by Ana Seymour
“So, Thomas,” Richard said, when everyone was safely out of earshot. “Tell me why I should give you the lady Alyce when she professes to be unwilling.”
“I do believe Dunstan to be a threat to her, your majesty, in spite of what she says. There’s that and then—” he took a deep breath “—there’s the fact that Lady Alyce might already be carrying my child.”
The king’s eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said slowly, then added, “You are aware that she is under my protection?”
Thomas’s gaze did not falter. “Aye, your majesty.”
“I take it the lady was willing in this, at least.”
“As you know me, your majesty, you know that I would never take to my bed a woman who was unwilling.”
Richard was silent for a long moment. “Aye, Thomas, I believe you. But if she was willing then, why is she objecting to the marriage now?”
Thomas gave a sigh of exasperation. “I’m not sure, your majesty, but I suspect it’s because she’s made up her mind that she should be independent.”
The corner of Richard’s mouth quirked. “Are you quite sure you want such a woman to wife, Thomas?”
“Aye, your majesty.”
The king glanced over at Alyce, who was watching the two men intently from some distance away. “From what you say, she might be happier if you wait and, er, court her a bit.”
“Aye, but in the meantime she may have Dunstan to contend with, and I’d not take that risk.”
Richard gave a nod of approval. “Then under the circumstances, the betrothal shall be this afternoon. The bishop of Westminster will perform the ceremony.”
He motioned for his courtiers to approach, then signaled to one of the scarlet-robed clerics. “Your grace, I’d appreciate it if you would make yourself available this afternoon to perform a betrothal,” he said.
“Certainly, my lord,” the bishop murmured.
“The castle is crowded,” Richard said to Thomas. “I’ll direct that you be given special lodgings for your betrothal night.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” Thomas said with a bow.
Alyce had not even been consulted. She stepped forward, ready to argue her case anew, but Richard merely raised his hand and said, “I’m giving you into the hands of a fine man, Lady Sherborne. May your union be long and blessed.” Then he turned away, his attention already moving on to other matters.
It had happened so fast. A betrothal was not as final as a marriage, but the vows were sacred, given before the eyes of God as manifested on earth by the bored bishop of Westminster, who was obviously annoyed to have his afternoon nap disrupted by such an unimportant event.
She wore the cloth-of-gold tunic and pearls, and Lettie fussed over her and cried, while Alyce stood dazed and unbelieving. By sundown she was betrothed, seated next to her bridegroom at King Richard’s long table, sharing a trencher with Thomas, picking at the succulent pieces of meat he cut for her, tasting nothing.
They lingered at the meal only long enough to be polite. It had been decided that the newly betrothed couple would be given the privacy of a small guardhouse located at one corner of the castle walls. Thomas had accepted the offer with a terse thank-you. He’d shaken off the congratulations and ribald comments of his men, and had scarcely spoken to either Kenton or Ranulf, both of whom watched with worried expressions as the betrothed couple made their way out of the hall.
“I’m afraid my brother’s made a mistake to force her like this,” Ranulf said. He and Kenton held out their mugs as a serving maid passed with a pitcher of ale.
“He thought he had no choice,” Kenton said. “Richard is set on leaving again within the month, and then she’d be in danger from Prince John.”
Ranulf nodded gloomily over his ale. “Aye, but she looked so unhappy. It will take some convincing to get her to see the sense of it.”
Their gazes went to the door of the hall through which Alyce and Thomas had exited. “Perhaps it will work itself out. Your brother can be convincing,” Kenton said.
“Aye, I know. But first the lady has to be willing to listen to what he has to say.”
Kenton smiled. “You’re young yet, Ranulf. If Thomas is wise, the kind of convincing he’ll use has little to do with words.”
The early spring twilight was getting longer each day, and there was still a band of light in the western sky as Alyce and Thomas walked out of the main keep and over to the little stone house. Neither spoke, and the short distance across the courtyard seemed to take forever.
During supper, Thomas had attempted to make conversation, but when her answers had been short and distant, he had stopped talking. They’d left without ceremony. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Lettie.
“This is it,” Thomas said, breaking the evening stillness. He opened the latch of the wooden door. “I trust it will be satisfactory. Lettie said that she had brought over some of your…” he hesitated “…ah, personal things.”
Alyce smiled. Though Thomas had faced the fiercest warriors in battle without a qualm, he looked as if the world of female possessions was a mystery he did not care to probe. The idea eased some of the tension that had been building in her since the audience with Richard that morning. Her back and neck were stiff with it.
The truth was, she admitted to herself as she walked into the little guardhouse, she was no longer sure what she wanted. For the past year, thinking that her fate might be to marry Baron Dunstan, she’d sworn that if she were forced to marry, she’d make sure that her husband would rue the day he had taken the vows.
But suddenly it was not an old, evil man who was taking her to her bridal bed, but Thomas, the man who had kissed a serving girl named Rose and changed her forever.
The guardhouse was simple, with a fireplace, already lit, at one end, plus a small table and chairs. A generous bed was made up with fresh linens; on the small nightstand next to it was a jug and two tumblers.
She walked over to the fire and stretched out her hands. The heat felt good on her palms, but did nothing to warm the chill she had inside. She felt more confused and alone than she had since the days just after her father’s death.
Thomas came up behind her. “Would you like some wine?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He moved around her toward the fire. “There’s a chill in here. I’ll build this up.”
She stood stock-still as he threw several more small logs on the blaze, brushed off his hands and stood, studying her frozen expression.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?” he asked.
She stiffened at the endearment. His voice had the same husky tones she remembered from the afternoon they had made love at Sherborne. Against her will, she could feel the slow uncurling of her senses.
She shook her head and continued staring at the fire.
Behind her, Thomas gave a sigh. “My stubborn little Rose. What do I have to do to win a smile from you? Or at least a word?”
She remained silent.
He moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “You looked so beautiful today,” he murmured. “I vow I was the envy of every man at the castle.”
A single tear made its way down her cheek and glistened in the firelight. He saw it and turned her around in his arms, clasping her against him. “Ah, sweetheart, don’t cry. How can I make this easier for you? You’ve not given up your independence, my fierce Alyce. You’ve merely gained an ally to stand with you in confronting the world.”
His words were convincing, but she wasn’t yet ready to succumb to the comforting vision they painted. The tears began streaming down both cheeks. She ignored them and kept her voice hard as she answered, “Allies are equals who choose to unite themselves against a common foe. You and I are conquerer and vanquished. Words will not alter the facts.”
His hands dropped from her arms. “Was that the way you felt when we made love at Sherborne? Like conquerer and vanquished?”
She looked up into his eyes. “Nay, for that was a union of equa
ls.”
He traced the trail of her tears with his thumb. “I didn’t do this to make you unhappy,” he said. “I did it to keep you safe. Would you rather be back at Sherborne fighting off Dunstan right now?”
She gave a watery smile. “At least he’s an easy enemy to hate.”
Thomas immediately seized on the small advantage she’d given him. “Which means I am not?” he asked.
She gave a small, reluctant shake of her head.
His smile was relieved. “Perhaps you can’t hate me because you know, deep down, that I’m not your enemy at all.” He put his hand at the back of her neck, then bent to kiss her gently. “Enemies rarely kiss,” he whispered.
She steeled herself not to respond to the touch of his lips. His smile faded. “I know you haven’t forgotten what we had together,” he said. “Why should it be different, just because a priest has read some words over us?”
Aye, the priest had said words binding them together. She wondered if Thomas would ever understand how she had felt that afternoon, surrounded by strangers, men who were determined to steer the course of her life. She’d thought of her father, who had always depended on his daughter to be as strong as a son. No son of Sherborne would have been sold in matrimony.
Her tears stopped flowing. All at once she felt tremendously tired. “You’re not my enemy, Thomas, but neither will I welcome you to my bed. You’ve forced me to a betrothal, but you can’t force me to respond to your lovemaking.”
A flash of anger flared in his eyes. “Would you deny us both what we want because I didn’t have time to ride weekly to Sherborne for months on end to court you with pretty words and sonnets?”
She shook her head. “You’ve made a poor bargain, Thomas. ’Twas only a betrothal. No wedding vows were spoken. Perhaps it’s not too late for you to change your mind and tell the king you want a more amenable bride.”
His mouth tightened. “Thank you for the advice, milady, but I’ll not be taking it. You see, unlike you, I do know what I want.”
His anger was easier to face than the earlier tenderness. She tilted up her chin and glared at him. “Good for you, Sir Thomas. That makes you a rare and fortunate man, but it doesn’t change my mind. If you want me in your bed this night, I’ll be brought there against my will, just as I was to the altar this afternoon.”
She could see his hands flexing at his sides, as if he wished he could shake some sense into her, but she stood without flinching.
“I’ve never forced a woman to my bed,” he said stiffly. “And I’m not about to start with you.” Then he spun around and stalked out of the building.
Alyce stood awkwardly in the center of the room after he left, expecting him to return at any moment. When several minutes passed with no sign of him, she relaxed her shoulders and let out a long stream of air. Now what? She couldn’t imagine where he had gone when everyone in the castle expected that they were in their betrothal bed together.
She looked around the room, trying to decide what she should do. She could go back to the castle, but the place was so full it was possible that they had given away the pallet she’d been assigned the previous evening.
The fire burned brightly, lending a cozy glow to the place. Her body ached from too much standing throughout the day in the heavy gold tunic, and the fresh bed looked temptingly soft. Her betrothal bed.
With a grimace, she pulled the tunic over her head and threw it on the table. It was as if she’d shed the weight of the day along with it. Crooning a nearly tuneless ballad that had been a favorite of her father’s, she crossed the room to the bed, curled up on it, pulled a blanket over herself and fell sound asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Thomas paced back and forth along the thick old walls that still formed the defenses of Nottingham Castle. The noise of the after-dinner revelry drifted out from the main hall, but he hadn’t wanted to return there. His presence would have caused gossip and ridicule. He was supposed to be enjoying the favors of his betrothed, not wandering about in the middle of the night like an unwelcome ghost.
For the tenth time, he reviewed in his head the conversation he had had with Alyce. He’d been so sure that once the troublesome legalities of their union were disposed of, she’d stop fighting him and admit that the two of them were destined to be together. Indeed, there had been moments in the guardhouse tonight when he’d thought her eyes had softened, when she’d seemed to respond to his warm voice and gentle touch.
But in the end she’d proven more implacable than he would have imagined. Perhaps he’d been wrong in believing that her feelings matched his. Usually when a woman allowed a man to make love to her, it was because she was in love with that man. But Alyce was unlike any woman he’d ever known. With her taste for adventure, it was possible that she had joined in the lovemaking merely to satisfy her curiosity.
The question was what should he do now? The night air was chilly, though moist with the promise of spring. He’d hoped to spend that spring at Lyonsbridge, introducing his family to his new bride.
Footsteps sounded on the stone behind him. He whirled around, still accustomed to watching for enemies at every turn.
“Hold, Thomas, ’tis I.” It was Kenton’s voice, and in a moment his lieutenant drew near enough to be recognized in the darkness.
“Kenton. What are you doing here?” A kind of embarrassment at being caught out alone on the night of his betrothal made Thomas’s tone harsher than he intended.
“I saw a figure walking up against the parapets and came to investigate. I hadn’t expected it to be you.”
The question was implied rather than asked, but Kenton was his oldest friend, and Thomas spoke frankly. “She turned me away. I’d thought after the ceremony she would give up her resentment, but I underestimated her stubbornness.”
Kenton was silent for a moment. Then he said, “So you intend to wear a path in the flagstones all night long?”
Thomas’s grin was sheepish. “It’s better than going back inside to admit that I’ve been sent away from my own betrothal bed.”
Kenton boosted himself up to perch on the edge of the wall. “Come sit here. Your pacing is making me dizzy.”
Thomas complied. For several moments the two friends sat quietly on the wall, looking up at the few stars that blinked off and on in the cloudy skies.
“Mayhap it was a mistake,” Thomas said finally.
Kenton clicked his teeth. “I thought you said you loved the lady.”
“I did. I do, but if she’s set against the marriage, ’twill serve no purpose but to make us both miserable.”
“Is this the warrior who held the flank at Jaffa, outnumbered three to one?”
“I’m beginning to think that was an easier battle to win,” Thomas said grimly.
Kenton laughed. “You’d rather face a thousand screaming Turks than one intrepid and fiery young woman.”
“Any day of the week,” Thomas said forcefully.
“Ah, my friend, you disappoint me. I’ve never seen you give up so easily.”
Thomas shrugged. “I haven’t given up.”
“It certainly looks like it. What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything. I just left.”
Kenton rolled his eyes. “What did you tell her before you left? Did you take my advice about the pretty speeches?”
Thomas was silent, trying to remember. He had said she was beautiful, hadn’t he? He was almost sure there’d been something about her being beautiful.
Kenton continued. “You did tell her that you loved her, didn’t you? Surely you got that much right.”
Had he told her that he loved her?
Kenton groaned with frustration.
Thomas felt sweat bead on his forehead. How could he not have told her that he loved her? he thought, furious at his own stupidity.
Kenton stood up. “You know what, Thomas? You deserve to be out here in the middle of the night freezing your tail instead of in a warm bed beside a soft
woman. What’s more, I wash my hands of the whole affair.”
He gave Thomas a clap on the shoulder and walked away.
Thomas watched him go with a rueful smile. When he and Kenton had been growing up together, Thomas had always been the smart one. He was the leader on the battlefield and off. He was the one who was quick with sums, well read, savvy at court intrigues. But when it came to females, Kenton had always run circles around him.
Thomas pushed himself off the wall and straightened up. With luck, Alyce would still be there, waiting to give him another chance. His face set with purpose, he made his way back to the guardhouse.
The fire had burned down to embers by the time he returned, but there was enough light to tell him that Alyce was still there. She was not, however, waiting to give him another chance. From the soft rise and fall of her breathing underneath the blanket, she appeared to be in a deep and quite peaceful sleep.
Alyce awoke slowly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly. The sense of her surroundings came to her gradually, and with it she felt the contrast of the chilly air of the room with the warm body lying next to her.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised to find him there. Though she’d never before slept through the night next to a living soul, it seemed natural to wake up beside Thomas, the curves of their bodies matching.
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and studied him in the morning sunlight. In sleep he looked younger, more like the young man who had sung love ballads around her fireplace than the battle-seasoned knight who had imperiously asked the king for her hand.
There was a stubble of whiskers along the firm line of his jaw. His hair was disheveled, with one thick lock fallen across his forehead. Before she could stop them, her fingers reached up to push it gently back from his face.
Her touch made him stir, but he didn’t awaken. She lifted herself on one elbow to study him better. The covers had slipped down from his shoulders to reveal a bare, sculpted chest. The sight set a pulse beating at the side of her neck. All at once she wished, fiercely, that she were truly the servant girl, Rose, who could choose her loves with carefree abandon, heedless of considerations of rank and fortune. She wished it was some other girl who had had to listen to her father’s endless ramblings about poor men hunting for riches or rich men hunting for power.
