The Lord's Right

by Carolyn Faulkner

  “I’m going to kill her right now, right in front of you, so that no one will get her precious virginity. Not any of those mewling guttersnipes, and especially not you!” Troy looked directly at Piers as he raised the blade to plunge it into Amber’s neck.

  Chapter Six

  Several things happened at once: the soldiers behind Troy stormed towards him, en masse, ever-present weapons of all sorts raised. But they were much too slow, in comparison to both Sir Piers and Amber—and the king, surprisingly. Sir Piers had already climbed over the table and had reached Troy, ready to rip the man apart, muscle from bone, tooth from gum, nail from bed, eye from socket.

  Amber, however frightened, wasn’t standing idle, either. She had begged her father to teach her the basics of how to fight, and, much to her mother’s consternation, he had done so. It was going to serve her in good stead today. Instead of concentrating on the fact that Troy’s arm was at her throat, and the fact that she couldn’t budge it, she did what she could: she brought her foot down hard on his instep, and, at the same time, elbowed him viciously, as hard as she could in the ribs.

  Troy hadn’t been expecting an attack from her. He was looking wild eyed at everyone else around him, yes, but certainly not her. She didn’t really look the part.

  By the time she’d finished with him, Piers was on him, and, within seconds, there was very little left of Troy Seville. Piers was still punching the body long after he’d killed the man, and Amber sank to her knees next to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, touching him for the first time voluntarily. “Sir Piers, your hands. Let me bandage them for you.” They were more bloody than actually hurt, but they were definitely scraped from crushing bone.

  Piers responded to her when he wouldn’t have to anyone else. He’d lost himself in a haze of red that had nothing to do with the blood that pooled around him. When he felt her small hands on him, he turned, and the film faded, to be replaced by her concerned face.

  He was the one who should have been concerned about her, rather than the other way around. He could see the mark where that bastard’s blade had cut her; there was a stark streak of blood down her neck that she didn’t seem to care about. She seemed to be more worried about him, although he wasn’t sure he quite believed that.

  He stood, taking her with him, not sparing the ruined body another glance as he turned, surprised to find King William directly behind him. His men descended on the corpse, and he threw a glance over his shoulder, “I want his head on a pike at the entrance to the castle.”

  But Piers’ eyes were only for Amber. He inspected carefully, despite the fact that he knew she’d had just as much to do with disarming Troy—perhaps more—than he did. “Are you all right?” He dampened the edge of his own best tunic in wine to wash away the blood on her neck, revealing a small wound, refusing to allow her to leave the circle of his arms the entire time.

  She stood stock still, very surprised at his overt attention, especially for such a superficial wound. He was staring at her so intently that she had to lower her eyes. “Yes, Sir.” What was that warm feeling that flooded through her body? It was at least as intense as the vortex his hand created between her legs, but wasn’t quite the same thing. Amber felt almost faint, her legs threatening to fall out from under her for the first time in her life when she thought of the way he’d looked at her, and the gentleness with which he’d touched her.

  “Are you sure?” He looked truly worried, his brow furrowed as he stared down at her, paying absolutely no attention to anyone or anything else around them, including the king, who wasn’t used to being ignored. Piers took his time watching her return her knife to its warm sheath next to the skin of her right thigh, sincerely wishing that was his home, too.

  “Sir Piers!” King William bellowed from his position less than two feet away. Amber had never seen a man blush so, and she knew Piers was none too happy having done so. His hands dropped from around her waist as if he’d been burned, and he presented his back to her, which had her immediately calling into question those burgeoning warm feelings she’d had for him seconds ago. “Yes, my liege?”

  “What was that business the dead man uttered about this wench’s virginity?” King William reached a long arm around Piers, which was no mean feat, and brought Amber, who had been trying to remain as anonymous as possible during their exchange, up to stand beside Piers.

  Sir Piers cleared his throat, but stood his ground, squaring his shoulders and answering in a clear voice. “Troy, like many of men, was intrigued by her charms. However, the maid disliked him, and even went so far as to push him into a fountain when he took liberties.”

  “But why did he speak about her virginity, and you not having it?”

  “Because I claimed droit de seigneur, Your Highness. I told the men that, if any of them were going to marry Amber, that I would deflower her on their wedding night.”

  King William gave Piers a questioning look. He’d never known this man—above all men—to have his head turned by a woman. Most thought him quite monkish, although those were the types who didn’t know him very well. Selective was a better word.

  But was this a politically expedient thing to do, to stake such a claim on an English girl, to prevent her from marrying a Norman soldier that would obviously be advantageous to herself and her family in the coming years?

  King William was a man of action. “Sir Piers, I believe that this situation needs to be rectified immediately. I said before you should take an English wife, and you’ve already claimed a right to this one’s virginity. I believe that the best way to address it would be to see the two of you married as soon as possible.”

  The hall, which had already begun to bustle with activity, despite the remainder of the drama that was playing out, ground to a halt. Every foot on the rushes, every cough, every breath could be heard as all eyes fell on Sir Piers.

  To his credit, he didn’t look quite as thunderstruck as he might have, and all he said was, “Yes, my liege,” as King William sauntered away, and it came out in only a slightly strangled manner.

  This time, when he turned to Amber, the look on his face was entirely different from what it had been, and she knew that the tender feelings she’d thought he might possibly be harboring for her had truly never been. It was as if he wished it was her head that was going to be decorating the entrance to the castle instead of Troy’s.

  But she didn’t have much time to consider the disposition of the man who would very shortly become her husband, because before she could say anything to him at all, she was whisked away to her room by a group of chattering women, who didn’t seem to have any interest in her opinions or thoughts about what they were doing. They were going to do it regardless. There would be no betrothal with its traditional forty-day wait. This was something King William apparently expected them to pull off in a matter of hours.

  And they did.

  The few women who worked in the castle had descended on her like a herd of locusts with their own contributions of clothing and jewelry, and once that was settled—with absolutely no input from Amber whatsoever—another set of prattling females took charge of her hair and skin, making sure to cover up the small divot caused by the tip of Seville’s knife.

  When they were finally finished with her, Amber stood before them on a small pedestal, wearing a long azure blue tunic with an embroidered blue ribbon veil. Matching small flowers had been woven into her hair, and her cheeks, hands and feet had been massaged and rubbed until they were satin soft.

  She’d never owned such finery in all her life, and wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. She was afraid to move, lest some harm come to the beautiful fabrics.

  And she smelled like Mrs. Tulane’s gardens looked, and all she could think was how angry the woman was going to be at the loss of her precious flowers. But just then the object of her thoughts stepped in front of her and handed her a small vial, as the other women were filing out and heading towards the great hall, to continue decorating there
.

  “What’s this?” Amber examined the tiny bottle.

  The older woman had fiercely hoped that she wouldn’t be asked any questions, but she should have realized that Amber’s inquisitive nature was going to preclude that possibility. “It’s, um, something to help you.”

  “Help me with what?” Amber frowned up at her.

  Mrs. Tulane sighed heavily and shook her head, wishing she were anywhere but here, having to explain this excruciatingly uncomfortable subject to this unusual girl. “Your mum is gone, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, since I was a young girl.” Amber watched carefully as her boss flitted about the room nervously.

  “I just wanted to give you something that would make tonight easier on you.”

  Amber didn’t like the way this conversation was headed at all. “What’s going to happen that’s going to be hard on me?”

  Already blushing, Mrs. Tulane turned several deeper shades of red, glad when she’d put the small veil over the girl’s head, so that she couldn’t see the depths of her embarrassment as she spoke. “Bed sport can be uncomfortable for a maid the first time.” She carefully didn’t mention the fact that the master was a big man and undoubtedly well endowed in that area, which was only going to make things that much worse for poor Amber. “This will soothe the affected area.”

  Her bottom? That was the only place she could think of in conjunction with Sir Piers that ever needed soothing. Not that she was portly, but it didn’t seem that there was anywhere near enough of it to really help her. She wondered if she should ask for more, but then thought that that might be rude, and said a warm thank you and hugged the woman.

  “Are you ready, girl?” She got the eagle-eyed once over from the sharp lady as she stood before her. “Think of it, Amber. After tonight, you’ll be the lady of this castle. A countess. ’Tis I who will be taking direction from you from this day forth, rather than t’other way ‘round.”

  In the whirlwind of everything that had happened today, she hadn’t even considered the thought of just how much her life was changing, and, now, having been reminded of it, she decided right then and there that she was going to let it change her as little as possible. She was still going to work in the gardens as much as she could, she was still going to assist the sick, and go out in the woods, and do what she’d always done.

  She was met by the women of the keep at the bottom of the stairs, and there she paused. The hall had been decorated beautifully, especially on such short notice, with flowers that echoed the ones in her hair, and blue ribbons that reflected those on her bridal attire. But what kept her feet planted firmly on that last step was the way Sir Piers was staring back at her, his face dark and unreadable. He was not a welcoming sight.

  But the women of the house weren’t about to let her just stand there and stare at him, and they looped their arms under hers and escorted her to stand in front of King William, where her groom already stood in a fine blue robe which had also been decorated with a deeper blue embroidered ribbon. Amber could see that he had bathed, and she fretted that she hadn’t been given the opportunity, knowing his fondness for it.

  There was no time for worry, though. The king himself performed the ceremony, which, to Amber’s thoughts, was entirely too short. Before she knew it, she was agreeing to submit to him in all things, then she was wearing a heavy gold ring, and he was kissing her as if they were alone in his chamber instead of in front of the entire population of the keep.

  When he had just allowed her to straighten up—she could plainly hear his men snickering and the women giggling behind their hands at the length of the kiss—the heavy wooden double doors opened and two women who were obviously of noble birth were escorted into the room, surrounded by a small contingency of soldiers that Amber recognized as Piers’.

  The smaller and younger of the two disengaged herself from the group, ran up to Piers and launched herself at his feet to grovel there like some rejected slave girl, wailing, “Please, my lord, please, I beg you, please do not tell me that you have forsaken me for another!”

  Amber could see the distaste on Piers’ face as he reached down and helped the young woman to her feet. Had he not continued to hold her arm, she would have dissolved again into a heap on the floor.

  She didn’t think that it would have been possible for Piers to have looked any more uncomfortable, and it didn’t help when an older woman who was obviously the girl’s mother, came forward to execute a deep curtsey to Sir Piers, and then an even deeper one to the king.

  “Lady Constance,” the men both said at the same time, and with the same amount of dislike in their voices.

  Having straightened to what was an unusually tall height for a woman, she accused, “Is what we’ve been told true?” She gave Piers a particularly unctuous stare. “Has he broken his betrothal to my daughter?”

  King William stood, and the lady retracted herself, but only slightly. “I, personally, wedded Sir Piers to Amber Cooper just moments ago.”

  Amber wasn’t spared so much as a glance. “Minutes ago? Then there’s been no chance to consummate the marriage, and it can be annulled, as my Josette is finally here after an absolutely frightful voyage. We should like to be taken to our chambers now, and after a rest we should like to have dinner brought up to us.”

  Piers had forgotten that, although Josette was meek and biddable, and would have made the perfect wife; her mother was the exact opposite of both of those adjectives. He’d also forgotten to mention to Mrs. Tulane that they would be coming, and he doubted that there were any chambers ready—or even available—to accommodate the ladies, what with the king in residence.

  Piers opened his mouth, but it was King William that spoke. “I’m afraid, dear lady, that I have largely exhausted Sir Piers’ hospitality, especially considering that this is only temporary quarters. I suggest you take a seat and enjoy the food and amusements.

  “As to the other item, Sir Piers and Amber are wed, and that will be undone by no man, or woman, Madame.” Then he smiled at her quite nicely, and took his seat as the wailing began anew from Josette.

  Amber and Piers ended up back at the high board, with Amber sitting next to Piers rather than assisting with the serving, which was quite a change, while Lady Constance and Josette sat nearby, but kept themselves as separate from the men as they could manage. Piers kept a wary eye on the men, and had already given Bruce the word, on the way to the table, that they were to give all deference and respect to the women. He’d set Mrs. Tulane to working out whatever room arrangements she could.

  Were it not for his new wife, he would have given up his own chambers and gone to sleep with the men. But he could hardly expect Amber to vacate what had now become her chamber, too, on her wedding night.

  He was married. To Amber. He kept staring at her, he knew, but he couldn’t quite believe it. And, seeing Josette now, and the way she was acting, he couldn’t be too unhappy, despite the fact that he disliked the lack of control he’d had over the situation and his choice of bride.

  He certainly couldn’t say he didn’t want her, could he? Especially when he’d spent the whole day trying to tamp himself down, with only the most limited success. She looked beautiful in the gown the women had found for her. It was nice to see her in something other than the rags she usually wore. Granted, they were clean, but they were beyond well worn, or they belonged to a boy.

  Part of him wanted to drag her up to his room right now, but he knew that the feasting would go on for hours.

  But not, apparently, if King William had anything to say about it.

  “What do we say, men–” he bowed low to the ladies, “–and ladies, it looks to me as if the groom is quite eager to begin his wedding night. He looks at his bride as if she’s quite a tempting morsel, and he’s a beggar at a buffet! Shall we show him some mercy, lads?”

  The two of them were escorted up to Piers’ rooms by everyone in the hall with two obvious exceptions. It was considered good luck to try to get a piece
of the bride and groom’s clothing, so everyone was touching them, and Amber found herself being groped quite rudely, until she was literally deposited next to him on the bed. The anxious crowd was going to assist them in undressing, too, as was the custom, but Amber’s distressed tones, and the fact that he’d seen her go for her knife had Piers placing himself in front of her, bodily defending her until the disgruntled well-wishers agreed to depart as he wrestled the knife away from her as discreetly as possible.

  Mrs. Tulane was the last out, whispering loudly enough for those they’d left behind downstairs to hear. “Don’t forget the potion I gave you.”

  Piers was out of the bed almost before she’d closed it behind her, locking it loudly and then turning back to her. On his way to the small sideboard near the bed, he asked, “Potion?”

  Amber shrugged her shoulders. “She gave me something that she said would help soothe the affected area. I figured it should probably go on my bottom.”

  To her surprise, Piers threw his head back and laughed loudly.

  Frowning, she expounded, “Well, that’s the part of me that seems to need the most soothing around you.”

  Now he was laughing even louder, much to her disgust. Amber decided she wasn’t going to say anything more about it.

  He stood next to the bed and handed her their wedding chalice, which he had scarfed from the hall and filled with a solution that should help her relax some after such an eventful day. He couldn’t imagine that she’d suspected she’d have ended up married by the end of the day, either. Especially not to him. He could say that the feeling was entirely mutual, not that he was objecting, really. “I think this will help you more than anything Mrs. Tulane could come up with. Have a couple of good swallows, Amber.”

  She’d never drunk anything like this. It tasted a lot like an extremely good wine, but there were herbs floating on the top, too. It could have been their wedding grog, but that was supposed to have been delivered to them by their guests, later. And from the sound of the lock on the door, they weren’t going to get a chance to do that.