Roger's Bride

by Sarah Hegger

  Matty peeped at her through her fingers. “But Sir Roger might not like it.”

  “I will explain it to him.” She would not allow Roger to send Matty away.

  “Perhaps while you are explaining, you might explain this.” Matty rose from her bath. Water sluiced down her naked flanks. Dark bruises marred her thighs and buttocks.

  “What happened?” Katherine went cold.

  “I do not like to speak of it.” Matty glanced at the marks. “Do not make me speak of it, Kate. But most of all do not force me back, where I may suffer worse. Just as Father did to you.”

  Kathryn stared at the marks mottling her sister’s ivory skin. How dare someone mark her Matty in this manner? All the years of protecting, and nurturing and it all came to naught as one ham-fisted peasant put his hands on her sister.

  “Kathryn.” The door opened and Roger stepped inside. He gawped at Matty, went bright red and ducked back into the corridor. “I beg your pardon.”

  Matty lowered herself back into the water.

  Kathryn’s cheeks heated on her behalf as she hurried to join Roger. How mortifying for Matty. She blamed herself. She had not barred the door and, of course, Roger would not knock to enter their chamber.

  Roger’s color remained high as she joined him. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not know—”

  “Nay, of course you did not.” Kathryn took his hand. “I am at fault. I should have barred the door.” Roger had been horrified, and Kathryn tried to stifle a giggle.

  He gave her a stern look, but his lips twitched. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Your face.” Kathryn held onto him as she laughed.

  “Aye, well.” He slid his arms about her waist and eased her closer. “It was not what I was expecting. Now”—he nuzzled into her neck—“if I had found you naked in your bath, I would have had an entirely different reaction.”

  Matty had always been the beautiful sister, and as wrong as it was, Kathryn reveled in his words. She did not begrudge Matty her beauty, but that Roger saw her beauty first made her want to strut like a proud peacock. “She has left Digory.”

  “Ah.” Roger tucked her beneath his chin. “That is what I came to ask. I heard your sister was here. Did she say why?”

  “He beat her.” Digory had hurt one of hers, and she tightened her arms about Roger. “She is covered in bruises.”

  “He beat her?” Roger’s surprised tone made her look at him. “I would not have judged him the sort. That he loved her, I did not doubt.”

  “Aye.” Kathryn pressed her cheek to the comfort of Roger’s chest. “I should never have left her there.”

  “Kathryn.” Putting her from him, Roger’s somber gaze fixed on her. “The choice was not yours. Short of you tying her up and slinging her over Striker, your sister was not leaving.”

  “Aye.” Kathryn burrowed into him again. His gaze always stripped past her defense and saw right into her heart. “But I could have persuaded her to come with me. If I had known.”

  Roger grunted. “Anyway, you did not know and here she is. What is to be done with her?”

  “She cannot go back.” Kathryn would not make the same mistake with Digory twice. “I will not allow you to send her back.”

  Roger raised a brow.

  “I will not.” Kathryn thumped his chest. “She is to stay here where she is safe.”

  Cocking his head, Roger smiled at her. Did she imagine the regret in his gaze? “Such a fierce warrior, my lady Kathryn. So loyal to those you love.”

  She did not know what he meant. “Matty stays here.”

  “Matty stays here.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Does my lady think I could deny her anything?”

  Kathryn giggled. A sound she thought never to hear coming out of her. “Your father gave me a sword today.”

  “Did he now?” The man actually looked convincingly surprised. Kathryn squeezed his waist. “He said you gave him the idea.”

  Roger blushed. “He lies. The man is old. His mind is wandering.”

  “Perhaps, but I love my sword. He said I should name it.”

  “And?”

  “What is your sword named?”

  He blinked at her. “Roger’s sword.”

  Kathryn laughed and tucked herself beneath his chin. “Thank you.”

  “Anything.” His voice deepened. “If it is within my power, it is yours.”

  “Sir Roger.” Matty appeared in the chamber doorway. Damp hair clung to her naked neck and shoulders. Rather a lot of bosom spilled out the top of Matty’s clenched sheet.

  “Lady Mathilda.” Roger bowed, expressionless.

  That particular careful lack of emotion gave Kathryn pause. Roger showed his thoughts and feelings, sometimes loudly, sometimes a little more subtly, but always there. Did he not like Matty? Impossible. He had wanted to marry Matty, followed Matty for days to find her and bring her back. Something akin to jealousy nipped at her.

  Matty lounged against the doorjamb. The drying sheet slipped further.

  Kathryn motioned with her head, trying to warn her sister of the danger of revealing her bosom. But Matty’s gaze locked on Roger with an unsettling glitter.

  “I trust you are comfortable,” Roger said. His voice lacked any warmth, as if he spoke to a complete stranger.

  “Very.” Matty chewed her bottom lip.

  “Good.” Roger bowed. He pressed a soft kiss to Kathryn’s cheek. “I will see you at dinner.”

  * * * *

  Roger’s nape prickled as he took the stairs two at a time. The same battle instincts that had kept him alive many a time whispered to him now, which made no sense. Still, he had learned at his peril not to ignore them.

  Matty did not look like a woman seeking refuge. She looked like trouble.

  How had he not seen so when he courted her? Perhaps because his courtship had been a perfunctory effort to appease his mother. Beside Kathryn’s willowy grace, Matty’s more buxom looks appeared like a rose gone past its bloom.

  “Roger.” His father strode across the hall toward him. “Tell me of Lady Mathilda.”

  “She says her husband was cruel to her, and she seeks refuge here,” Roger said.

  Father studied Roger. “You knew she was married.”

  “Aye.” Roger pushed a hand through his hair. Sir Arthur might get chewed up over this. “Kathryn and I found her on our search. It seems Mathilda was married all along, in secret.”

  “What sort of shady marriage is that?” Sir Arthur puffed out his chest.

  “You know what Royce did to Kathryn?”

  Sir Arthur nodded.

  “When we discovered Mathilda had married a farmer, Kathryn begged me not to tell their father.”

  Sir Arthur shook his head. “And you made another vow.”

  “I am afraid I did.”

  Ramming his hands on his hips, Sir Arthur growled. “Women. They will twist the most sensible fellow into knots.”

  “Aye.” What was the point in disagreeing?

  “What do you make of Lady Mathilda?” Sir Arthur jerked his head at the stairs.

  “I am not sure, yet.”

  “Can I expect an outraged farmer at my door?”

  “I thought it was my door now?”

  Sir Arthur shoved him. “Watch yourself, pup.”

  * * * *

  At dinner, Kathryn seated Matty beside her. Roger sat on her other side, a warm, solid presence she enjoyed.

  Matty wore one of the new gowns Lady Mary had gifted Kathryn, a deep red silk that clung to her sister’s fuller curves. Her hair worn loose and flowing down her back shocked Kathryn a little. Only a maiden wore her hair thus. But it seemed petty to say something, and Matty had much bigger concerns.

  Matty giggled at something Garrett said to her, and turned sparkling eyes on him. It did Kathryn good to see her sister happy. Or perhaps Matty was merely putting on a brave front. Kathryn squeezed Matty’s hand.
She did not need to be brave anymore. Kathryn would protect her.

  Matty shot her a quizzical glance and returned to her conversation with Garrett.

  Over Garrett’s shoulder Beatrice watched Matty with a hard look.

  Perhaps Matty should not lay her hand on Garrett’s arm each time she spoke with him, or laughed. Kathryn would have a word with her after dinner.

  Beatrice caught her eye, and smiled.

  It must be in her mind, after all. Beatrice did not seem wroth in the least. Or perhaps Beatrice and Garrett had argued again.

  Roger spoke little during dinner. He too watched Matty.

  Kathryn picked at her dinner, her stomach too tight for food. In the air about them hovered a tension that robbed her appetite.

  “Are you well?” Roger glanced meaningfully at the slices of meat she had left on their trencher.

  “Aye.” Kathryn could not put her finger on what bothered her. She should be delighted to have Matty with her again. All their lives, it had been Kathryn and Matty against the world. And yet, she could not like the way Matty kept flicking her hair over her shoulder. The gesture seemed too coy for a married woman, too studied.

  “Do you fret over Mathilda’s husband coming here? Or perhaps your father?” Roger took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “Do not. I will make sure she is safe.”

  That was probably it, and the weight lifted a bit from Kathryn.

  Matty laughed again, low and intimate and her discomfort returned.

  “Come, Mathilda.” Lady Mary rose with her lovely gracious smile. “I am afraid we are being selfish, keeping you amongst us when you must be so fatigued from your fraught journey.”

  “Nay, I—”

  “Sweeting.” Lady Mary approached Matty with her hands held out. “Such a brave girl to bear up so splendidly under your present trials.”

  Matty dropped her gaze to the table, and when she looked up again tears shimmered. “I do not like to make my troubles known.”

  “Of course you do not.” Lady Mary cupped her chin. “What true lady would? Now come, and I will show you where you are to sleep tonight.”

  “Will I not sleep with Kathryn?”

  Roger stiffened.

  With a light laugh, Lady Mary waved. “Goodness me, nay, dear girl. Kathryn is wed now, and I do not think Roger can bear to be parted from her.”

  “Not for an entire night.” Roger slid his arm about her shoulders.

  Beatrice stood. “I will come along and make sure you are settled.”

  Kathryn rose to follow them, but Roger held her back. “My mother can see to Matty. I believe it is time for us to retire.”

  She liked the sound of that much better. This might be her favorite part of being married.

  Chapter 26

  Roger suppressed the urge to wrestle his father down, and sit on him until the old dog saw sense. Sir Arthur had mentally strapped into his armor rendering him deaf to reason. Sir Arthur of Anglesea, god of war, had taken over his father.

  From beside Sir Arthur, Garrett watched, ever calm, taking everything in and rolling it about the mystery of his mind. Roger had invited him to join the conversation.

  “You say you will handle this, and you do nothing. You sit on your ass and think.” Sir Arthur paced to the far side of the hearth. “I did not raise you to allow insult to pass.”

  “Nay.” Roger dug his fingers into the armrests. His father had taken Kathryn beneath his wing, which in Sir Arthur’s world, made her a woman worth fighting for. “You raised me to think before I acted, and this is with I am doing.”

  Look where his last thoughtless act had ended. Indeed, it lay at the heart of their current dilemma.

  “And while you think, Royce could be beating Lady Rose to a pulp.” Sir Arthur pounded his hand on the mantel. Soot and ash drifted down. “What are you waiting for? You have the other girl here at Anglesea. All you need do is get the mother.”

  Roger stood, refusing to have his father loom over him. “Kathryn is my wife and I will handle this.”

  “How?”

  “If I might?” Garrett stretched his legs out to the blaze. “I have something in mind.”

  “You have something in mind?” Sir Arthur scowled at Garrett before cursing and stomping away.

  “You do?” Roger looked forward to this. Garrett had a mind forged in the battle for survival.

  Garrett shrugged. “It is not fully formed yet. I am gathering more information. All you have to do is keep that old warhorse from stomping everything to pieces.”

  “Old warhorse!” Sir Arthur’s hearing had suffered none. He stormed over, towering above Garrett. “Get up, gutter rat, and this old warhorse will teach you a thing or two about your betters.”

  Roger’s head ached. “Is this helping?”

  He looked from his father to Garrett and back again.

  Father threw himself into his chair, still glaring at Garrett.

  Garrett smirked and crossed his ankles.

  “While Garrett hatches his no doubt foul schemes, I have sent for William,” Roger said.

  “William?” Sir Arthur’s eyes bulged. “What, in the name of all that is holy, is he going to do that you and I cannot?”

  “Speak. Negotiate.” Roger handed his father a tankard. “Use his smooth address to get us what we want. We cannot risk war with Sir Royce, not with the king finally looking with favor on us.”

  Sir Arthur grabbed the tankard. “This is not how I am accustomed to doing things.”

  “Aye, but this is a different time.”

  “Foul schemes for a foul man.” Garrett yawned and stretched. “If you want to catch a pig, it helps to climb into the sty with it.”

  “And this is what your life in the sty has taught you?” Sir Arthur snorted.

  Garrett grinned. “Nay, this is what I learned when I set a trap for you.”

  Sir Arthur flushed, fists clenched, ready to do battle.

  Rob sidled into the hall and cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, my lords. I would not interrupt unless it—”

  “Get on with it.” Sir Arthur drew a hefty draught of his tankard.

  “There is a…person at the gates. Says he is known to Sir Roger. Refuses to leave until he sees him.” Rob smoothed his hair back.

  “Who is it?” Roger waved his father to silence.

  “He says his name is Digory.” Rob sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Smells of cow turd.”

  “Digory? You are sure?”

  “Aye, Sir Roger. We do not get many farmers demanding to see Baron Anglesea.”

  That lippyness of Rob’s would have to be dealt with, but later, when Roger discovered what Digory wanted. He exchanged a quick glance with Garrett.

  Garrett shrugged.

  Digory most likely did what any other man would do if his wife stepped out for a breath of fresh air and never came back. His promise to Kathryn uppermost in his mind, he told Rob to show Digory in.

  Roger turned to his father. “I will handle this.”

  “Then handle it.” Sir Arthur sat rigid in his chair.

  Digory walked in with his chin raised, gaze flickering between the door and the men-at-arms flanking him. He spotted him, and looked relieved. “Sir Roger.” He gave a clumsy bow. “I was just telling these men that I was known to you.”

  “What do you want?” Roger crossed his arms.

  Rob sidled up beside him. “Shall I have the men toss him out?”

  “I must speak with you.” Digory stepped forward.

  The guard at his side palmed his sword hilt.

  With a whimper, Digory leapt back.

  “Let him come.” Roger motioned the men to stand aside. “I will hear what he has to say.”

  Digory edged past the guards and trotted to them. “I came for my wife.”

  There you had it, as Roger suspected. “What makes you think she is here?”

  “Her sister is here.” Digory gl
anced about him. “She would not return to her father. Or that limp…Lady Cecily. Is she here?”

  “Tell me, my man.” Sir Arthur of Anglesea squared his wide shoulders, every inch of him a wealthy, powerful baron. “Are you in the habit of bursting into castles and demanding people?”

  Roger grit his teeth. He needed to have a word with Mother about when she planned to drag Father away from Anglesea.

  “Nay, sir…my lord…Sir Arthur.” Digory snatched his woven coif from his head and twisted it in his hands. “It is just that Matty…Lady Mathilda is my wife.”

  God’s teeth, his father excelled at the whole lordly thing. Roger would have to grow that invisible shield of power about himself. And he would, if the old man stepped back far enough to let him handle this.

  “Your wife?” Sir Arthur stood and approached Digory with measured steps. “Given into your care by her father?”

  Roger exchanged glances with Garrett. The old man could not resist getting the bit between his teeth.

  “Um…nay, my lord.” Pale as parchment, Digory shook his head.

  “Then I can only surmise that you took her.” Sir Arthur stared down his nose at Digory.

  Swallowing hard, Digory put his shoulders back. “I did not take her. She came with me willingly enough. Please, my lord.”

  Roger gave the man grudging respect for the ballocks on him. Not many men faced Sir Arthur and kept their composure. Still, time for the old man to step back and Roger stood.

  Digory sidled away from Sir Arthur. “Will you at least tell me if she is here? She took off with a pig breeder, and I am concerned something might have befallen her.”

  “She is here,” Sir Arthur said.

  Digory’s shoulders slumped. “Thank the Lord.”

  “I think the more interesting question is why she is here.” Roger stepped closer to Digory, towering a good foot above him.

  “She left me,” Digory said. “When I was out working the back fields near the stream. I came back and she was gone.”

  “Aye, but why.”

  “I think that is a matter for my wife and me.” Digory held his ground.

  Sir Arthur growled.

  Roger raised his hand and moved in front of his father. “A happy woman does not leave her husband.”