Scoundrel of Dunborough

by Margaret Moore

  Norbert, pale and shaking, crept into the hall. His cloak was soaking from the rain that had started to fall and his boots were thick with mud. He came forward slowly, keeping to the shadows, but Gerrard saw him nonetheless. “What do you want, Norbert? Your horses? One is in the stable, the other with my men.”

  “S-sir, I’m so... I beg your pardon, s-sir,” Norbert stammered, his eyes wide with dismay. “Sister Augustine, how is she?”

  “Alive. The apothecary is with her.” And had been for what seemed an endless age.

  “I’m glad she’s... I’m glad,” Norbert replied.

  “And now you can go. I never want to see you again.”

  The chandler didn’t move.

  Trying to keep a rein on his temper, Gerrard got to his feet. “Did you hear me, man?” He pointed at the door. “Go!”

  Norbert winced, yet made no effort to leave. Instead, he fell to his knees and held up his hands in supplication. “Have mercy, Gerrard!” he cried. “He’s my only son, my only child!”

  Gerrard regarded the man steadily. He would never, as long as he lived, forget the sight of Celeste on the ground, her clothes torn and muddy, dried blood on her lip, her hands cut and bleeding and her long hair tangled with leaves. “Your son has sealed his fate. He will be caught, imprisoned, tried and, I have no doubt, executed for what he did.”

  Norbert covered his thin face with his hands and wailed as if he were the one doomed to die.

  Gerrard had heard cries of anguish before, when his father had passed judgment. Lewis did deserve to die for what he’d done, but Gerrard was not Sir Blane and his heart wasn’t made of stone.

  He came down from the dais and raised the grief-stricken man to his unsteady feet. “Your son has committed a serious crime, Norbert, and he must be punished. That cannot be denied. Perhaps God will forgive Lewis if he repents before—”

  “Sir!”

  Their expressions grave, their cloaks and helmets dripping, Arnhelm and Verdan marched up the center of the hall.

  “We’ve got Lewis, sir,” Arnhelm said grimly. “We saw him on the stone bridge where the road forks, and he saw us. I tried to talk him into coming back but, well, he jumped. He’s dead.”

  Norbert shrieked as if he’d been impaled, then fell to the floor. “Oh, no! Forgive me, my son, forgive me!”

  As the chandler’s wails became choked sobs, Gerrard took the soldiers aside. “Where is Lewis now?” he asked quietly.

  “Took us a while to find his body,” Arnhelm answered. “We did at last. It... He’s in the stable, sir.”

  “Take Norbert to his son.”

  * * *

  After Arnhelm and Verdan helped Norbert from the hall, Gerrard started to go back to his chair on the dais, then changed his mind and headed to the stairs leading to the bedchambers.

  What was happening in Roland’s chamber? Was Celeste seriously injured? The apothecary had been with her for so long...

  Gerrard went up the steps and peered down the corridor. All was quiet, with none of the bustle usually found when there was a seriously injured person being tended. Was that good, or...not?

  He ventured along the hall, pausing outside the door of his father’s bedchamber, a room that had been forbidden to him and his brothers all their lives.

  A room he had never wanted to enter, even after his father had died.

  He opened the door and stepped across the threshold. A broken shutter allowed moonlight to shine across the floor and fall onto the bed. It was still covered with dusty linen and surrounded by equally dusty bed curtains. A heavy brazier, ashes in its bowl, stood nearby. His father’s chest of clothing had likewise been left untouched and was covered with a thick layer of dust.

  So much for the man who had terrorized him and his brothers. Who had meted out harsh punishments and cruel judgments. Who had used women as toys for his amusement.

  Given the way he’d thought to use Audrey, was he really any better?

  Tomorrow, after selecting an escort to take Celeste to the convent or wherever else she wished to go, he would leave Dunborough and ride to DeLac, as he’d planned. He would refuse Roland’s offer and seek his fortune elsewhere.

  With a heavy sigh, but his decision made, he left the chamber.

  And came face-to-face with Celeste.

  He gasped and took a step back. It was like encountering an angel. Not only was her presence unexpected, but she wore a plain white shift and her hair fell long and loose about her, just as it had when she was young and innocent. When they both were.

  But she was no young and innocent child. She was a woman who had been abducted, injured and upset, and she should be in bed. “What are you doing here? What about your ankle? Where’s the apothecary?”

  “He’s gone. He went down the servants’ stairs with Lizabet and Peg.” Celeste raised the hem of her shift and held out her bandaged foot. “He put something on it and wrapped it well. It’s much better, and so am I. All I need is rest, he says, and I was resting, until I heard the door to that chamber open and thought it must be you.” She clasped her hands together, her eyes as pleading as a penitent’s. “I want to thank you, Gerrard, for saving me.”

  “You’ve done so already. Now you should go back to bed.”

  “Will you still be here in the morning?”

  “Until the dawn at least.”

  “Then you will go.”

  “Yes.”

  She raised her cut and bruised right hand and placed it lightly on his chest. “Don’t.”

  He swallowed hard, for her touch set his blood running hot and full of need, a need that she would never fulfill. “It is for the best.”

  And then, because he couldn’t keep the words from being spoken, he said, “Besides, you will soon be gone.”

  Her eyes glistened in the light from the torch in the sconce nearby. “Only if you tell me to go.”

  His brows lowered, for he scarcely dared to hope that he had heard aright. He could more easily believe her words were the product of his own fervent longing.

  * * *

  Celeste drew in a long, quivering breath as she looked into his confused, dark eyes. She was taking a great risk, yet in her heart, she knew not speaking would be worse, no matter what the result. She had discovered what she truly desired, what would make her happy and content, secure and peaceful, and it was not life in a convent. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Gerrard, to love and cherish him, come what may, and, God willing, bear his children.

  “I mean,” she said, stepping closer, “that I will stay here if you ask me to. Or I will go with you if you ask me to. I want to be with you, wherever you go and whatever you do. I love you, Gerrard. I’ve always loved you, even when you cut off my hair.”

  His eyes widened. He couldn’t have looked more astonished if the gates of heaven had opened before him.

  That expression lasted only a moment before doubt darkened his handsome visage. “Do you truly mean that, Celeste? I want to believe it, but perhaps what you feel is merely gratitude.” He lowered his head. “After all, I’m not a good man. I have lied and cheated and sinned. I am not nearly good enough for you.”

  She reached out and took his hands firmly in hers, now more certain of her feelings for him than she had ever been about anything.

  “You are a good man, Gerrard,” she assured him. “Perhaps you wandered from the path before, but you’ve changed. You’re the man I always hoped and dreamed you would be, in spite of your upbringing. You’re a man I can admire and respect, as well as love.” She smiled then, and let him see the fullness of her heart.

  Then she raised herself on her toes and kissed him.

  Instead of responding, he stood stiff and still, and she feared she’d made a terrible mistake, until with a sudden sigh of exultation, he gathered h
er into his arms and clasped her tightly. “I will never let you go again! I love you, Celeste. I’ve loved you from boyhood, and long before I truly knew what love could be.”

  He kissed her passionately, his embrace telling her better than his words how much he loved her, and that she hadn’t been wrong to hope that he cared for her.

  He broke the kiss and, still holding her close, whispered in her ear, “I loved you even when you broke my collarbone. I’ll always love you. If you would be my wife...”

  “Yes!” she cried, happy beyond measure, until a harsh reality intruded into her joy. “Are you sure, Gerrard? You’ll be marrying the daughter of a merchant, and one who’ll have a very small dowry, or perhaps nothing at all once Audrey’s debts are paid.”

  He grinned. “As if I cared about that! Good God, I should have gone to that convent and proposed to you years ago.”

  “We would surely have encountered opposition from your family then.”

  “There’s no one to oppose us now,” he noted, pulling her back into his arms and pressing featherlight kisses on her cheeks.

  “What about Roland?” she asked breathlessly, not quite distracted by his kisses, or the ache beginning in her ankle. “You might not care about my rank or lack of riches, but your brother may.”

  Gerrard laughed then, a rich, lovely sound that lessened her worries at once, although not as much as what he said next. “He can’t protest my marriage over a lack of dowry. His own wife lost most of hers in a fire and came here with just the clothes on her back and a bag of coins. And I’m no lord or even a knight.”

  Gerrard’s words lifted Celeste’s spirits and she held him close, her face against his chest. “If only my father really had left a treasure in the house, as he always said he had. Then I would have more to give you.”

  Gerrard pulled back, a confused frown wrinkling his brow. “Your father said there was a treasure?”

  “Every time he shouted at my mother. He would claim there were gold and jewels hidden in the house, but she would never have any of it. I thought Audrey had found it, until I learned she was in debt. I’ve been searching for it ever since I came here, to no avail.”

  “Is that why I saw a light in your house for so long last night?”

  Now she was confused. “How could you—”

  “That tree near your south fence is not a comfortable perch for a watchman.”

  “You were there?”

  “All night,” he admitted.

  “Oh, Gerrard, my love!”

  “I couldn’t have slept anyway, thinking you were alone and unprotected.”

  “And yet there are those who say you care nothing for anyone save yourself.”

  “Not anymore,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again.

  He drew back before he did so, concern on his features once more. “What have I to offer you? I don’t have anything but a horse and a few coins to my name, unless I accept Roland’s offer and take Dunborough.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, of course, that’s what I’ll do.”

  She wasn’t fooled by that smile. There was dismay in those dark eyes of his.

  “Accept only if you truly wish to,” she said firmly. “I understand that you don’t want to be beholden to your brother for the rest of your life. If you’d rather not accept his gift, I’ll go with you wherever you wish. All that matters to me is that I’ll be your wife.”

  His gaze softened and he stroked her cheek. “My pride has been my downfall too often. It’s time I thought of someone other than myself and what suits me.” His mischievous grin returned. “After all, I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to be the master of Dunborough. I do, and I think I can rule it well with such a wife to help me. Therefore, my beloved, I’ll tell Roland I will take what he offers and be grateful, and do my best.

  “And as for my poor, untitled bride, her love makes me rich beyond compare,” he said softly before he captured her mouth with his.

  She returned his kiss with fervent longing, her whole body heating as it had that day beneath the tree.

  She wanted to feel more of what she had then, although this time, he must feel the same. Moving back, she took his hand and started toward the open door of the bedchamber, limping just a little.

  In the next moment, Gerrard swept her up into his arms. “Your ankle is bothering you.”

  “A little,” she said. However, the state of her ankle was not uppermost in her mind as she looked into his handsome, concerned face. “You may take me to my bed and stay with me.”

  He started toward the chamber. “I’ll sit by your side all night if you like.”

  The time had come to be bold, and in truth, her ankle wasn’t so very sore. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  He halted, still as a statue, and regarded her warily.

  She ran her finger down his cheek, then his neck and finally his collarbone. “I want you to be with me, Gerrard, tonight and every night.”

  “We aren’t yet wed.”

  She flushed, for he was right. It would be a sin in the eyes of God and the law. And if she needed any other sign that he wasn’t the rogue and wastrel people claimed, here it was.

  Then his eyes lit up and he grinned that delightful, merry, mischievous Gerrard grin. He carried her swiftly into the chamber and set her on the bed.

  “Wait here!” he ordered, and then hurried from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Celeste felt as if she’d suddenly been stranded on a deserted island. She gingerly got under the covers and waited, although for what, she wasn’t sure, until she heard a commotion in the corridor and Gerrard rushed back into the room, practically dragging Arnhelm. The soldier looked as puzzled as it was possible for a man to be. Behind him came an equally baffled Verdan holding Lizabet’s hand. Peg, frowning, brought up the rear.

  Celeste pulled the coverlet up to her neck. What in the name of the saints...?

  “Here are our witnesses!” Gerrard exclaimed with proud satisfaction.

  “Witnesses to what?” she asked cautiously.

  “Aye, to what?” Arnhelm echoed.

  “Our marriage!”

  “S’truth!” Verdan muttered, clearly as taken aback as the others, including the bride-to-be.

  “As much as I want to marry you, Gerrard,” she began, “there’s no priest to bless—”

  Gerrard’s earthy curse showed that he was not yet completely virtuous. “I’ll go fetch Father Denzail.”

  “But it’s night!”

  Grinning again, Gerrard shook his head, and he was again that bold, brave rascal of a boy she’d adored all these years. “Day or night, I’ve waited too long as it is and will not wait any longer.” His grin began to fade. “Unless you wish to?”

  There was only one thing that she wished for now, and his urgency matched her own. “Go and fetch the priest, my love. We shall be ready when you return.”

  He started to go, then turned back and smiled at the soldiers and their sweethearts. “What say we make it three weddings, eh?”

  Arnhelm and Verdan looked at the blushing maidservants, then each other.

  “Ma might never change her mind,” Verdan said to his older brother.

  “You’re right,” Arnhelm agreed. “Well, Peg?”

  “You’d best make an honest woman out of me,” she replied, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling.

  “What do you think, Lizabet?” Verdan asked, his boyish bashfulness at distinct odds with his size.

  She threw herself into his arms. “O’course I will!”

  * * *

  “Father Denzail! Wake up!” a voice shouted, followed by the sound of pounding on the rectory door. “Father Denzail!”

  Tempted though the priest was to curse, for as the son of
a seaman he knew some very colorful expressions, the middle-aged man crossed himself instead and muttered a prayer for forbearance. It must be Bardolf, come because his father was dying at last, although this wouldn’t be the first time old Talby fooled them all and rallied.

  Nevertheless, it was his duty to tend to the sick and dying, so Father Denzail pulled on his robe and went to answer the door.

  Before he got there, his unwelcome guest stuck her head out of the room next to his and glared at him.

  “No need to trouble yourself,” he said, waving his hand at the nun. “One of my parish is near death. I’m sure—”

  “Father Denzail!” the man called again.

  “Unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s the young man from the castle,” the mother superior said sharply and with an accusing expression, as if this nighttime visit meant Father Denzail was somehow in league with him.

  The priest did not like Gerrard. However, he liked her less. She had treated him like a lackey, and a dim-witted one at that, since she had arrived.

  Father Denzail drew himself up to his full height of five foot two and spoke with priestly authority. “If it is Gerrard, there must be some trouble at the castle and it’s my duty to answer his call.”

  “I’m sure there’s trouble there, all right,” the woman retorted. “I’m sure they’re all going to the devil.”

  “Be that as it may, this is my parish, so you may go back to bed.”

  “I think not,” the mother superior declared, and much to Father Denzail’s chagrin, she followed him down the stairs.

  Between her, his interrupted sleep and the continual pounding and shouting, he was already getting a headache.

  He hurried to open the outer door, ignoring the woman on his heels, except to note that her thick velvet bed robe was very fine for someone who had supposedly taken a vow of poverty.

  “Now then, what’s amiss?” he began, opening the door and shivering in the sudden blast of cold air.

  He was not happy to find Gerrard on the doorstep, any more than he was to have that censorious nun behind him.