Bride for a Knight (9781460344804)

by Moore, Margaret

  He studied her face with even more intensity. “So you will do your duty?”

  “I didn’t marry you because of duty,” she said firmly. “I wed you because I wished to. As for why you married me—”

  She fell silent and waited for him to answer. To hear from his own lips why he had married her.

  He didn’t answer, not with words. He gathered her into his arms and took her lips with an almost desperate passion, that wistful yearning made manifest with his embrace.

  As she eagerly responded, she could believe no alliance or the need for an heir had brought them together and made them man and wife. They were united by another kind of need—for affection, for respect, for security in a world that was too often volatile and uncertain.

  She put her hands on his broad chest and slowly slid them to his shoulders, wrapping her arms about his neck and leaning into his body. Her legs turned to water when he pressed her body closer to his and slid his tongue between her open, willing lips.

  It didn’t matter where they were, or that the air was cool, for she was hot with need. Gasping, anxious, ready and willing, she broke the kiss and hurried to untie the drawstring of his breeches while he moved her so that her back was against the wide tree trunk.

  The instant he was free, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him again. He pulled up her skirts and, with his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and uttered a soft cry of pleasure as he plunged inside her. There up against the tree they made love like wild, primitive creatures with but one need and that was to mate.

  In a few short moments she buried her face in his neck to stifle the exclamation that burst from her throat, while he gripped her tight and made a sound like a cross between a growl and a gasp.

  “My lord!” Arnhelm called a short distance away.

  They stilled at once.

  “My lord, the horses are watered!”

  Hot, disheveled, embarrassed but not ashamed, Mavis slowly slid to the ground. Red-faced and silent, Roland turned away to tie his breeches while she adjusted her skirts and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place.

  Then he held out his arm to escort her back to the cortege as if they’d done nothing more than admire the view.

  * * *

  “Good God, you don’t mean t’say they did it right there?” Verdan demanded in a shocked whisper as the cortege once again began to move toward Yorkshire.

  “Aye, they did, or I’m blind and deaf to boot,” Arnhelm replied equally quietly.

  “Poor thing!” Verdan said, looking at Mavis with pity. “He’s no better than an animal.”

  “Aye, like that father and brother of his. I remember when they came to DeLac before. The old goat was after anything in a dress and his son—well, let’s just say the day he died was a good day for the rest of the world.” Arnhelm looked around to make sure the other men couldn’t hear. “I tell you, Verdan, I don’t like this at all. Our sweet lady given to that lout. Neither does Lady Tamsin or Sir Rheged. I’d be willing to wager a month’s pay they’ll gladly come and fetch her, husband be damned, if they think she’s unhappy. Let’s keep our eyes open and if we see more amiss, we can tell them when we return, and save Lady Mavis.”

  “I’m willing,” Verdan replied with a nod of his helmeted head.

  * * *

  After making love with Roland by the river, Mavis was certain he would be more congenial when they returned to the cortege and resumed their journey.

  Unfortunately, that did not happen. He again rode several lengths out in front of her and the rest of the men.

  She told herself not to make too much of that. He might be tired, or anxious to find a night’s lodging. As for not conversing, it could merely be that he was a naturally reticent man who wasn’t used to having a wife, just as she was no more used to having a husband. And if a tendency to silence was the worst that could be said of him as a husband, that was no great hardship.

  As the afternoon wore on, however, she began to wonder if he had another fault—a disinclination to consider that if he was not weary, others might be. She was very tired and her back was starting to ache. The soldiers behind her, even Arnhelm and Verdan, had long since ceased talking, too.

  Yet whenever they passed an inn or monastery where they might take shelter for the night, he continued past.

  Just when she had decided that something must be said lest they be benighted on the road, they arrived at an inn with a large yard surrounded by a willow fence. This time, Roland raised his hand to halt their cortege.

  A plump man wearing an apron immediately appeared at the door and bustled toward them, shooing geese and chickens out of the way, flapping his arms as he went.

  “Greetings, my lord, my lady!” he cried, gesturing for them to enter. “Welcome! Welcome!”

  “We seek shelter for the night,” Roland replied without dismounting.

  “Of course, sir, of course. My wine and ale and beds are the best for miles, and my wife the best cook for miles, too!”

  “How much?”

  The innkeeper ran a swift gaze over Mavis, the soldiers and the wagon that came creaking to a stop behind them, then named a price that struck Mavis as extravagant even if Roland was obviously a man of means.

  Apparently Roland agreed with her assessment. “That is far too much for one night’s lodging.”

  The innkeeper ran his fingers over his upper lip. He named a somewhat lesser fee.

  Roland shook his head.

  The man quoted another price, lower still.

  Roland raised his hand as if to signal the cortege to move on. Surely he couldn’t be in earnest, she thought with desperation. It would be dark soon!

  “Wait!” the innkeeper cried with a look of panic. He named another price, lower by several pence. “And that is truly the best I can do, sir!”

  “Acceptable,” Roland replied, “provided there is a separate chamber for my lady and me.”

  “Of course!” the innkeeper cried, and finally Roland swung down from his horse.

  “We are honored to serve you, my lord!” the innkeeper enthused. He gave Mavis a broad smile. “Anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady! This way if you please, my lady!”

  He waited while Roland, his expression unreadable, raised his arms to help her down. Holding on to his broad shoulders, she slid to the ground and, given the company, tried not to be aware of his powerful body. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He only nodded.

  Nevertheless, she tucked her hand under his arm as the innkeeper bustled ahead of them into the largest building made of wattle and daub, with a roof of thatch. She could also see a large barn and stable behind the inn.

  Meanwhile Arnhelm, Verdan and the soldiers of their escort dismounted and servants appeared from inside the stables to help them with the horses, the wagon and the ox.

  The taproom of the inn was a low-ceilinged chamber, the beams dark with age and smoke from the fire in the central hearth. Tables and benches were arranged about it, and rushlights added a little more illumination to the dim room. Sawdust and rushes were on the floor to soak up any spills of food or drink, and she could smell the fleabane sprinkled on them, too.

  “The wife’s made a fine beef stew, my lord,” the innkeeper said as he pulled out the bench at the table closest to the fire.

  The aroma wafting through the door across the room proved that beef was cooking somewhere.

  “Bring some for my wife and me, and the men, too,” Roland said as they took their seats on the bench.

  “Aye, my lord, aye!” the innkeeper exclaimed, and he hurried through the door that must lead to the kitchen.

  Despite the man’s assurances, however, it seemed his wife was not so willing to guarantee the stew.

  “Are you mad?” a wom
an exclaimed. “Stew for twenty? We’ve not enough meat, you great lummox!”

  “But it’s a lord and a lady,” the innkeeper replied just as loudly, either unaware or too upset to realize they could be heard in the taproom as easily as if they were standing beside the hearth.

  “So of course you insist they stay and you play the happy host while it’s up to me to feed them!” the woman retorted.

  “It seems we’ve caused a spat,” Mavis remarked, untying the drawstring of her cloak. “Obviously he sees some profit flying out the door if he can’t provide enough stew and she doesn’t think they can. Fortunately, such a meal can be stretched with more vegetables and gravy, as she ought to know. I suspect, then, this is the sort of repeated argument that husbands and wives sometimes have.”

  When Roland didn’t reply, Mavis folded her hands in her lap. “I could be wrong, of course.”

  “I have little experience of husbands and wives,” Roland admitted, albeit with cool dispassion. “My mother died giving me birth, and the women who took her place in my father’s bed were not wives.”

  Although this wasn’t pleasant information, Mavis was glad to hear it nonetheless, because Roland chose to share it. “My mother died when I was little, too. I don’t remember her at all. And my father, for all his faults, never brought his mistresses into the household.”

  If Roland was going to reply to that, he never got the chance, for the innkeeper returned with their wine, and he was not nearly so merry. “Forgive me, my lord, but my wife fears that we aren’t going to have enough stew for all your men.”

  Mavis didn’t want to be the cause of a quarrel, nor did she wish to travel any more that day, so she rose from the bench. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, and if you don’t mind, innkeeper—”

  “Elrod’s the name,” the innkeeper blurted, then flushed even more.

  “Elrod, I will have a word with your good wife. Perhaps I can offer some suggestions to help with the meal.”

  Elrod’s eyes grew as round as a wagon wheel. “Thank you, my lady, but I don’t think—”

  “I’m sure there’s something that can be done, and I’ll try not to upset her,” Mavis assured him as she swept her skirts behind her and headed for the kitchen.

  The innkeeper, half aghast, half impressed, looked warily at the tall, grim knight sitting in front of him.

  The man might have been made of wood for all the emotion he displayed.

  “I’ll, um, I’ll get more ale. It’s in the buttery,” Elrod stammered before hurrying away through another door.

  * * *

  Roland would willingly have laid out good coin to see what was happening in the kitchen, although he would never admit it. This had truly been a day of surprises, and finding out his wife was willing to offer her aid in the kitchen of an inn was the least of them.

  Far more interesting was her assertion that she hadn’t married him out of duty, but because she wished to.

  It seemed Gerrard had been wrong, and he had found a woman who wanted him...if her words and her smiles and her passion were to be believed.

  Yet how had he responded? Like some lust-addled oaf, taking her with no more gentleness than if she’d been a camp follower on a long campaign.

  He had been ashamed ever since—too ashamed to even ride beside her. He should have shown more restraint and dignity. They were nobles, after all, not peasants. Worse, he had behaved as if he were as incapable of self-control as his father or his brothers.

  He was not his father. He wasn’t Broderick. He could control his base urges. He understood denial, knew how to suffer in silence and betray no hint of what he was actually feeling.

  So until he could be sure that she was being honest and sincere, he would keep his distance.

  And be safe.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Mavis discovered chaos in the kitchen. A pot containing what appeared to be soup or stew was bubbling over into the fire in the hearth. A harried-looking woman likely in her late twenties, her face long and narrow, her hands sinewy and work worn, was desperately chopping leeks. At a small, rickety table near the washing trough was a serving girl kneading a mass of sticky dough. Baskets of peas and beans were on the floor, and there was a stack of wood near the back door.

  “Close the door, Elrod, for God’s sake!” the woman exclaimed without looking up from her task. “And send that lazy, good-for-nothing stable boy to the village to see if he can get more bread. There’s barely a loaf left and what Ylda’s making won’t have time to rise before—”

  She glanced up, saw Mavis in the doorway and nearly took off a finger. “Oh, my...my lady!” she cried, swiftly setting down the knife and wiping her hands on her apron. “What are you...? Can I do...?”

  “I came to see if I could be of any assistance, since we’re such a large party.”

  “There’s enough for you and his lordship, of course!” the woman replied. “We can make more soup for the men. But we don’t have enough bread, I’m sorry to say.”

  Mavis ventured farther into the room, which was, she noted with relief, clean. “You could make lumplings. That is what we do at DeLac when there isn’t enough bread.”

  The woman regarded her warily. “Lumplings? What are they, my lady?”

  “You make them out of flour and water,” Mavis said, starting to roll back her cuffs. “Then you put them on top of the stew or soup when it’s nearly done cooking and cover it all with the lid for a short time.”

  “If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll be glad to try, my lady, and thank you!” the innkeeper’s wife said with genuine gratitude and not a little shock as Mavis took down an apron hanging on a peg beside the door and began to put it on.

  “There’s no need for you to do anything, my lady,” the woman protested. She nodded at the girl who was staring at Mavis as if she’d offered to buy the entire establishment. “Ylda and I can make them, if you’ll tell us what to do.”

  “I don’t mind,” Mavis replied. “And you are?”

  “Polly, my lady. My name’s Polly and this is Ylda,” she added, gesturing at the girl, who was still staring, eyes wide, mouth agape.

  “Polly, Ylda,” Mavis acknowledged with a smile. “After a long day in the saddle, I’m happy to stand a bit.”

  What she did not say, but certainly felt, was that it was a delight to be in the kitchen. At home, Tamsin had managed the household so thoroughly, she had had little to do and plenty of time on her hands. While she could sew and embroider and did so often, she most enjoyed helping in the kitchen. She had a knack for pastries, and the cook had let her create several special dainties for her uncle’s feasts when Tamsin was otherwise occupied.

  Indeed, being in a kitchen and working with flour, even if it was only for something as simple as lumplings, was like being back home, happy and busy and peaceful, if only for a little while.

  Chapter Three

  Later that evening, Roland strode across the muddy yard to the stable. His wife had retired after an excellent meal of beef stew with warm, soft rolls of dough floating atop that she called “lumplings.” Apparently she had shown Elrod’s wife how to make them, and they did indeed help to stretch out the portions of stew.

  Not that he had said anything to Mavis about the lumplings, or the meal. He saw at once how tired she was and felt guilty that he hadn’t prevented her from wearying herself even more in the kitchen. However, he had not, and there was nothing to be done except eat as swiftly as possible, so she could retire all the sooner, as she had. And that meant without conversing.

  He pushed open the door to the stable and went to the stall holding Hephaestus. His horse neighed a greeting, while nearby, Mavis’s mare shifted nervously. Sweetling was indeed a pretty creature, a fitting mount for such a beautiful woman.

  An exciting, passionate woman who coul
d make him forget everything except desire when he held her in his arms.

  “Oh, it’s you, my lord!” the leader of the escort cried, popping up like a hound on the scent from behind the wall of the stall. Roland suspected he’d been sleeping there. “All’s well, my lord,” he assured Roland, who hadn’t asked.

  Roland stroked his stallion’s soft muzzle. The animal nudged his hand, making him shake his head. “No, I don’t have an apple for you now.”

  “Greedy, is he?” the soldier whose name, Roland thought, was Arnhelm, replied with a broad grin. “My lady’s Sweetling is just the same.”

  The soldier went to the mare’s stall and, grinning rather weakly, kicked at something in the straw. Another soldier—shorter and stockier—rose, yawning. He snapped to attention when he saw Roland. “My lord!”

  “You are taking care of my lady’s horse, I assume,” Roland calmly remarked.

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “And you are?”

  “Verdan, my lord.”

  Roland noted their somewhat similar features, despite the difference in their builds. “Are you two related?”

  “Brothers, my lord,” Arnhelm answered.

  Brothers. That no doubt explained the kick.

  He was about to dismiss them when he realized he had an opportunity he might want to take advantage of, and not only to delay going to the chamber he would be sharing with his wife. “Lord DeLac seems to have a good eye for horses.”

  Verdan and Arnhelm exchanged glances, then Arnhelm answered. “Aye, m’lord. We never thought Lord DeLac would let my lady take her, even though she’s been my lady’s mare since my lady were fifteen.”

  “And she is now...?”

  “Nearly twenty, my lord, so past time she was married, so everybody said,” Verdan replied. “Lady Mavis had the boys buzzing around her from when she was just a lass, and with good reason. Pretty and pleasing, that’s our lady. A man could go far and not find another like her, so when we found out she was to be married, we all—”