Wasn’t it fortunate the furniture and tapestries were all gone? She could find people to build her new. Not only that, it would make the keep all the easier to clean. Another rodent scampered near her feet and she jumped back. A few rat hounds and those nasty beasties would needs find other accommodations. A vision of little Tom running around the hearth with more small boys made her smile. “It’s perfect.”
“Och. Are ye daft? I see there’s no use in convincing you. No matter. No kin of mine, even illegitimate, will marry a Norman, nor live within the decrepit walls of his keep. You’ll marry Brian MacTavish tomorrow at noon.
Thomas moaned, paused upon a hill, and allowed his charger to chew on the fresh clover. Almost a half mile in the distance, Merry approached the decrepit Castle D’Agostine, surrounded by armed guards and the Earl of Annandale. She was easy to spot, the only woman in a parade of kilted knights.
His stomach knotted when she tottered and almost fell through the rotted wood of the drawbridge. Annandale had lost all reason. It was no place for a lady.
Her giggle twinkled in and out on the breeze as he lost sight of her under the gate. Was she so happy, knowing his miserable fate? He’d wanted to show her himself, so he could describe the former beauty of his childhood home.
The wind shifted and the smell of the moat made his eyes water, even from this distance. All was lost. She’d never agree to remarry him. No-Man’s-Land had yet again earned its moniker.
He turned his mount toward the village Carlisle with his chest aching. How could he expect her to live in such a place? Mayhap he’d convince her to return to the Green Meadows while he continued as a merchant-lord for Marcus. Land was vastly over-glorified.
The short journey seemed much longer on the way back. Again, he was left wanting for his wife and lamenting his actions at Scarborough. But she had confessed so well. Aye, and he’d been all too willing to agree with her.
What’s this? Approaching the walls of Carlisle was a sight more blessed than a host of angels. Marcus marched at least one hundred of Edward’s men through the open gates, pennants flying. That ought to get his wife back. He put spurs to his mount and raced forward.
Chapter 34
The incense clogged his breath as well as his vision, making the hellish nightmare all the more real. Gregorian chants filled the church and dignitaries arrived in their finest print robes, lined with fur. All necks, both man and women alike, were adorned with chains or gold and jewels. Where in all of Christ’s wounds was Edward?
Thomas had donned a black tunic for this dark day. He displayed his hard-earned wealth with one giant red ruby, hanging on a thick rope of gold. His gem-encrusted frog, which he saved for such occasions, held one of the sharpest swords in the kingdom.
“Tell me that you’ll hold your tongue when the time comes.” Marcus scowled, standing to one side of him while Nicholas held his arm fast on the other.
“I’ll not have her married off to that, that … Scottish bairn.” His eyes darted to the castle guards that surrounded them at every entrance.
“Would you wage war in the church? Aye, we have men, but Annandale holds the trust of English and Scottish alike. Patience. Robert will come and set his father straight with Edward’s help.”
“Fine. As we discussed, I’ll steal her away directly after the wedding. He’ll not bed her. If I must, we’ll set sail and I’ll begin my trades anew. There’re many lands and many opportunities. When the winds change, we’ll return.”
Marcus grunted, Nicholas nodded, and the monks continued with their endless chanting.
Thomas held his breath, stunned as if bitten by an adder, as she weaved through the vast church filled with high-born. Fresh flowers of the deepest violet were woven into the braids of her golden locks. Dainty white lace from the isles trailed from her cap, all the way to the floor.
His fist tightened on his sword’s hilt. This wedding day gave her that serene smile? He relaxed his grip when her eyes met his with a bold wink.
What was her meaning?
Marcus gripped the bicep of his twitching sword arm. “Hold fast. Your plan is solid. Look about. The room is filled with Annandale’s sword and mail. Should you but make a move, he’d be justified in your death.”
“I’ll kill that Scot if he touches her.”
Nicholas chimed in. “And I’ll kill them again. Just to be certain.”
The Bishop of York in fullest peacock splendor arrived from behind the altar with his arms raised to God, as if he was Christ himself. Thomas muttered a curse to the devil and Marcus elbowed him. “Do you wish to be slaughtered before the wedding even begins?”
The happy couple knelt, York laid his hand on their heads and began his blessings.
It happened so fast, and the incense so thick, that for a moment, Thomas believed he was seeing things. The bishop lay prostrate to the Lord’s alter, with Merry atop his small form. His huge cap rolled off the dais and his miter clunked and followed. She tugged one arm high behind his back and he screamed. Leaning her body over his head, she put one arm around his neck and held knife point into his ear.
The crowd gasped, archers poised, but her voice was steady as she shouted, “All stand down or my chest will drive the point of my knife into the stuffing of his daft head. I die and he dies as well. I shall sing with angels while he rots in hell.”
Thomas was the first at the bottom of the altar with sword drawn. He laughed at her audacity. “My, dearest. Your poems astound.”
To the guards, he held sword high. “Stay back or lose an arm.”
Marcus and Nicholas followed with their armed men, who’d been in hiding, disguised throughout the church. Arm to arm with back to the bishop, they stood united against the rest.
Thomas turned his head toward his wife. “I believe you have their attention. Now what?”
His beautiful warrior wife held fast her grip on York. “I’ll not be forced into another marriage. Please nod, Your Excellency, if you agree. Wait. Better not move. Just grunt.”
She gave a smirk, seeming quite pleased with herself. “Did you hear that, Thomas? He agreed.”
He grinned widely, joined her at the altar, and spoke for her ears only. “Aye. Trolly-troll.” He shoved the stunned Scot out of the circle of men. “Be gone and bless whatever patron saint you hold, that I didn’t gut you this day.”
She let the slim dagger slip a little closer. “And I wish to annul the annulment of my marriage. Can that be done?”
“No.” The bishop squeaked like a chipmunk and Thomas let out a snort. This was too ripe a folly to behold.
Merry stifled her own snort of glee, glanced up, and soon both their eyes were watering. “What did you say? I don’t believe all can hear you in the back of the church.”
“You need to be married again.” The bishop whispered coarsely.
Thomas sat behind Merry and reached his arms around her to take control of the knife.
She said, “Begin the vows of marriage. The shortened version.”
“And do you Meredith—”
Merry giggled. “No, no, no. None can hear. That will never do. I shall say the vows and you shall grunt in agreement. I take Sir Thomas. He takes me. Just like before, Amen.”
By now, the whole of the great hall of the church was filled with glee at the farce. It wasn’t often a mighty bishop was put down by a small woman.
Her voice was low, but Thomas heard all as she whispered in the Bishop’s ear. “Be it known, should anything ever happen to myself, my husband, my family, or my grandchildren, for that matter, I’ll see to it your plan to kill Alexander comes to light. I have proof. I found it in the pigeon coop. It’s tucked safely away, but I have people I trust to see it gets to Edward. I’ve no interest in who rules Scotland or England, so plan as you will and I’ll not interfere. I only wish for a small village with a small keep, and villagers whom I shall raise to tradesmen of great wealth. You and Annandale shall see to it that my husband’s land is left free—n
either Scot nor English until the end of time. Understood?”
At that, the back door swung open and a wave of hushed whispers turned louder until it became a roar. “Bruce!”
The crowd parted as his wife’s father marched down the center of the church with at least fifty soldiers in tow. More stood outside the great arch. His long red beard flew in the wind created by his pace and his hand rested upon the hilt of his sword. Knights knelt to him in fealty, as they would a king, and women curtsied low. A hush drew over the crowd as he approached the altar. With one hand, he waived the archers and Annandale’s castle guards at ease.
“Daughter? Meredith? Is that you, lass? And is that Edward’s merchant, Sir Thomas? I thought he lay long dead. What’s all this ado?” He glared up at his father.
Nobles drifted to the outer edges of the vast marble floor as the elder Annandale strode across the church. He met his son nose-to-nose. “Nothing of this is your affair. Aren’t you supposed to be aiding the king in Wales?”
“Until recently, I was. Edward has granted me a few hundred men to see that other borders cease in traitorous actions, but we’ll speak of that later. It seems I’ve interrupted a wedding? Is that a dagger to the bishop? God’s blood, what kind of madness is this? Drop the weapon, Lady Meredith, and stand here before me. Explain your actions.” He beckoned them to him with one armored finger.
Meredith sheathed her knife and stomped off the altar with finger pointing at Annandale. “I’ll nay be forced into marriage when I’m already married.”
Robert Bruce’s eyes twinkled, he grinned, and winked. “That seems a fairly reasonable request, lass.”
Removing a knee from the middle of York’s back, Thomas stood next to his wife-to-be. The tiny bishop marched off the landing, picked up his staff, and pounded the end upon marble. “She’s an abomination. I hereby excommunicate—”
Robert glared and drew a sharp curved dagger from his belt with his left hand. “You canna speak if I cut out your tongue. I’ll hear what my daughter has to say.”
Thomas indicated that she should curtsy by gently pushing down upon her shoulders. She raised her lovely eyes for a heated moment, then bowed low. Kneeling next to her, he pulled out his blade and put the tip carefully to the parquet floor. He waited with forehead to sword’s hilt. Here was a man, friend to the king, who was worthy of his allegiance.
Robert chuckled. “Arise, daughter and son. Tell me, what is the meaning of this mad wedding?”
Merry jumped up and pointed, “Your father would have me marry that … that … Scottish thug.”
He scowled, the resemblance to the old Annandale now most apparent. “How is that possible? You’ve a son and a husband already. For years, as I understand.”
She pointed at the bishop. “Ask him. He’s the one who annulled it.”
“York? Although my daughter was born outside the grace of marriage, I hold great fondness for the matched pair birthed in Scarborough. Heed your words carefully. What mischief is this?”
“Her husband put her aside. I was doing the ungrateful lass a mighty service.”
Robert clapped his hands together and shouted, “Fetch parchment and seal. This time, the legality of this marriage shall not be questioned, nor put asunder. Ever.”
He turned to them. “Are you sure you’re both fine with this?”
Thomas squeezed Merry’s hand, they rose together, and spoke as one. “Aye.”
“Before you’re wed, tell me. Where’s that boy of yours?”
“Here I am.” Tom strutted to where Robert stood, put his small sword to the floor, and knelt in front of him.
Robert laughed and tousled the boy’s dark hair. “Well done, lad. Well done. Stand here beside me and we shall watch your mother and father be re-married.”
“Again?” Tom put his sword away, scrunched up his nose, and scratched at his head.
The crowd snickered and Robert picked up the boy. “Aye, but this time it shall not be undone.”
Chapter 35
Hadrian’s Wall reflected the warmth of the spring sun, increasing it twofold. Surrounded, a small army sang gaily in time to the clomping of horse’s hooves. Thomas removed Merry’s scarf and her hair blew freely in the wind, whipping about her face. Deep dimples dug into his clean-shaven cheeks as he tucked her close. Under her cloak, his clever fingers toyed with one hardening nipple.
“Stop that.” She squeezed her thighs tight where wetness pooled and punched at him playfully. In retribution, her fingers wrapped around his rising pintle.
He snickered. “Truce, dear wife, we’ve arrived.”
A man shouted from a turret, above a gated entrance in the stone wall. “What ho?”
“Sir D’Agostine requesting entrance.” Thomas groaned as he slid her off his body and to the ground. He followed and adjusted belt over bulge.
The thick oak door, deep within the wall, creaked as it opened wide into a bricked courtyard. A smiling man in Templar colors and sandals strode forward. He grasped forearms with Thomas and whacked his back. Then he ushered them all through the gate. “Entrez-vous.”
“Merci.” Thomas handed Demon’s reins to a young acolyte and motioned for Jacob to see to the men. Little Tom waved, dressed in miniature mail, happy to spend time as a knight for a few days.
She turned her attention to the huge church that dwarfed the courtyard and her mouth dropped open wide. Ten marble statues graced the façade. Countless gargoyles grinned. Above, a mosaic of the Virgin Mary smiled down kindly. The halo and sky around her head sparkled in gold, almost too bright to gaze upon.
Merry turned to the sandaled man. “Can we go inside?”
Thomas chuckled. “Sir Guy, meet my wife, Meredith D’Agostine. Merry, this is the abbot, Father Guy Dupuis.”
The Templar gave Thomas a wink as he took her hand and kissed it. “Ah. She is so, so, belle. But later, no? For seeing the sights? Already, your husband drools like a hungry dog.”
He released her hand, placed it in Thomas’ and she giggled. “Are we going to take vows of celibacy? Or get our marriage annulled, yet again?”
Thomas smirked. “If that’s what trolls prefer.”
“You need to desist with that word. I may take offense.” She laughed, caught in his fond gaze.
His eyebrows creased as if in pain and he squeezed her hand. “When I call you that, I remember how fiercely you rescued me and I’m undone.”
Brother Guy snickered, made the sign of the cross, and strode toward the barracks where Jacob directed the men. He turned his head and shouted, “Best you bed her quickly, mon ami.”
She held up her tunic and skipped as Thomas sped her across the brick palazzo. He led her past rows of stone houses, each with their own garden and strong slate roofs. Finally, the road narrowed into a thin alley and he stopped at a red door. “Welcome home.”
She fingered the smooth paint. “Ours?”
“Aye. At least until we finish the repairs to our keep.” With a hand to the small of her back, he unlocked their door and ducked them under a keystone arch. Crossing the room, he opened a shutter and bathed the room in yellow light. He answered her unasked question with a proud tap on the window. “It’s shaved amber.”
But that wasn’t what drew her attention. Covered in deep blue curtains, a huge bed hung from the ceiling, requiring more space than the long table that stood in front of it. She swallowed hard.
He barred the door, sighed, and placed his frog, sword, and Templar colors on a peg. “At last, we’re alone. Can you get at my leather ties?”
“No. I can’t reach.” She pulled him over to a bench by the door, kicked off her shoes, and stood upon it. Knots that held his mail refused to loosen. “Argggg. Even your clothing works against us.”
“Patience. I’ve let the word out, we’re to be left alone from Sunday to Sunday.” With a chuckle, his hands kissed her stomach in front of his face.
She giggled when he cupped her arse and put his face below her belt. If he
kept this up, they’d couple with him fully mailed and she’d end up bruised. “And what of mass?”
A priest has been well paid to pray for our sins.” He sat down between her legs, pulled off his boots, and removed metal leggings while she continued to fight with the leather ties.
“Stop wiggling about so.” When she took teeth to them, the knots finally let go and his mail clunked to the floor atop one of his feet.
“Christ our savior.” He jumped up off the bench and hopped around the room while she rushed after.
“I’m so sorry.”
Turning the frown into a hoot of laughter, he rolled with her onto the bed in a fierce hug. She giggled and kicked when his fingers met her ribs. “Nay, stop. Oh, stop.”
“Ha. Serious punishment must commence for the untalented squire.” His eyes turned dark with lust, he cupped her face, and firm lips surrounded hers.
She closed her eyes and shivered. Mint, mead, and the exotic flavor of Thomas flooded her senses. Moaning, she reached around his head and played with his thick hair. He gave a small growl and all thoughts vanished.
She opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance and he took the kiss deeper into bliss. Tongue greeted tongue in an erotic dance. She arched to his hands as they stroked up and down her body, but too much cloth still lay between them.
Gasping for breath, she broke out of the kiss and untied the crisscross lacing at his chest. “This has got to go.”
Dark eyes penetrated hers as he kept her locked in his gaze and slipped out of his thick vest. He kissed her fiercely once more, stopped, and tore off his under-tunic.
Her hands shot to his warm strong chest.
More.
She needed more of him.
She lifted her arms, thinking he’d remove her clothing, but he grabbed both hands and held her there. He purred deep in his throat as his other hand moved from cheek, to neck, then to breast. There, he stopped and played before letting go and finding the hem of her tunic. It tore as he tugged it over her head.
How to Marry Your Wife Page 18
