Brides of the North

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Diamantha was beginning to lose her calm demeanor. “Give her back to me, de Bretagne,” she lowered her voice. “She is of no use to you.”

  He lifted his eyebrows at her. “I beg to differ, madam,” he said. “She is of great use. She released you from your chamber, did she not?”

  Diamantha dropped her arms, looking at Cortez as if he were the most contemptible creature on earth. She struggled not to lose her temper, knowing it would only work against her. She cursed herself for being stupid enough to let Sophie out of her sight, although she had let the child go with her nurse early that morning to feed and dress her. She had no idea that Sophie would escape the older woman although she should have guessed. Sophie was always desperate to see her pony first thing in the morning. Diamantha’s gaze moved to her daughter.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she purred. She had a sweet and low voice. “How is General this morning?”

  Sophie had her arms wrapped around Cortez’s neck. “He is eating,” she said. “Mummy, I am hungry. Can I have porridge and honey?”

  “Of course,” Diamantha lifted an expectant eyebrow at Cortez as she held her arms out to her daughter. “We shall go inside and break our fast.”

  Cortez met her gaze, his dark eyes glittering. But instead of handing over the child, he began to walk towards the upper bailey with the girl snugly in his arms. “I rather like porridge and honey,” he told Sophie. “May I have porridge, too?”

  She nodded. “Annie says it is mush.”

  “Who is Annie?”

  Sophie pointed to an older woman standing behind Diamantha, wringing her hands worriedly. “My nurse.”

  Cortez grinned at her, patted her leg, and continued on to the keep. Frustrated and the least bit furious, Diamantha collected her skirts and stomped after the pair. She caught up to them in short order, sticking close to her daughter as the enormous knight held her. She couldn’t help but notice that Sophie didn’t seem the least bit distressed. The little girl had been inordinately attached to her father and the man’s absence had rocked her deeply. Diamantha hadn’t the heart to tell her daughter that her beloved father was never coming home. At some point she knew she would have to, especially in light of her betrothal to Cortez, but she simply wasn’t ready to yet.

  As Cortez and her daughter moved to the path that led through the gatehouse that protected the upper ward, Diamantha fell back slightly and eyed Cortez as the man walked ahead of her. He was keeping up a running conversation with Sophie, smiling at the child as he spoke. Little Sophie held on to his neck, nodding her head on occasion and even speaking once in a while. But Cortez seemed to be doing all of the talking and he had Sophie completely enthralled.

  At first, Diamantha had naturally been irritated and fearful that the big knight had physical possession of her daughter, but as they walked up the hill and into the gatehouse that led to the upper bailey, she was beginning to feel something else. In spite of her resistance to everything Cortez represented, she couldn’t help but be softened by his manner with Sophie. It was almost enough to ease her, but not quite.

  Darker thoughts filled her head. Seeing Cortez again reminded her of their last conversation, of the discussion of Robert’s death. Cortez had not couched his delivery of the details. In fact, he seemed to have been rather forceful in the way he had spoken, as if to emphasize the fact that there had been no chance for Robert’s survival. Diamantha had spent the better part of the evening weeping about that, so very shattered at the description of her husband’s mortal wounds.

  She had fallen asleep with visions of Robert’s broken body languishing in the mud and she had awoken to mental images of great sucking chest wounds, as de Bretagne had so inelegantly phrased it. She felt as if she were living Robert’s death all over again now with the exact knowledge of his final moments. She almost wished de Bretagne hadn’t told her. It had been such a horrible way to die for a man she had dearly loved. Now, instead of her last memories of him being those of a sound and strong husband departing for battle, she had thoughts of a broken shell of a man who had suffered a terrible death, and she had de Bretagne to blame for it. She was trying very hard not to hate him.

  Therefore, it was a struggle not to snap as they made their way into the upper bailey. The new day was dawning and the fog and clouds that had drifted in from the sea were starting to clear out. Her gaze was fixed to the massive form in front of her, this bear of a man carrying her precious child in his arms. As they neared the tall keep, with stonework like rib bones stretching up the walls, Sophie squirmed down from Cortez’s arms and grabbed his hand.

  “Come,” she said, rather firmly.

  Once again, Cortez found himself being dragged along by a toddler. Diamantha followed close behind, watching her daughter lug the big knight after her. Cortez seemed to be taking it all in stride, allowing the child to lead him around. He was showing a remarkable amount of patience and understanding, which she’d heard were not his finer attributes. The man had fire all about him, or so Helene once told her. But with her daughter, he seemed to be mushy like clay.

  Corfe’s enormous keep soared in front of them as they neared the entry. The big, heavy entry door, more iron than wood, opened wide and they were ushered into the cool innards. They passed directly into a corridor that opened up into a smaller hall where a hearth tall enough for a man to stand in was spitting out smoke and flame. Servants bustled around, carrying plates of bread and bowls of butter, as Cortez took Sophie to a heavy feasting table and carefully sat her down on the bench.

  “There you are, my lady,” he said to her. “Delivered safely for your meal.”

  Sophie was on her knees on the bench. A small fat hand patted the seat next to her. “Sit down,” she commanded. “You sit here.”

  Cortez obliged, grinning as he sat down next to her. “My thanks, my lady.”

  By this time, Sophie was completely enamored with him. It was clear that anyone who had so willingly visited her pony and had spoken so kindly to her naturally had her attention. When Cortez took a hunk of white bread off a plate and began to slather it with butter, she ran her finger along the butter and licked it. He took the dulled knife and smeared butter on her hand, causing her to laugh loudly. It was an enchanting exchange.

  Diamantha stood at the end of the table, watching the interaction between them grow. It was increasingly difficult to hate a man who was so easily charming her daughter but she knew why he was doing it; she was no fool. He was using Sophie to get to her, or at least manipulate her. Any man who would do that was a beast indeed, but on the other hand, he was certainly making her daughter happy regardless of his reasons behind it. Torn and confused by the man, his actions, and her own feelings towards him, she made her way down the table and sat on her daughter’s other side.

  In silence, she began to prepare her daughter’s meal as Sophie played with Cortez. Now, he was pretending to bite the buttered fingers and she was squealing happily. Diamantha eyed her child as the nurse handed her the girl’s porridge and Diamantha put the right amount of honey on it. She even put in a few raisins and dried currants before putting it in front of Sophie.

  “There, now,” she said in her soft, sultry voice. “Eat your porridge, sweetheart.”

  Sophie happily picked up a wooden spoon and began shoveling. She was on her knees on the bench, leaning forward with one hand on the table and the other hand spooning the sweet porridge into her mouth. She pushed about four spoonfuls in before turning to Cortez and tried to feed him some of her mush. Cortez begged off politely.

  “That is your meal, little one,” he told her. “Eat all of it so that you may grow up strong.”

  Sophie grinned at him, mouth full of porridge, and he snorted. It was really quite sweet and quite comical. As the little girl turned back to her bowl, Cortez’s eyes locked with Diamantha’s over the top of her daughter’s head.

  The woman was watching him, appraising him, still uncertain of his motives. But it was more than that; he could see fire t
here, lingering in the depths. A jolt ran through him, one of warmth and mild excitement. He couldn’t help it. The woman seemed to have an effect on him like he had never before experienced. Not even his sweet Helene had breathed such fire into his heart, making it flutter with a mere glance. It was a wholly odd but entirely delicious sensation and for lack of a better response, he simply smiled.

  “My mother, being Spanish, used to feed my brother and I rice with very dark sweet-salt sprinkled on it,” he told her. “Our cook used to make cakes from the same grain and sweet-salt. It is still my favorite thing to eat.”

  Diamantha just stared at the man. She wasn’t in any mood for small talk but she was in the midst of an increasing dilemma. It was obvious that Sophie liked the man and Cortez seemed to feel the same way towards her. His gentleness and patience with her little girl made her look at the man through new eyes and she struggling not to. She knew it was all an act for her benefit; he had ulterior motives. Bewildered, and resistant, she lowered her gaze.

  Cortez’s smile faded as he watched Diamantha’s lowered head. He was trying very hard not to feel discouraged but her lack of response to him, any response at all, had him fighting off depression. Aye, he had used the girl to get to the mother and he didn’t regret it. He had to get to her somehow. He was fairly certain that Lady Diamantha thought of him as a cad, a scoundrel, but he supposed that in a small way he was. She hadn’t wanted him since the beginning of their renewed association and he knew it. She had been very clear with her wants, just as he had been. But in this case, his wants would win out over hers. He would make sure of it.

  As he sat next to Sophie and pondered his next move, George entered the hall. He didn’t seem surprised to see Cortez seated at the table but his gaze appeared to be mostly on Diamantha. When Sophie saw her grandfather, she crowed.

  “Grandpere!” she cried. “I have porridge!”

  It all came out as a mumbled bit of fluff because her mouth was full. No one had any idea what she had said. George, however, smiled sweetly as he sat down across the table from her. Sophie swallowed the big bite in her mouth as her mother wiped the mess on her lips away with a linen napkin.

  “Grandpere, I am going on an ad-ad-adventure!” she stumbled over the word. She pointed her messy spoon at Cortez, flicking porridge onto his leather breeches. “He has a castle with ponies and dogs. I want to go there.”

  George’s smile turned into a grimace. “Is that so?” he said, trying to be pleasant as he thought of losing his only grandchild and his last link to his beloved son. “It would be nice to visit, would it not?”

  Cortez’s dark eyes fixed on George as he wiped the spilled porridge off his breeches. “It would be lovely to live there,” he said plainly, daring Edlington’s father to debate it. “I told her that my castle is sad because there is no princess. She has graciously agreed to become my princess.”

  George’s smile vanished completely. “I see,” he muttered, looking at Diamantha. “When is this happy event to take place?”

  Diamantha was clearly as unhappy as her father-in-law. “That has not yet been discussed,” she said. “I believe that….”

  Cortez cut her off. “Then let us discuss it now,” he said. It was another ploy at manipulation, knowing that neither Diamantha nor George would become too angry with Sophie in their midst, and he was wise enough to take advantage of the situation. He was, if nothing else, cunning. “The ride to Sherborne is a half day at the very most. Therefore, I will give you the day to pack your belongings, and those of Lady Sophie, and we will leave first thing on the morrow. We will be married at Sherborne Abbey once we arrive. I have already made the necessary arrangements.”

  Diamantha looked at him in shock. “A day?” she repeated, aghast. “You are asking me to pack my entire life away in one day? It cannot be done. I need more time.”

  Cortez had to take the upper hand; he had no choice. He was afraid if he gave in to her requests, or rather her demands, that he would lose control of the situation. He had no desire to lose his grip on that which he so badly wanted. He needed it. God help him, he needed Diamantha and her sweet daughter. He had been so lonely for three years. He didn’t want to be lonely anymore.

  “Pack what you can,” he said steadily. “We will take it with us and you may leave behind servants to pack and then send along the rest.”

  It was not a request. Diamantha and George both saw that. De Bretagne was very good at giving commands that were not intended to be refuted. Furious, Diamantha lowered her gaze and stared at the table as Sophie continued to sit between her and Cortez and happily eat. To the child, all was joyful in her world with a new friend and her mother seated beside her. But to the adults, the hall was filled with brittle discord, fragile enough to shatter at any moment. It was a horrible, tense ambiance.

  But Cortez ignored it. He wanted his own desires fulfilled above all else and to the devil with George and Diamantha’s resistance. They had already put up too much of a fight and he was at the end of his patience. He wasn’t in the mood for any further games. He could feel his irritation rising and since he had little control over his anger at times, he made the decision to leave before he said something he would regret later. Abruptly, he stood.

  “I will be in the lower ward preparing my men to depart on the morrow,” he said evenly. “Have your men bring your trunks down so that we may pack them onto the provisions wagons. You will also give me an accounting of the servants you intend to bring with you. Is this clear, madam?”

  Diamantha was near tears. She was incredibly frustrated, feeling as if she were being yanked from her home by a man with no heart or soul. The shock from the marriage proposal was wearing off, leaving in its place a sense of desolation and sorrow. Her inclination not to hate the man was weakening. She was starting to hate him a great deal.

  “Madam?” he said again, more firmly. “I require an answer.”

  Diamantha was still staring at the table. She wouldn’t give him the courtesy of looking at him. “I understand,” she said.

  Cortez didn’t say another word, even when Sophie turned to him and begged him to stay. He smiled at the child and patted her fat little hand before quitting the hall, leaving behind him one oblivious little girl and a whole host of distressed adults. But he didn’t care. He would have his way in all things.

  Damn Lady Edlington for resisting him in the first place. She was instigating a battle she had no chance of winning. But he suspected he could butt heads with her all night and she would never retreat. She was prideful and she was stubborn, two qualities he happened to share with her. He understood them. Therefore, he knew he would have to win her over another way.

  He thought perhaps that honey would attract her better than vinegar would. He intended to give it a try.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Diamantha could hear Sophie in the next room, playing with her poppet. She had a toy cradle that Robert had made for her and she liked to put her doll to bed repeatedly. Sometimes the poppet was naughty and needed to be spanked, like now. Diamantha couldn’t help the grin as she listened to her daughter scold the doll because it didn’t want to go to sleep. The joy of the simple pleasure helped lighten her heavy and sorrowful heart.

  It was late, well after the evening meal that saw Cortez demand that she be ready to depart for Sherborne on the morrow. She’d had her trunks brought around and gave the servants basic instructions, but beyond that, she was incapable of doing much more. Her fury, her outrage, at de Bretagne’s order had died down, leaving grief in its wake. He was removing her from the chamber she had shared with Robert and from everything that was important to her. She felt as if she were living her husband’s death a second time as de Bretagne tried to bully him from her memory.

  George had tried to come and see her, twice, but she would not see him. Every time she looked at him she could see Robert’s face and it was tearing her apart, great claws of sorrow ripping at her heart. Now, everything was changing and she was loath to accept
it. She didn’t think her heart could be any heavier as she thought of her tall, handsome husband with the dark blond hair, of his ready smile and that roaring laughter he had. She could still hear it echoing in her memory.

  She could still see him as he bid her a farewell before leaving for the north, his gentle smile as she had gazed at him with tears in her eyes. He had promised to return but he had not kept that promise. It wasn’t a surprise to realize that not only did she hate de Bretagne for his role in all of this, but she was angry with Robert as well. She was angry with him for putting duty over his family, for leaving her to raise their child alone. Damn the man; she should have never let him go.

  Breaking from her morose train of thought, she went into Sophie’s chamber and put the little girl, and her naughty poppet, to bed. Neither wanted to go to sleep, however, so Diamantha spent a few minutes with her child, telling her a made-up story of a rabbit and a fox that were friends, and giving her at least two drinks of water because Sophie swore she was very thirsty. Sophie went down to sleep resisting all the way but finally, she drifted off and Diamantha snuffed the taper by the bed and quietly crept from the room.

  Back in her own adjoining chamber, she was in the midst of servants packing her things. Trunks full of clothing, accessories, plate, valuables… everything that reminded her of her life with Robert was being neatly stored away in cold and unfeeling trunks. Struggling against the horrible sorrow of her life reduced to trunks and cases, she sat on her bed and collected a piece of embroidery she had been working on. She needed something to distract her and to pass the time and, hopefully, she would eventually be tired enough to sleep. Right now, she didn’t want to waste any time on it because these were to be her last hours within Corfe’s walls, walls that breathed and spoke of her husband. She could hear the reflections softly, like the gentle patter of rain in her heart and mind. She wanted to live these last few moments and speak to Robert, if only in prayer.