by Meg Cabot
Oh, yes, better that than a loveless marriage—
“Finnula, what is the matter with you?” Brynn shook her gently from her reverie. “Aren’t you happy, sweet? Don’t you like him?”
Finnula looked at her eldest sister grimly. “Brynn,” she said. “I thought him a stranger…a hapless knight from Caterbury, and now I learn he’s Lord Geoffrey’s son? How am I supposed to feel?” Honestly, she’d never have bedded him if she’d known! Look at the mess she was in now!
“What difference does that make?” Camilla demanded. “He’s still the loveliest man I’ve ever seen…”
“Men aren’t lovely,” scoffed Patricia.
“Well, handsome, then. Oh, Finnula, think how different it will be to be lady of Stephensgate Manor with Lord Hugo, rather than his father, at your side. Why, he’s not someone I’d begrudge a place in my bed—”
“Camilla, you are a bigger slut than Isabella Laroche,” Patricia declared.
“Finnula,” Brynn said, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. “Think on this. Was his masquerade such a heinous one? Who did it harm? No one. He seems to love you—” Finnula let out a snort. “Well, to care for you, anyway. Why else would he fight so for your hand?”
Finnula said nothing, just glared at the window, which showed that twilight had fallen outdoors. He’d fought so hard for her hand because he’d dishonored her, and he was only doing what, as her lord, he owed her. It was no less than she’d do for any serf of hers.
“’Tis true that if you wed him, there’ll be sacrifices,” Brynn began, slowly.
“Aye,” Patricia agreed. “No more leather braies.”
“No more hunting,” Camilla said.
“No more disappearing for days on end on the back of Violet,” Christina said.
Finnula was certain she died a little, just listening to them.
“But think what you’ll be getting in return,” Camilla cried, her gray eyes glittering. “Think what jewels and bliauts! Think of how lovely it will be to have servants to comb your hair and pour your bath and prepare your food! Why, you’ll be the richest woman in Stephensgate—”
“Isabella Laroche will die of envy,” Patricia said, with relish.
“Oh, you’ve got to marry him, Finn,” Camilla said. “You’ll learn to love him, honestly you will. Look at me and Gregory.”
Patricia snorted. “I’d hardly hold that up as an ideal marriage.”
“But it is. It began as a business arrangement. Gregory fell madly in love with me, and I agreed to marry him if he met certain stipulations—”
“Like that necklace?” Patricia asked, acidly.
“Why, yes,” Camilla replied, laying a hand on the ruby and pearl choker at her throat. “That was one of them. And little by little, Finnula, I’ve come to appreciate Gregory for his other qualities—”
“Like what?” Patricia laughed. “The man’s old enough to be your—”
A thunderous shout broke through their bickering. It was Robert’s voice, and he was calling, “Finnula! Finnula Crais, get down here at once!”
Finnula gazed up at her sisters with widened eyes. “Oh, no,” she cried. “Lord Hugo must have left. And now Robert’s going to wring my neck! Quick—I must slip out the window—”
Christina hurried to the small window and bent to look out into the yard. “Nay, His Lordship’s horse is still here.”
“He must want your answer to Lord Hugo’s proposal,” Brynn said. “Oh, Finnula, you must go to him.”
But Finnula only sat back against the pillows, her face a mask of rebellious obstinacy. “I shan’t,” she sniffed.
“Oh, Finn!”
But Finnula was adamant. “I’m not setting foot outside this room until that man is gone. And I mean it.”
Brynn and Camilla exchanged glances. “Finnula.” The eldest sister hesitated. “Are you quite certain nothing, er, untoward occurred whilst you were traveling with Lord Hugo?”
Finnula stared. “Why do you ask?” Did losing one’s virginity show? Finnula had detected no change in Mellana’s appearance, and she was pregnant!
“Well, it seems to me that you are unreasonably angry at him for lying to you. After all, ’twas not so strange a thing he did. Perhaps he never tells women that he is an earl, for fear ’twill make them, er, like him for his purse, and not himself—”
This sounded very like the conceited Sir Hugh—or Lord Hugo, as she now had to refer to him. How stupid, how blindly stupid she’d been! A man and his squire, returning from the Crusades, and headed for Stephensgate—of course she ought to have known it to be none other than the long-absent Lord Hugo. And then he’d changed his name just the tiniest bit—Hugo Fitzstephen to Hugh Fitzwilliam—and she still hadn’t caught on!
And the story of his brother, none other than Henry, Lord Geoffrey’s eldest and most beloved son. That was a well-known story in her village, and still she hadn’t made the connection! Oh, he must think her the dimmest wench in the shire. She had even noticed something familiar about him at the spring, but never realized that the familiarity was due to Lord Hugo’s slight resemblance to his father.
Well, he’d shown her what a silly, ignorant maid she was, and she thanked him for it. The next time she met a man, she’d be far less trusting.
“Finnula!” roared Robert, the timbre of his voice almost shaking the rafters.
“You had best go to him,” Finnula advised Brynn, “and tell him that although I am conscious of the great honor the earl has bestowed upon me, I have no intention of marrying him, and that Lord Hugo can just go home now.”
Brynn rose reluctantly. “Finnula, I think you’re making a mistake. Do not allow pride to stand in the way of your happiness—”
“Thank you for the advice,” Finnula said stiffly. “But my happiness is right here, at the millhouse.”
Sighing, Brynn left the room to deliver Finnula’s message. Patricia, who’d been pacing the small chamber, stopped in front of Mellana and said coldly, “Well, I hope you’re happy. What could you have been thinking, sending Finnula out on such a ridiculous errand? Fetch you a man to ransom. Ha! I think you’ve spent entirely too much time in the company of that slut Isabella. I intend to tell Robert not to allow you to see her anymore. What do you have to say to that?”
“I do not care.” Mellana wept into her skirt. “I never want to see her again anyway.”
“Oh, now you come to your senses. You know, it’s just fortunate for you, Mellana, that Finnula happened to kidnap a man with a sense of chivalry. Suppose she’d kidnapped someone like Reginald Laroche? Do you think she’d be entertaining marriage proposals from an earl? No, she’d have lost her maidenhead, and be with child now, probably—”
“Patricia!” Finnula cried. “Let Mel alone.”
“Well, you know ’tis true.”
Another shout rattled the house, and this time, it was accompanied by heavy footsteps on the stairs. Since the second floor of the millhouse was primarily the domain of the female Craises, they were unaccustomed to hearing masculine footsteps on the stairs, and all five of them froze, their eyes on the door.
“Finnula!”
This time, the thunderous bellowing of Finnula’s name didn’t come from their brother, Robert, but from Lord Hugo…and he appeared to be standing directly behind her bedroom door. Finnula exchanged astonished glances with her sisters, but didn’t move.
“Finnula,” Lord Hugo growled menacingly. “Will you open this door, or do I have to knock it down?”
It was Mellana who hopped up from her chair in the corner and hurried to the door, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. When she swung open the heavy portal to reveal a very irritated-looking Lord Hugo, she bobbed a graceful curtsy and babbled incoherently, “Oh, my lord, please don’t be angry with Finnula. ’Tis all my fault. You see, I made her do it. She didn’t want to, but I cried, and she—”
“Yes, you cry very prettily,” Lord Hugo observed dryly. “And you’re quite right, it is all
your fault, you and your Jack Mallory.”
Mellana gasped, her bright blue eyes flying accusingly to Finnula, who sat still as a statue on the bed.
“You told!” Mellana cried. “Oh, Finn, how could you?”
“Aye, she did tell,” Hugo said, and Finnula did not miss the smugness in his tone. “And lucky for you she did, or you wouldn’t be receiving this right now, along with my blessings—” Lord Hugo dropped a fat purse of coins into the hands an astonished Mellana hastily extended.
“This should pay for your dowry and for a few other sundries. I suggested to Brother Robert that he find a place for your husband at the mill, since troubadouring is hardly steady work, and your Jack will need something a bit more regular, with the babe on the way—”
Mellana gasped again, and Patricia’s nostrils flared.
“Mel!” she cried, outraged. “You—”
But Lord Hugo interrupted her. “Your brother, Robert, is waiting below, Mellana—I may call you that, may I not, as we are shortly to be related? Brother Robert would like a few words with you.”
Mellana was too frightened to start weeping again. Instead, clutching the bag of coins he’d given her to her chest, she crept from the room with her head ducked. When Hugo glanced at Finnula and saw her expression, he said lightly, “Never fear. Brother Robert assured me he would never strike a pregnant woman.”
Finnula thought she’d had about as much as she could take. Scrambling from the bed, oblivious to the twisted bodice of her gown, she cried, “You blithering idiot! What did you tell Robert for? Now he’ll make her life hell!”
“Better hers than yours, Finn.” Hugo glanced at Camilla and Patricia, who, with Christina, were staring at him as if he was something that had just crawled up from the depths of the watering trough—or tumbled down from the heavens. Finnula couldn’t entirely read their expressions. But Hugo could, apparently.
“If you ladies will excuse us,” he said, bowing, “Finnula and I have some things that need discussing in private.”
“Oh, of course,” Camilla said, dipping a quick curtsy and darting toward the door. “Of course, my lord!”
“Please excuse us, my lord,” Christina breathed, moving less gracefully because of her pregnancy, but no less quickly.
Patricia was the last sister to leave, and she paused with her hand on the leather strap that served as a doorknob and looked slyly at Lord Hugo.
“Kiss her,” was Patricia’s cryptic advice. “She’ll come around.”
And then she shut the door firmly behind her.
Alone in her bedchamber with Lord Hugo, Finnula could not help feeling at a distinct disadvantage. She’d forgotten how physically intimidating the man was. Why, he had to stoop to avoid striking his head on the wooden ceiling beams, he was so tall. His massive frame seemed to take up far more room than all five of her sisters put together.
Hugo himself seemed aware of how awkward he looked in this vibrantly feminine room, and he glanced from the dried bouquets of roses hanging from the rafters to the curtains with raised eyebrows, though he said nothing. His amber gaze roved from her loosened hair to her bare feet, hesitating only at the low neckline of her dress, which, Finnula realized, only then had slipped to reveal more than was proper.
Reaching up quickly to adjust the bliaut’s bodice, her cheeks flushing hotly, Finnula snapped, “I’d have thought you’d seen enough of me to satisfy you for one day.”
Hugo’s grin was slow and suggestive. “But therein lies the rub, Finnula. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you. That’s why I think marriage the wisest answer—”
“Marriage?” Finnula turned away quickly, unwilling to let him see what effect his words had on her face. “I told you before I never wanted to be married again. Or weren’t you listening?”
“And I would ask why a maid so intent on avoiding marriage would behave as you have in the past day or so.”
Finnula felt the warmth in her cheeks, which only seemed to grow, rather than ebbing, and avoided his eye with even more determination. “I couldn’t help that,” she said.
“Couldn’t help what? Making love with me?”
“Aye,” she admitted shamefacedly.
“Look at me, Finnula.”
She shook her head, keeping her face averted, her gaze on the yard outside, in which Sheriff de Brissac was laughing and clapping her brothers-in-law on the shoulders.
“Would you have married Hugh Fitzwilliam?” he asked.
Would she have married that irritating knight? The surprising answer was that she might have, if he’d asked. She shrugged.
“That’s no answer.”
“’Tis all the answer I have,” Finnula snapped, turning angry eyes upon him. “I do not know. I cannot predict what might have been, any more than I can tell you what will be. But I will tell you that I will never set foot in that house again, and so a marriage between us is impossible.”
“What house? You mean Stephensgate Manor?”
“Aye,” Finnula said, and couldn’t help shuddering at the name. “The hours I spent there were the worst of my life. I swore when I was released I would never again cross that accursed threshold—”
“Finnula, I know what passed between you and my father—”
“No,” she cut him off, vehemently. “You do not know, no one knows. Your father was mad, completely mad, and thought I was your mother. Did Sheriff de Brissac not tell you that? Lord Geoffrey never called me by my name, he called me Marie. Wasn’t that your mother’s name?”
When Hugo nodded, dumbly, Finnula said, “It wasn’t me he loved at all, he didn’t even know me. But in his demented mind, I was the Lady Marie, and so he would have me, and nothing I could do or say would dissuade him—”
“Finnula,” he said, taking a step toward her, but she held up a hand, palm out, to stop him.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I felt it then, and I still feel that a miracle occurred to save me that night. No sooner had we stepped into His Lordship’s bedchamber than he collapsed upon the floor. I was so frightened, I did not know what to do—”
“Finnula, listen to me. We’ll lock up that room. You need never enter it again—”
But Finnula spoke like one in a daze, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I stood over him as he clutched his chest, trying to breathe. I ran for Sheriff de Brissac, praying he had not yet left the hall—but by the time I’d fetched the sheriff, Lord Geoffrey was dead.” Finnula realized that she’d begun weeping as she spoke, and stared in bemusement at a single tear that splashed upon her sleeve. “And then I was accused of—of murdering him, and Reginald Laroche wanted me hanged on the spot! Only Sheriff de Brissac wouldn’t allow it—”
This time Hugo wouldn’t let her stop him. He was across the room and at her side in one long stride. He snatched her up into his arms, crushing her to his chest and murmuring into her hair, “I know, I know. John told me all about it. But we can put that behind us, can’t we? We can forget all that and start anew. The first thing I’m going to do when I get to the manor house is dismiss Laroche, and then I’ll board up my father’s bedchamber. No one will ever enter it again, least of all you. Oh, Finnula, do not weep—”
But she couldn’t help it. She clung to him, sobbing, and despising herself for it. How could she show such weakness before him? Hadn’t her pride been wounded enough? Did she have to disgrace herself in front of the man? Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she tried to get hold of herself, and pushed ineffectually at his chest to get him to release her.
Only Hugo wouldn’t let go. If anything, he only held on to her more tightly, saying, “Listen, Finnula. It isn’t as if anything will change. Oh, you’ll no longer live at the millhouse, but Stephensgate Manor will be yours, to do with whatever you like. And you’ll still be responsible for all my vassals. They already think of you as their lady. Wouldn’t it be better for you to be Lady Finnula in truth? You can help me return what was so wrongfully stolen from them. I need your help, you know. I’ve
been away ten years. I can’t trust Laroche. I need someone to tell me how things ought to be done…”
Finnula twisted to be released from his grasp. “Ask Robert. Robert can tell you. And John de Brissac. You don’t need me—”
“But I do.” He kept his hands tight around her waist. “Forsooth, Finnula, I may not be Sir Hugh in name, but I am the same man beneath the new title. Why do you suddenly hate me so?”
“Because,” she grunted, writhing against him. “You lied to me!”
“That was before I knew who you were,” he explained. “Besides, you had a knife to my throat, remember? You couldn’t honestly expect me to tell you I was an earl when you were holding me hostage as a knight. Act your age, Finnula.”
“And you only agreed to marry me because my brother threatened to kill you—”
“I beg your pardon, Finnula, but I believe I was the one holding your brother at sword point, not the other way around. And God’s truth, I meant to have you any way I could the moment you straddled me at the spring and announced that I was your prisoner. And since marriage is the only way I can have you and still be respected by my vassals, then marriage it has to be—”
“Ha!” Finnula tried to find a way to lever an elbow into his stomach. “See, I told you so. You don’t want to marry me—”
“No man wants to marry, Finnula. There are just some women they can’t have any other way, and so it is a sacrifice willingly made in order to attain a particularly choice—”
“Ooh!” Finnula was so angry, she’d have bitten him, if she could have found a portion of him that wasn’t so hardened and muscular that she feared to break her teeth upon it. “I knew it!” she cried. “Well, I’ll have you know, there are some women who don’t care for marriage, either! And I’m one of them! I’m telling you right now that I shall make you a miserable wife. I can’t sew and I don’t know how to clean and I’m disaster in the kitchen. I shall leave the house every morning at dawn and hunt all day and return home at night muddy and tired, and I’ll look such a sight, you won’t want to come near me—”
