“No, you did not,” he said, his voice low. “You shouldn’t have made your request in the hall.”
Gerrard rose with a goblet in his hands and another disrespectful, mocking grin on his face.
“I don’t think we need wait for a wedding feast to drink a toast to the bride and groom!” he called out, his eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “To my brother Roland and his beautiful bride! May she give him many children—but never twins!”
Another silence descended on the hall as Gerrard downed his wine in a gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Roland got to his feet. “Let us also drink to my brother. May he one day find a wife willing to overlook his many shortcomings.”
“As you have?” Gerrard retorted. Then, scowling, he threw his goblet at the high table, right at Roland’s head.
With a cry, Mavis moved to avoid it, while Roland lunged in front of her and caught it. He angrily threw it back, narrowly missing his brother. The metal goblet hit the wall with a metallic clang, then fell, dented, to the floor.
“Leave the hall!” Roland commanded.
For a moment, it looked as if Gerrard wasn’t going to obey. Fortunately, he did, gesturing for his friends to follow him from the hall. They did, and not with very steady steps.
After they were gone, there was another moment of silence before the rest of those in the hall began talking among themselves, casting occasional wary glances at the high table and its occupants.
“I would ask you to excuse my brother, but there is no excuse for him,” Roland said to Mavis as he sat down again.
“He’s had too much to drink, like my father in recent days,” she replied. “I’m sadly familiar with how that can affect a man.”
“That’s no excuse, either. He’s always been insolent and now he believes he has more cause to be.”
“Perhaps, in time, he will come to accept that the estate is rightfully yours.”
“I doubt it.”
“Then it might be better if he were not your garrison commander,” she suggested.
“I am the master of Dunborough, my lady, and I decide such things.”
“Of course, my lord,” she replied, trying not to feel rebuffed and to remember that he hadn’t married her for gain.
Chapter Seven
After Gerrard and his friends had staggered from the hall, Arnhelm and Verdan looked at one another, then rose in unison from their places at the table where they sat with the rest of the escort.
“We’ll be back later,” Arnhelm said to Teddy. “There’s a tavern in the town and we’ve a powerful thirst.”
Teddy laughed. “And no serving wench worth looking at here, eh?” he teased.
Verdan frowned. “It ain’t—”
Arnhelm nudged his brother in the ribs. “Aye, just so,” he said, grabbing Verdan’s arm. “We’ll be back before the cock crows.”
“Sooner than that, I’ll wager,” Rob said with a wide grin as the two men hurried from the hall. Once in the yard, they made their way swiftly to the gate and through the wards until they caught sight of the four young men strolling, more or less, toward the village.
Gerrard and his friends didn’t go to the large tavern off the green with a rooster on the sign. Instead, they turned into a narrow alley and knocked at a narrow door. It opened a crack, then wider, and the four men were ushered inside.
“Worth a try,” Arnhelm whispered and he and his brother stepped up to the door and knocked.
The door opened enough to reveal half a man’s bearded face and one wary eye.
“We’re two thirsty fellows come from DeLac who don’t much want to drink in the hall with that grim bastard of a Sir Roland looking on.” Arnhelm heard his brother’s sharp intake of breath and willed him to keep quiet. “We’ve got money,” he added, pulling out the purse that contained all the money they had in the world.
The door opened wider and Arnhelm and Verdan found themselves in an unexpectedly large room, with heavy beams above and lit by several lamps. Three braziers made it warm, and so did the presence of several young women in various states of undress.
As Verdan stared, openmouthed, Arnhelm spotted Gerrard and his friends seated at a table across the chamber. All of them had wenches on their laps. One of the men—not Gerrard—also had his hand on a naked breast.
Other men, villagers by the looks of them, filled the room and engaged in talking, arguing or games of chance, making the room buzz with noise.
Arnhelm led Verdan across the room to an empty table that was dark in shadow close to Gerrard and his friends.
“What kind o’ place is this?” Verdan whispered to his brother in a tone between horror and wonder.
“It’s a brothel, nit.”
“S’truth!”
Arnhelm angled his stool closer to Gerrard and his friends. “Sit quiet and don’t call for ale—or nothin’ else, or what would Ma think? We’re just here to listen.”
Verdan nodded and leaned back against the wall.
Meanwhile, Gerrard had pushed the young woman off his lap. “Enough ale, Bella!” he cried, slapping a fat purse of coins on the table in front of him. “Bring us wine—the best you’ve got. After all, we’re celebrating my brother’s marriage—lout that he is!”
Bella pulled her somewhat disheveled bodice back into place, grabbed the purse and hurried to obey.
“I tell you, boys,” Gerrard began with a deep frown, his elbow on the table as he pointed at them, “something is wrong with the world when Roland gets both an estate and a beautiful wife.”
“You’re right!” James, dressed in blue, cried.
“Eggsactly!” added Frederick, wearing green.
“Absolutely,” Walter agreed, proving he was by far the most sober of the bunch.
“What if I went to the king?” Gerrard proposed. “Don’t you think John will give me the estate?”
This time, his friends were not so quick to agree, until Walter nodded his head. “I’m sure he will.” He dropped his voice so that Arnhelm had to strain to hear. “If you pay him enough.”
“What need I to pay?” Gerrard demanded loudly. “It’s mine by right! Roland tricked our father. He stole the estate!”
Walter hissed at him and urged him to be quiet. “It’s not enough to suspect, even for John. You’ve got to have some evidence.”
“Eua’ll swear I’m the oldest. Eua’ll do anything I say and she was in the household then.”
“She’s only a servant,” Walter reminded him, and the other two nodded their heads.
Bella returned with a wineskin and a saucy smile.
“You think I should be lord of Dunborough, don’t you?” Gerrard asked her.
“Aye, m’lord,” she agreed, once again sliding onto his lap. Laughing, she put the wineskin to his lips and poured.
He drank until he began to splutter. He pushed the wineskin away, then kissed her, his hand roving over her bodice and up her leg.
James grabbed the wineskin and likewise took a swig while also fondling the slattern on his lap.
Arnhelm turned to his brother, gave him a look and together they got up and left the young men to their sport. They managed to slip out unnoticed when the man at the door had his back turned.
“Do you think he’ll really go to the king?” Verdan said as they walked back to the castle.
“Might, or might be just a lot of talk. He seems the kind more interested in drinking and whoring and complaining than doing anything else. Still, we ought to say a word o’ warning to our lady before we go.”
Verdan nodded. “Aye.”
“And I’m thinkin’ we ought to tell Lady Tamsin and Sir Rheged about him, too, just in case he does make trouble.”
“Aye,” his brother agreed.
* * *
After Mavis had retired and the people in the hall began to disperse or bed down close to the long central hearth, Roland sat in his chair with a goblet in his hand and cursed himself for a fool. He shouldn’t let Gerrard goad him and he shouldn’t have lost his temper, even if Gerrard wasn’t the least bit grateful he was the garrison commander.
Gerrard condemned him for being hard-hearted, yet he’d never once tried to interfere when his father acted with cruelty. Nor had Gerrard ever lifted a hand to help the townspeople or tenants. Gerrard begrudged him this estate, but he’d done nothing to earn even a portion of it. He had left it to Roland to do what he could while he drank and wenched and gambled, and then he’d mocked his brother, calling him a stiff, coldhearted fellow who would never find a wife.
Gerrard had never known the bitterness of standing in the shadows watching his more popular brother joke and laugh with his friends, even if the friends were blackguards and toadies. He had never had to envy a brother’s easy way with women who vied for his favor even when they knew where he came from and who his father was.
Nevertheless, by some miracle, he had found a wife who seemed to like him and who welcomed him into their bed, who made love with passionate abandon. Yet how had he behaved tonight? Like a petulant child, and he was sorry for it.
Determined to make things right with Mavis, Roland rose from his place, tugged down his tunic and left the hall, heading for his bedchamber.
Yet when he reached the door to his chamber, doubts began to assail him. He had never apologized to anyone, for anything, in his life. Was that not a sign of weakness? If he was to rule Dunborough, if he was to be master of his estate, he must appear to be powerful and invincible.
Even to his wife.
Even if he wanted her so much, his longing seemed to have a strength that no rational thought could overcome.
He sighed and laid his hand flat on the door, silently bidding Mavis good-night.
The door abruptly opened to reveal Mavis standing in the chamber illuminated by a single rushlight.
Clad only in that shift.
“Do you require something, my lord?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
Require? “No.”
The wrinkle in her forehead disappeared and she tilted her head as she studied him, while he felt rooted to the floor as if he’d been nailed there.
Then she stood aside to let him enter.
* * *
Mavis had heard Roland’s footfalls and recognized his bold tread. She’d realized that his steps had slowed and halted beyond the door. She’d wondered what he would do. He had been so angry, so brusque in the hall.
Yet when she heard his deep, heartfelt sigh, she hadn’t been able to ignore it.
Now she watched him as he came into the chamber. His back was as stiff and straight as it had been in her father’s solar, and for a moment, she wished she hadn’t opened the door, until he turned to face her. Then, in those dark, often forbidding eyes, she saw again that look of wistful yearning.
But even then, he didn’t apologize for his rough manner. He said, “As long as I am the lord, Gerrard will have a place in Dunborough.”
“As you will, my lord,” she replied, hiding her disappointment.
“I will not have people say I cast my brother out.”
What could she say to that? She half expected him to leave then, but he didn’t. He seemed to be struggling with something inside himself, engaged in an inner battle that silenced him, except for the desperate determination in his eyes.
“My lord?” she said softly, wondering if there was some way she could help him.
“Roland! My name is Roland, and I’m not like my father or my brothers.”
“Of course not,” she returned, taken aback by the intensity of his declaration. “You are by far a better man, or you wouldn’t have asked me for my hand. You would have demanded it, if you acknowledged me at all.”
His eyes widened and his whole posture changed, like a man whose fetters had been stricken from him.
She walked slowly toward him, as she might approach a wounded animal. “I heard you in the stable the day you arrived, when you were talking to your horse. I knew the kind of man you are even before I saw your face.”
“You were there?” he asked in a rough whisper.
“I was planning to run away, until I heard your voice.” She smiled then, a little smile of wary sincerity. “And then the groom saw me.” She took hold of his strong hands. “When I saw you in my father’s solar, I was glad I’d failed.”
The look in his eyes changed again, to one that made her heart race and her blood warm, before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a tenderness that was different from his other embraces. She felt different, too, even as that fervent longing blossomed.
Here, in what had been his home, she had seen something of the trials he had endured. She better understood him now and cherished him all the more.
Once again passion and need arose. Their kisses deepened and their caresses fired their desire. They soon discovered that although the bed was small, it was large enough for two when they were making love.
* * *
Early the next morning, Mavis nestled against her naked husband and sighed with satisfaction. “Perhaps we should tell Dalfrid we don’t need a larger bed after all.
“And have to explain why you changed your mind?” Roland said with a wry little smile she found completely delightful.
“No, you’re right. I’ve already embarrassed myself—and you—enough.”
“Your request was rather unexpected,” he admitted, toying with a lock of her hair. “On the other hand, the look on Dalfrid’s face was...”
And then she heard him laugh, a low rumble of a sound, deep and rich and full of joy. “I’ve never seen him look like that. Still, I think we must tell Dalfrid to buy us a bigger bed, or one of us is going to end up on the floor.”
Although she didn’t wish to spoil the lightness of his mood, there was something she had to say, and no doubt the sooner, the better. She raised herself on her elbow and regarded her husband gravely. “I have a confession to make, Roland. I’ve never planned a feast before.”
His surprise, for once, was obvious. “Did your father not have feasts? Indeed, they are renowned.”
“They are, and justly so, but that’s been my cousin’s doing. Tamsin always planned the feasts. She ran the household, too. She was good at it, you see, and the servants were swift to obey her. I did try to learn as much as she could teach me before she left DeLac, but there was little time.”
Roland’s smile was as welcome as his kisses. “Set your mind at ease, Mavis. It need only be a small feast. And you’ll have Dalfrid to help you with the merchants, and Eua with the servants.”
Although the thought of dealing with those two people didn’t please her, with Tamsin for an example, surely she could manage, or have as little to do with them as possible. “May we invite Sir Melvin and Lady Viola? And Tamsin and Rheged?”
“You may invite whomever you wish. I’ll give a list of the Yorkshiremen and their wives who are likely to attend. As I said, it need only be a small feast, and that will be a very short list.”
Mavis lay back down beside him. “I hope the new bed fits in this chamber. Is there none larger?”
“Only my father’s and that is one I shall never use,” Roland replied, stroking her hair, feeling her warm soft body against his, the stirrings of desire momentarily quelled by the thought of his father and his father’s chamber and the sordid things he did there.
No, he would never use that room. It was far too tainted, and he would not bring that shadow upon their marriage.
“Then I shall make this one as comfortable as possible,” Mavis said, and his heart grew lighter.
; “Now you, my lord Roland, may be able to lie abed all day,” she said as she got out of bed, “but I had best meet the household of Dunborough and be about my duties.”
With a sigh of reluctance, he sat up. “I had best be about my duties, too, but first kiss me, wife, lest I come seek you out later when both of us should be doing other things.”
Mavis gave him a hearty kiss. And then another. And it was some time yet before they broke the fast.
* * *
Moaning, for his head felt as if little demons were at play inside it, Gerrard stumbled into the barracks and threw himself down on the first cot he encountered. He put his arm over his eyes to block out the light.
He’d left his friends in the brothel to finish their sport. He had come back because while he indulged in drinking, gambling and kissing and a little more, he never slept with whores, despite what Roland and most of Dunborough thought. Not that he was a monk, not by any means. But if you had to pay, it was simply a transaction. There were always serving maids or lasses from the village who were glad to share their favors with the younger son of a lord, even a lord of Dunborough.
Gerrard became dimly aware that he wasn’t alone. “Who’s there?” he muttered, moving his arm and cracking open his eyelids. He didn’t recognize either of the two men looking down at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Men of DeLac, my lord,” the taller one responded, while the other one’s mouth hung open like a landed fish.
“What do you want?” He sat up. “Where are my men?”
“The ones not on watch are out in the field with Teddy and the rest of the escort. Sword drill and such,” the tall one answered.
“Oh.” Gerrard lay back down. “Why aren’t you with them?”
“We was just goin’. Anything we can do for you?”
More awake now, Gerrard sat up again. “You can tell me about Lord DeLac. I’ve heard the man’s a sot.”
The two soldiers exchanged glances.
“Go on, you can tell me. I should know if my brother’s father-in-law is a trustworthy fellow.”
Bride for a Knight (9781460344804) Page 11
