Scoundrel of Dunborough

by Margaret Moore

  Swallowing hard, Celeste told herself it might simply be a mouse or a rat or the ginger cat.

  But she couldn’t remember if she’d locked the doors. She never had to do that at the convent. Maybe she’d forgotten.

  Perhaps it was another tradesman come to ask for payment. At this hour, though? Not likely!

  What was she going to do? She could go below and see if it was vermin or the cat, or stay up here and hope whoever—or whatever—it was remained below.

  Footsteps! Footsteps coming up the stairs!

  Her heart racing, she hurried to the large chest and pushed it against the thick wooden door. She ran back across the room and grabbed another, smaller chest and put it on top of the larger one. Panting, she picked up the stool by the dressing table, holding it at the ready.

  “Celeste? Are you there, Celeste?”

  Her arms shaking, her heart still beating like a galloping horse, she put down the stool. “What do you want, Gerrard?”

  “Lizabet tells me you plan to stay here by yourself, and that I cannot permit,” he answered through the closed door.

  He’d sounded anxious before. Now he seemed annoyed.

  Gathering up her skirts, Celeste moved closer. “I’m quite all right.”

  “I insist,” he returned, his voice more impatient. “I will not have your safety jeopardized while I am in command of Dunborough.”

  “And I insist that I’m quite all right.” She didn’t want to go back to the castle, where he would be. She didn’t want to risk a repetition of the previous night’s...encounter.

  “Open the door or I’ll break it in!”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  The door shook as if someone had struck it with a battering ram or a shoulder, knocking the topmost chest to the floor. The lid broke and the bottom shattered, spilling veils and pieces of cheap jewelry onto the floor.

  “There was no need for that!” she cried with frustration.

  “Open the door!”

  He would break it down, of that she was certain, so she shoved the chest out of the way. “You’ve bent the latch,” she charged. “Now I can’t open it.”

  “Then stand back,” he ordered, clearly not a whit sorry for the damage he had caused.

  In another moment, the door burst open and Gerrard stumbled over the threshold.

  “It would serve you right if you landed on your head,” she muttered as she began to gather up the veils and other items from the broken chest, putting them on the dressing table. She rose and faced him. “Look what you did.”

  His face red, his mouth a thin line, Gerrard glared at her before his eyes widened. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. His lips curved up and his expression became admiring. “Not quite what I was expecting to see.”

  She’d forgotten she was wearing Audrey’s gown and silken veil. She rushed to the bed and snatched up her heavy black tunic, holding it against her as if she were naked underneath. “There was no need for you to barge in like a...like a barbarian!”

  His grin disappeared into gravity. “What would you have done if I were?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on one leg.

  What could she reply to that? That she would have hit him with a stool? “I managed to travel all the way from Saint Agatha’s without incident.”

  “By some miracle.”

  “I made the entire journey without any trouble at all.”

  Or any sign of pursuit, likely because the mother superior was more relieved by her absence than concerned about her well-being. “Not every man is a lustful scoundrel.”

  “And not every nun a saint,” he replied. “You’re lucky you didn’t walk right into the hands of thieves. Or been robbed here already. You hadn’t even locked the door.”

  “I will remember after this, of that you may be sure. I have no wish to have half-drunk miscreants breaking down doors and ruining latches.”

  “I am not half-drunk. I haven’t been drunk since Roland was attacked. Unfortunately, you’ve apparently lost what sense you were born with. If I had been an outlaw, you would be as dead as...” He paused, frowning.

  She could guess what he’d been about to say. She would be as dead as Audrey. Although the comparison had been made in the heat of the moment, it pained her nonetheless.

  He must have realized the effect of those harsh words, for when he spoke again, his voice was calmer and more compassionate. “Come, Celeste... Sister, we’re going back to the castle.”

  His compassion was welcome. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to return with him. “I thank you for your concern. However, I’m sure I’ll be safe here, so I see no need to leave.”

  He frowned, grim as Roland. Then he smiled in a way that made her even more aware that he was a young and handsome man. “I have other, more enjoyable methods of persuading women, if you would prefer me to use them.”

  God help her! He was temptation made flesh and she must keep away from him. “I think not.”

  His smile dissolved. “If you won’t come willingly, you’ll leave me no alternative except to take you by force.”

  She took a step back. “That would be the act of a savage.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer that the very civilized Roland was here instead of me.”

  “Perhaps—yes, I would. He would never make such a threat.”

  Gerrard ignored her criticism. “You said ‘perhaps.’ That means you still like me best.”

  “I’ve never said I liked you best. Ever,” she replied, although her throat was suddenly dry and that was another lie. She had liked him better than anyone in Dunborough, except for Audrey.

  He took a step closer. “You did once. I was certain of it then and I’m certain of it now. You still like me, I think.”

  She moved farther back. “I don’t recall that you were ever quite so vain.”

  “Granted, it’s been a long time and much has changed,” he said, his voice deep and low and soft as butter, “but I like you, Celeste, even when you’re angry with me.”

  Warmth flooded through her. The heat of desire. Lust. Sin.

  She didn’t want that. She didn’t want her emotions turned to turmoil. She wanted peace. She wanted the security of a calm and ordered life.

  She didn’t want him, or the passion that his presence promised. She didn’t want a life governed by a man’s mood. She would have a quiet, safe life in the convent, away from him and other men and the trouble that they caused. That was what she yearned for, no matter what other things she had to sacrifice. “I don’t care whether you like me or not,” she declared, telling herself that was the truth and not another lie. “I am not leaving.”

  “Oh, yes, you are,” he replied in that same low, seductive tone. “You can come quietly and obediently like a good little nun, or I’ll carry you.”

  She must be strong. Her faith, her duty and her self-respect must make her so. “I will not allow you to drag me through the village like some chattel.”

  “I didn’t say I’d drag you. I shall pick you up and carry you, like a bridegroom across the threshold.”

  She swallowed hard and fought to maintain her composure, such as it was. “I am a bride of Christ and shall never be a man’s.”

  “A pity, that.” He made another of those sweeping bows. “Forgive me. I fear that your gown has addled my mind.”

  The gown! She could easily imagine the rumors and gossip that would follow if anyone saw her in such a garment, rumors that might reach the mother superior’s ears. This was what came of succumbing to vanity and worldly desires.

  Gerrard’s smile became a rascal’s mocking grin. “It’s lovely and suits you well, but it’s not exactly what a nun should be wearing, is it? No doubt you’d like to remove it. I’d be happy to help you.”

  “I don’t doubt y
ou have vast experience assisting women out of their clothes,” she replied, trying to maintain her self-control. “I suspect you have considerably less helping them get into them, so I shall manage on my own, thank you. You may go back to the castle.”

  He turned into the stern, stubborn Gerrard again. “Not without you.”

  It was obvious he wasn’t going to let her stay, no matter what she said. She must concede, at least this once, although not without some concessions on his part, too. “If I do go with you now, you must allow me to come back here during the day.”

  “As you wish. I’ll send a servant and guards with you.”

  “Surely I don’t need protection during the day,” she protested.

  “Celeste... Sister,” he replied, his voice rougher, “I will not debate with you any longer. My patience is at an end, and I swear by all that’s holy, if you say another word, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”

  Clutching her tunic tighter, she shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  In two purposeful strides he closed on her and did as he’d threatened, swinging her up onto his shoulder, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. Her head was level with his waist, her legs dangled down his back, and the tunic was a crumpled heap on the floor.

  “Stop, you beast! Cur!” she cried, pounding him with her fists.

  He might as well have been made of wood for all the effect her efforts had as he left the chamber and carried her down the stairs.

  “Stop! You can’t— Stop!” she panted, growing more desperate.

  At the front entrance to the house, he finally halted and swung her down. It took her a moment to find her balance, but as soon as she did, she shoved him backward. “How dare you! I am no slave, no prize of war! I am a bride of—”

  “Don’t say it!” he commanded, his words iron as he held up his hand to silence her.

  “I will speak! I will tell you exactly—”

  “What sort of man I am?” he charged as he pulled her to him, his intense gaze searching her face. “A rogue, a barbarian, a lazy lout, while you are a holy, sacred, untouchable bride of Christ? I may not be a holy man, or even a good one, but here you’re not a bride of Christ. Not in that gown. Not with me. Not after that kiss in the courtyard.”

  Celeste wrenched herself free and fled into the main room. She grabbed the bronze candleholder and raised it like a cudgel. “Stay away from me, Gerrard!” she cried as he appeared in the doorway.

  “Don’t be a fool, Celeste. Put that down and—”

  “Don’t say another word!” she ordered. “I will not go back to the castle with you, tonight or at any time. You are a rogue and lustful scoundrel! I could not rest easy knowing a man like you was anywhere nearby. I will gladly risk thieves and brigands rather than fall prey to your lust.”

  “So you’d prefer to hazard murder?”

  Years ago she had watched his father walk through the village with the coldest, hardest expression she had ever thought to see on a man’s face, until today. Until now.

  But she would feel no remorse, no regret for her impetuous words. Gerrard was not the boy she remembered, or the man she’d hoped he’d be.

  “I’ll take that chance,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice level and her face free of emotion. “If you’re at all sincere in your concern for my safety in this house, you can send guards.”

  He crossed his arms as if trying to contain his anger. “Have it your way, Sister. I am the evil, lustful son of Sir Blane of Dunborough and you are the holy virgin of Saint Agatha’s.” His lip curled with scorn. “Who dresses like a courtesan and kisses like a—”

  “Get out!” she cried, before he could finish. Before he could insult her more.

  “Gladly!” He turned to go, then looked back at her over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to lock the door after me, though. I wouldn’t want you to blame me if you’re robbed. Or worse.”

  With that, he went out, slamming the door behind him.

  Celeste dropped the candleholder and hurried to turn the lock, then gathered up her skirts and ran back to the bedchamber. She tore off the veil, struggled out of the gown, went down on her knees, clasped her hands together and began to pray.

  She had been a fool, like the most vain and silly of women, to put on that gown.

  She was going to be a nun.

  She had to be a nun if she was going to have a life of peace and contentment. She had heard the stories of girls whose lives had been destroyed by lustful, selfish men, such as Esmerelda.

  And her own poor mother.

  * * *

  “You there!”

  Verdan and Lizabet sprang apart as Gerrard marched toward them.

  “Sir?” Verdan said, obviously girding himself for a reprimand.

  Disgruntled though he was, Gerrard wasn’t angry at the soldier, who was not on duty, or the maidservant with him. If anyone deserved to be chastised, it was he. He shouldn’t have gone to fetch Celeste himself. He should have sent a whole patrol. Then she might have been more willing.

  Except then those men would also have seen her in that astonishing gown. It had fit her perfectly and emphasized her narrow waist and full breasts, exposing just enough of her cleavage to make him want to see more.

  He shouldn’t think about that gown.

  “Find the sergeant at arms,” he ordered Verdan, “and tell Ralph I want two men sent to guard the D’Orleau house, one at the front, one at the back, every night until I say otherwise.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Gerrard looked at Lizabet, who drew back as if she feared he was going to strike her. He had never in his life hit a woman. However, given his family’s reputation, he shouldn’t be surprised that a woman would fear him when he was angry.

  It was bad enough that Celeste, and apparently everyone else, believed he was a sinful satyr unable to control his lust. It was worse, though, that anyone would believe he was capable of cruelty, like his father.

  He forced himself to speak with calm deliberation. “Since Sister Augustine still doesn’t wish to return, you’ll go to her in the morning and stay until the evening meal, doing laundry or cooking or whatever is required. You will do so for the few days that she’s here, or until you’re ordered not to.”

  Lizabet relaxed a little, and only then did he realize she and Verdan were holding hands.

  “Why haven’t you two married yet?” Gerrard asked, attempting to sound jovial. “Roland’s given his permission.”

  “We’d like to, sir,” Verdan replied, and he grew more at ease. “It’s just that Ma ain’t keen to come to Yorkshire.”

  Gerrard was well aware of a parent’s influence, for good or ill. “Let’s hope she changes her mind soon. Now go and do as you’ve been ordered,” he said, then continued toward the hall, the wind whipping his cloak around him like an angry cloud.

  “S’truth!” Verdan muttered. “What got into him? He was like a bear with a thorn in its paw.”

  “Aye, he was angry, but not at us, thank God,” Lizabet said, patting her beloved’s arm. “It’s probably Sister Augustine that’s got him upset, and it wouldn’t be the first time.” She leaned in and gave Verdan a kiss. “After you’ve seen Ralph, I’ll tell you all about Sister Augustine and Gerrard.”

  Chapter Seven

  Later that night, Verdan stared openmouthed at Lizabet, who was sitting on his lap near the kitchen hearth. The other servants had all retired, so they had the chamber, lit only by the glowing embers, to themselves. “She never!”

  “Aye, she did,” Lizabet confirmed. “Broke it so bad he couldn’t hold a sword or shield or even a spoon for weeks. That’s when she got sent to Saint Agatha’s.”

  “From what I hear about old Sir Blane,” Verdan mused aloud, “could have been worse than
that for her.”

  “It wasn’t him that sent her there. It was her own father—and he was some piece of work, too. Sly and greedy, and beat his wife, or so they say.”

  “It might have been a mercy that she got sent away.”

  “Maybe, but some of them convents are like prisons,” Lizabet concluded with a shiver.

  Verdan’s embrace tightened. “That’s something you need never worry about, my love.”

  “Believe me, I’m glad of it!” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Very glad.”

  Instead of returning her kiss and more, Verdan’s arms loosened about her and he gazed at the fire. “Sister Augustine didn’t look to hold a grudge when she arrived.”

  “Nor today, neither,” Lizabet agreed, “but she was that firm about not coming back to the castle. You don’t suppose something happened between ’em to upset her?”

  “Might have.” Verdan told her what had occurred the night before, and again that morning. “Hedley thinks maybe she was tryin’ to stop Gerrard from goin’ to the village last night. And then this mornin’, she wasn’t any too pleased to meet him coming back. Suspicious, she looked, like she suspected he’d been up to no good.”

  “It could be she heard what he was like before.”

  “In a convent?”

  “Others have gone there from Dunborough and hereabouts, and they’d have stories to tell.”

  Verdan sighed heavily. “Here I was thinkin’ there’d be peaceful times here.”

  Lizabet stroked his cheek. “It’s likely Sister Augustine won’t stay for long. And you got me,” she reminded him with a sultry smile.

  Verdan grinned. “Aye, so I do,” he murmured, before he kissed her.

  * * *

  When the first glimmer of dawn appeared on the horizon, Celeste rose, her knees stiff, her body exhausted. She had spent the night in prayer, asking for forgiveness, pleading for rectitude, hoping for peace. She wasn’t sure she had received any of those things as she went to open the shutters to the early-morning sun. She almost wished she hadn’t come here, but there was the hope of finding the means to be rid of the mother superior to lessen that regret. Besides, she knew her weakness now and could guard against it.