by Shari Anton
Locking all out; locking her in.
He turned around. She averted her gaze, choosing to stare at a spot on the wall. He said nothing when he passed by her on his way to the table. From the sounds she knew he poured a goblet of wine.
“When in Shrewsbury, I thought to purchase a pair of gloves for myself. Knowing they would be snug, I tried to take the ring off before putting them on. The ring stuck. I thought that odd, so that night I tried cold water and soap, then goose grease. The ring will not come off.”
Gwendolyn groped for a reason other than the one she refused to consider. “The ring is too small. It was not made for you.”
“One would think it was. It fitted perfectly until I tried to slide it beyond the knuckle. Short of cutting off my finger, I fear it must stay where it is. And no, Gwendolyn, I am not slicing off a finger, not even to please you.”
Ire touched his declaration, but she didn’t know if it was directed at her for the pretense of having accepted her situation, or at himself for his gallantry and gifts gone for naught. Having no answer, she remained silent.
He placed the goblet on the table, and after a few moments of silence, said, “You may turn around now. I should no longer offend your sense of modesty.”
Alberic wore only his forest green tunic. He leaned against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his long, bare legs crossed at the ankles. Truly, the man was a fine specimen of a hardy, healthy male and, completely against her will, her woman’s places warmed at the sight of all that male flesh on display.
His sensuous perusal of her own state of undress tingled along her bare arms and at the hardened tips of her breasts. She folded her arms over her chest, which only encouraged him to lower his gaze and linger overlong on one particular spot. The light was dim. Surely he couldn’t see much. But maybe he could. Her chemise was thin, and she didn’t have enough arms and hands to cover everything.
She desperately needed a distraction and to divert his attention.
“You knew I planned to leave tonight.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “You were seen where you ought not to be at strange times. I also assumed you would try to procure the ring before you attempted your escape.” His smile was neither apologetic nor friendly. “I beg pardon, Gwendolyn, but I cannot allow either. You do understand.”
She understood too clearly that someone at Camelen had observed her movements and informed Alberic, most likely a guard she hadn’t seen. She also understood that two days remained before the wedding, not much time to make other arrangements to escape.
None of which mattered if the ring didn’t come off Alberic’s finger. She dare not leave the ring behind.
“You have kept the ring on since the king gave it to you?”
“Aye. Almost a fortnight now.” He frowned and turned the ring in circles. “The ring slid on easily and is not tight or hurtful. I do not understand what hinders me from removing it.”
Gwendolyn was beginning to, and the possibility sent a cold chill through her that had nothing to do with her thin chemise and the lack of a fire in the hearth.
For a moment, again her father sat at the table, distressed, sliding the ring off and on his finger. “From the moment your mother’s father gave it to me until the moment of her death, I could not escape its magic. Now your mother is gone, the magic has escaped, and I would do most anything to get it back.” He’d sighed then. “You see, Gwen, that is why we must find the right husband for you. The magic will not work unless you are mated to a man you can love.”
“Perhaps I should put the ring with the pendant,” she’d offered.
“Nay. ’Tis my duty to pass it on to whomever you wed, nor can I bear parting with it just yet.”
Father had never parted with the ring. He hadn’t passed it on to Madog ap Idwal as he should. Instead, the ring now sat hard on a hand not meant to wear it, attached to a man she could not love.
Was there magic involved? If so, that might explain her forcefully wanton reaction to Alberic, though she didn’t understand why ancient forces wished her to mate with the man who’d killed her brother. But that was absurd. If anything the magic should work in the opposite manner, by inducing the man to fall in love with her, which she allowed might be happening because he’d chosen her to be his wife.
She wished she knew more about the magic. Mother had died mere hours after handing over the artifacts with the barest of explanation and no training in their use. Father had known no more than she’d learned from her mother.
Sweet mercy, if the magic had gone awry she didn’t know how to force it right again.
“Perhaps tomorrow it will come off.”
“Mayhap, but truly, it matters not. The ring may stay on my hand, and you, Gwendolyn, will remain at Camelen. I assume you meant to seek out this Madog you spoke of.”
His obvious dislike of Madog raised her chin. “He is my betrothed.”
“No longer.” Alberic pushed away from the table and sauntered toward her, challenging her resolve to avoid retreat. “You must accept that I am now your betrothed and we will be wed in two days.”
“Even over my refusal? You cannot force me.”
He cupped her face with warm palms, and she felt the power in his light touch clear down to her toes.
“I can,” he said softly. “Believe me, I prefer not to use force, but you continue to resist what you cannot prevent. Our fates are sealed. Yield, Gwendolyn.”
“Never.”
She expected anger but received an unnerving smile.
“Never is a long time.”
His kiss was whisper soft against her lips, and only the power of magic could turn it all-encompassing, banishing her resistance and common sense so thoroughly. Every part of her became aware of how closely they stood, how little fabric covered either of them. Too easily she could grab his tunic and pull him closer yet, feel the heat of him against her. Too easily she could melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Perhaps we should not wait until the wedding night,” he suggested, his voice rumbling with desire.
She couldn’t yield, couldn’t let him win. She gained sensibility in a hasty retreat.
His hands spread in a gesture of resignation. “I am willing to wait until after we say our vows, but no longer. On the night after next you will be mine.”
Gwendolyn headed toward the door, not all that sure of her relief at the reprieve. She reached for the latch and found the bolt. She didn’t struggle long with the heavy plank. Alberic came up behind her and lifted the bolt from the holders.
“I will not confine you to your chamber,” he said, “but you will be watched.”
A prisoner in her own home, as she’d been since his arrival. Only now Alberic was on his guard. Truly, she’d failed miserably this night.
As soon as the bolt cleared the door she was out of the chamber and rushing to the security of her own.
She wasn’t quiet enough while entering. Emma opened her eyes and rose up on an elbow.
“Are you all right?” Emma asked quietly.
Gwendolyn slid under the coverlet. “Aye. Sorry I woke you.”
“You are sure?”
“Let it be, Emma.”
Emma closed her eyes, and Gwendolyn snuggled deeper into the feather mattress, knowing sleep impossible.
What a disaster! First she’d been caught and then she’d been kissed. Disasters both. To keep from thinking about the latter, she focused on the former.
What a fool she’d been, thinking herself clever enough to escape. She’d been discreet in filching food. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine how a guard might have seen her near the postern gate. Even when stuffing the small satchel with the artifacts and clothing, she’d done so when neither Emma nor Nicole was present in the chamber.
Over and over she examined her movements, her observations, and couldn’t figure out how she’d been found out.
“You are not all right,” Emma complained. “You flap around like a fresh-caught fish
.”
“Beg pardon.”
“Care to talk?”
She couldn’t possibly tell Emma now, her failure too fresh and Alberic’s taste still on her mouth. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
If Gwendolyn hadn’t been looking directly at Emma, she might have missed her sister’s quick glance at the clothing pegs, at Gwendolyn’s cloak.
The thought came in an agonizing rush that Emma wasn’t sure Gwendolyn would be here tomorrow.
Nay, not Emma! But it all made sense. Of everyone at Camelen, Emma knew her best. Who better to notice Gwendolyn’s absence in the middle of the night, and be aware the small satchel wasn’t in its proper place in the trunk?
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“You knew.” The statement came out as an accusation, and Emma again tossed a glance at the cloak, this time so guilt-laden it tore Gwendolyn’s heart in two.
“I suspected.”
“You warned Alberic.”
“You were about to do something dangerous, Gwen. I knew no other way to stop you.”
Aghast, she asked, “You did not think to speak to me first?”
“Would you have listened had I told you to desist? Sweet mercy, you are so set against this marriage, you planned to sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night! I would wager you still are.”
Gwendolyn turned away, unable to tell Emma the true reason for her need to escape.
Emma continued. “Bandits and wolves roam the forest, and the rogue archer has not been caught. I also feared if you succeeded then Nicole might take it into her head to follow your example. And—”
Gwendolyn ruthlessly cut off her sister’s excuses for delivering her up to Alberic. “And you feared that if I left you might be forced to marry Alberic and thus lose your chance to go to court! Well, you need no longer fear, Emma. Any hope of my escape has been thwarted.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Think what you will, but my reasons were not selfish. I could not bear the thought of you lying dead in the forest.”
Nicole’s head appeared above the end of the bed. “You were planning to leave, Gwen? Without taking me along?”
“Do not be foolish,” Emma snapped at the girl. “Gwendolyn is going nowhere. Now go back to sleep. Let us all go back to sleep.”
Nicole’s head sank down below the mattress, and Gwendolyn knew naught else to do than to close her eyes.
The magic had most definitely gone awry.
First Father and William had abandoned her. Then Alberic wielded his authority to decide her future. Even the ring seemed to have turned against her.
And now Emma had betrayed her, and Nicole felt betrayed by her.
Anger warred with sorrow and panic for dominance. With her escape thwarted and no possibility of rescue, Gwendolyn glanced down the path of her life and saw naught but bitter mud and soul-jarring ruts.
Nothing was as it should be and might never come right again.
Chapter Seven
AS WAS THE CUSTOM AT CAMELEN, on Sunday morning the castle folk celebrated Mass in the village church instead of the castle’s chapel. As lord, Alberic attended, as did Gwendolyn and her sisters and a host of tenants from leagues around. The tension in the nave was as thick as the fog outside, and Alberic’s thoughts were far from pious.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wishing Father Paul could slide over a prayer or two. But since that wasn’t to be, he glanced again at Gwendolyn’s beam-stiff back and wondered how the devil he could convince her to bend.
She showed not a dram’s worth of submissive pretense this morn, her distress displayed to all and sundry. Many would assume her sorrow caused by her presence in the church where her father and brother now lie interred under the floor.
Alberic knew Gwendolyn also mourned the loss of her freedom, bemoaned her inescapable fate. He’d tried gallantry, flattery, and gifts in his effort to win her over. Courting her hadn’t gained him any favor, and he was at a loss over what to do next. Or even if he should.
Perhaps time and familiarity would work a miracle, turn her despair into contentment. Except he didn’t believe in miracles, and sometimes allowing fate to rule could be a grave mistake.
He shouldn’t allow Gwendolyn to affect him so. Not her moods and not her kisses, especially not her kisses.
She wasn’t indifferent to him. Her physical response to his kiss and touch was all he could hope for, which boded well for the marriage bed and the begetting of heirs. Yet she’d played him false, leading him to believe she was resigned to their marriage while defiantly plotting her escape.
Praise heaven Emma had been concerned about her sister’s odd actions, become suspicious of her purpose, and given him warning, or this morning he might be out scouring the countryside for Gwendolyn.
More dangers existed in the forest than bandits and wolves. Patrols had found no trace of the rogue archer, but Alberic couldn’t assume the man no longer lurked in the area, though he dearly hoped the coward had taken the one shot at him and then fled. To where, Alberic no longer cared, considering himself fortunate to have survived the serious attempt to murder Camelen’s new lord.
The second attempt, Nicole’s, he considered an aberration, the action of a distraught child who lacked discipline. On the day after the wedding, on the same day Garrett escorted Emma to court, Sedwick would take Nicole to Bledloe Abbey and leave her to the strict care of the nuns, which the girl considered an unholy fate. Punishment enough.
Emma’s and Nicole’s absence would leave him alone with just one female to tame. Gwendolyn.
While he hated to think Gwendolyn might never be at peace with him, it truly didn’t matter if she found contentment as his wife. His wife she would be. ’Twould be nice not to be at odds with her and be assured she would remain at Camelen without his placing her under constant guard.
Nice, but not required.
But damn, he liked the woman. Aye, she’d tried to escape, and given her circumstances he might have done the same. Her attempt might have been foolhardy and dangerous, but showed spirit and bravery he couldn’t help but admire.
He’d like to make that woman happy if she would let him. A contented wife, a willing lover. Did he ask too much?
Adding to the tension, something had caused strife among the sisters. Though Emma and Nicole stood near Gwendolyn, they held themselves a bit apart, and the looks they gave one another signaled discord. He’d not told Gwendolyn of Emma’s involvement in thwarting the escape, but now wondered if the truth had been revealed after Gwendolyn’s return to the ladies’ bedchamber.
“Amen” rang through the small church.
Alberic quickly crossed himself and turned to leave. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for Moses, allowing him and the ladies to pass through. He waved Emma and Nicole ahead of him, then took his place beside Gwendolyn, who didn’t acknowledge him, but neither did she speed off.
He considered it a good omen.
Outside, the fog had given way to a light mist. Beside him, Gwendolyn flipped up the hood of her beaver cloak to cover her veil and circlet, effectively shutting him out of her sight. Silence reigned during the long climb up the steep hill to the gatehouse, and across the bailey to the stairs leading up to the keep’s great hall.
Just inside the door stood a man garbed in royal livery, who must have arrived sometime during Mass. For a moment Alberic suffered the vision of being informed that the king and earl had finally come to a falling-out, and the king now recognized his error in gifting the earl of Chester’s bastard son with a barony, and intended to remedy the mistake.
The messenger bobbed his head. “Good morn, Lord Alberic. I bear tidings from His Majesty and news from Wallingford.”
At the words, Gwendolyn flipped back her hood and altered her steps, coming to stand beside him instead of crossing the hall. She was hoping for the worst of news, Alberic was sure.
“All good, one hopes,” he told the messenger, expressing his fondest wish.
“For the most part, m
y lord. Brian fitz Count yet holds the castle, but the king’s forces have succeeded in sealing off Wallingford. With both supplies and communication cut, we are now hopeful of the castle’s quick surrender.”
“Good news, indeed.”
The messenger’s smile concurred. Gwendolyn’s frown reminded Alberic that while he might be a king’s man, most folk at Camelen had supported Empress Maud for many a year, even if they now did so in silence.
“The king also wishes to know how you fair.”
Alberic almost smiled at the messenger’s attempted diplomacy. “You mean the king wishes to know if I am in a position to send back his soldiers.”
“He made no direct request, but I believe he would be most appreciative.”
This wasn’t a decision to be made lightly. The presence of the king’s soldiers had given Alberic the time necessary to exert his authority over Camelen. Enough time? If he now allowed the soldiers to leave, did he court the possibility of an uprising?
Given the events of last night, the woman at his side might joyfully condone a revolt, if not take up arms herself. He was a bit more sure of the garrison than Gwendolyn, but obtaining the opinion of his council couldn’t hurt.
“Lady Gwendolyn, would you see that the messenger is fed while I consult with Garrett and Sedwick?”
Alberic considered it a mark of Gwendolyn’s training that she yielded graciously. If only she would be as obedient in other areas . . . He shook off the wish as premature, admiring her grace as she showed the messenger to a trestle table, seating him below the knights but above a group of soldiers.
Loyalty. How was a man to know the measure of another man’s heart and mind? Alberic was fairly sure of Garrett. Sedwick certainly did and said all that was proper of a steward to his lord. Though the knights and soldiers of the garrison had all sworn oaths of homage and fealty, he could hardly expect to have gained their complete trust in so few days.
What must it be like for a king to know that many of his former supporters, all of whom had given him the same oaths, now fought to toss him from his throne? A fragile thing, loyalty.
