sister will turn into a big girl with claws and clubs.”
“I thought that’s what you were already.”
Devon scowled at his brother’s insult and left the room, slamming the door in his wake as Drake grinned. He always liked to have the last insult where his brother was concerned. Dagger and stone still in hand, he stood up and went to the window where Devon had so recently been standing and peered into the bailey below, trying to catch a glimpse of his mother and whomever the woman was with. It seemed odd that she should have returned to Thetford when there was supposed to be a wedding ceremony going on; his wedding ceremony, as Devon had pointed out.
But there was more to it than a cursory oddity; what Drake found odd was that his mother and the woman with her were on foot. Although the castle wasn’t far from the church, it was still a decent walk. Everyone had headed over from the castle on horses or in a carriage, as was his mother’s case, but there were no horses or carriages to be seen. Just two women walking into the bailey. As Drake watched, the woman walking next to his mother suddenly went down, collapsing into the mud of the bailey.
Instinct took over. Drake fled the room to render aid as any good knight would do. In hindsight, he would have done better had he barricaded himself in the room and never opened the door again.
*
“Excellent,” Devereux whispered to Elizaveta, who was in a heap in the dust of the bailey. “Stay there. Trust me when I say that my sons will come. They will not allow a woman to lie in the mud and not try to help her in some way.”
Elizaveta was trying to keep her face out of the dirt without moving her head. The way she had fallen had her face nearly pressed into the dirt of the bailey. “Are you certain?”
Devereux knelt over her, putting her hand on the woman’s forehead. “Aye,” she said. “Quiet, now, they are pouring from the keep. Remain unconscious until I tell you to wake up.”
Elizaveta obeyed and closed her eyes. On the rather nice walk over from the church, she and Lady de Winter had been given ample time to concoct a plan to snare the slippery Drake de Winter. Well, not so much snare him as introduce him to Elizaveta without his knowledge. But he would soon know who she was after some innocent conversation and perhaps a bit of flirting. At least, that had been Lady de Winter’s suggestion but Elizaveta wasn’t entirely sure. She had never been very good at charming men. The mere thought frightened her or, more often than not, disgusted her. She had never been any good at behaving in an exceedingly charming manner. She hoped her efforts today, however, would be enough. She had promised Lady de Winter that she would try.
So she lay on the dirt as thunderous footfalls approached. Someone even kicked dirt in her face in their haste and it was an effort not to react. She heard Lady de Winter speak.
“Denys,” she said, sounding frightened. “Where are your brothers?”
Denys de Winter, the biggest de Winter brother at five inches over six feet and had his mother’s fair coloring, pointed to the keep. “They are coming,” he said, bending over both his mother and the fallen lady. “What happened? Who is she?”
Devereux pretended to tend the fallen woman, lifting up an eyelid and feeling her pulse. “A wedding guest,” she said vaguely. “She was feeling poorly so I brought her back here. I suppose she was feeling worse than I had realized.”
By this time, Devon was descending the massive motte of Thetford’s keep, followed by Drake. The twins rushed up to their mother, encircling her and the woman on the ground. Drake immediately bent over the collapsed lady.
“What happened, Mother?” he asked, looking between the lady and his mother. “Are you well?”
Devereux could hear the concern in his voice, which pleased her. “I am well,” she said, “but this lady, quite clearly, is not.”
Drake returned his full focus to the lady. All he could really see was long, dark hair and the side of the woman’s face. “Who is this?”
Devereux stood up, pointing to Elizaveta. She deliberately avoided answering his question. “Pick her up, Drake,” she instructed. “Take her up to my chamber. Be quick about it.”
Drake didn’t hesitate. He scooped the woman into his arms as he stood up. She was light and petite, and as her head fell back against his arm, he could see how exquisite she was. A stunning beauty with pale skin, a sweetly-shaped face, and very dark hair, Drake was rather astounded at her magnificence and was deeply and genuinely curious about her identity. He kept her collected against his chest, carefully, as his mother scurried ahead and rushed up the tall motte to the keep where she held back the entry door.
Passing through the big, Norman-arched entry, Drake made sure not to hit the woman’s head on the doorjamb. His mother was out in front of him again, heading for the narrow spiral stairs that led up into the keep, and Drake took the stairs very carefully so he wouldn’t bump the lady’s head on the stone walls. In fact, he was cradling her quite gently, something that did not go unnoticed by Devereux. She knew her cavalier son had a weakness for beautiful women and, for once, it was working against him. He was snared, or at least heading in that direction, so Devereux hoped. Therefore, it was a struggle to keep the smug smile from her face as they came off the stairs and she headed for the chamber she shared with her husband. Drake followed on her heels.
“Put her down on the bed,” Devereux instructed, noticing that Devon and Denys were piling in behind them. She immediately went to her two other sons and turned them around, pushing them back out of the door. “Devon, send your wife to me. Denys, go and tell the cook to bring me hot water and some wine for the lady. Go, now.”
Devon and Denys obediently left to carry out their mother’s request. When the room was vacant but for Drake and Elizaveta, Devereux went to the door.
“Drake, you will watch over the lady until I return,” she said.
Devereux vanished before Drake could ask the woman any questions at all. He was left standing next to the bed, looking down at the magnificent creature lying upon the coverlet. Somewhat confused as to what he should do next, or how he should help, he pulled up a chair that was against the wall and sat down a foot or so away from the bed. He thought perhaps to give the woman some wine if there was any in the room, as his father usually kept a supply, but a perusal around the room failed to locate a pitcher. The moment he returned his attention to the bed, he saw that the woman was awake and looking at him.
Startled, Drake hoped that she wouldn’t start screaming with a strange man alone in the room with her. Awkwardly he smiled, trying to think of something to say, when the woman spoke.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Drake kept his tone calm and steady. “I am Drake de Winter,” he said. “How are you feeling? You were with my mother and collapsed in our bailey. Do you remember?”
I am Drake de Winter. So the elusive de Winter son made an appearance as his mother had hoped he would. Elizaveta resisted the urge to smile. The entire walk from the church had been filled with planning, on how Drake would need to be drawn out of hiding and Devereux, knowing her son, had suggestions on how to do just that. To play on his sympathies, on his great attraction to the opposite sex, seemed to be the way to accomplish such a thing. Elizaveta was willing to do as she was told considering neither she nor Drake could refuse the marriage. There was nothing she could do but go along with Lady de Winter’s plan.
But it was a plan that had worked and worked quite quickly. Elizaveta took a moment to study the man she was pledged to marry; he was certainly handsome enough – his mother had not exaggerated. He had dark hair, long and wavy to his chin, and dark eyes with long lashes. She could see them when he blinked. He had a square-set jaw and dimples in both cheeks when he spoke. She’d never seen such wide shoulders and the hands he clasped politely before him were the size of trenchers. The man had enormous hands. Somewhat fascinated by what she was seeing, Elizaveta responded belatedly to his question.
“I do remember,” she said softly. “I would imagine I am quite dirty now, having fallen in the mud. I must apologize for my appearance.”
Drake smiled faintly. “No apology is necessary, my lady,” he said. “In fact, I can hardly see the dirt at all.”
Elizaveta smiled; she couldn’t help it. He had a rather suave way about him, an impish gleam already in his eyes although she suspected that part of it was very practiced. It came fairly easily, a glimmer in his eye of interest but without warmth. She began to sit up, brushing at the dust on her fine clothing.
“You are kind to say so,” she said, shaking out her dusty skirt so the dirt fell to the floor at her feet. “Sir Drake, you said your name was? I have heard your name before… ah, yes! I remember now. Aren’t you supposed to be at the wedding in town?”
Drake had jumped to his feet when she sat up with the intention of offering his assistance should she become woozy again. He’d rather liked carrying her and the thought of holding her again to steady her was not a distressing one. But her question instantly had him on guard, feeling somewhat embarrassed and cornered.
“I suppose that depends on how you look at it,” he said evasively, eyeing the beautiful woman as she brushed the dust off her skirt. “What is your name, my lady? If I already was told, forgive me, for I do not remember.
”
Elizaveta didn’t look up from brushing off her satin shoe. “I am a wedding guest but, due to circumstances, I find myself here at Thetford Castle,” she said. “I was told that Sir Drake was too ill to attend the ceremony. You look well enough to me.”
Drake stared at her. It was an odd statement on a subject that only his mother and father knew, an excuse that was only to be used with the bride’s family. An illness has kept the groom away. Yet his mother had evidently told this young woman. He knew his mother would not have told a random wedding guest that the groom was feeling ill. Therefore, this young lady had to be more than a random wedding guest. She had to be someone rather important to the event.
A creeping sense of shock began to fill Drake as to the identity of the mystery lady. You look well enough to me, she had said. Was it possible that she was actually the other half of this wedding equation? He was coming to suspect who she was. Not only did she know the groom’s excuse of illness, but she had blatantly refused to give him her name. More than that, she had brought up his absence from the wedding ceremony, not once but twice. Given the fact that she had returned to Thetford with his mother, and that his mother was uncannily crafty at times, Drake was coming to think that his mother had planned this little scene all along. A fallen lady and a chivalrous knight made a recipe that only his mother would concoct.
Damnation! That was Drake’s first thought when he realized what had happened. But in the next breath, he found himself looking at the dark-haired lady on the bed and thinking all manner of swift and elated thoughts; God’s Bones, she’s magnificent! He studied the woman, her porcelain features and lovely, dark hair. He couldn’t see much of her figure because of the layers of clothing she wore, but he couldn’t imagine it was in any way imperfect.
Drake stared at the lady who was to be his wife, thinking that perhaps the marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all, at least based on her physical appearance. Her character and personality, however, were another matter altogether. He wasn’t about to let any woman who would conspire with his mother get away with it.
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 41
