Lady Rowena's Ruin

by Carol Townend

  He likes me disordered. Hmm...

  Behind her, the bells of St Ayoul rang out the hour. She caught her breath. She’d last heard those bells just over a day ago. Her preliminary vows had been around the corner. And now she couldn’t stop thinking about stealing another kiss from Eric?

  When she’d fallen in love with Mathieu she surely hadn’t spent so much time thinking about kisses. She and Mathieu had had to be discreet. Discretion had seemed important once, yet she was beginning not to care. Was it possible to have changed so much, so soon? She ought to be shocked, yet she wasn’t. This was Eric, it wasn’t as though he was a total stranger.

  She peeped up at him, running her gaze over that thick brown hair, that strong profile. She must stop thinking about kissing him. ‘It might be disappointing next time,’ she murmured.

  ‘What might?’

  Her eyes went wide. Lord, she’d spoken aloud.

  He stopped walking and looked down at her, eyes puzzled. ‘Disappointing, my lady? You are referring to the samite?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘You have had enough of the market?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  Eric sent half his men back to their horses with the cloth they had bought, and they left the market square with the rest of their escort trailing behind them. They were walking up the hill towards the Upper Town. At the other end of the street, the walls of Provins Castle reached to the sky. A memory pushed into Rowena’s mind. The last time she had been there, she had mistakenly barged in on her betrothed when he had been with the woman he loved.

  Lord Gawain had been bare-chested and Elise Chantier—she was now his countess—had been lying on the bed in such an abandoned manner it had been obvious what they had been doing. At the time, Rowena had almost died of mortification.

  She walked steadily up the hill, her hand on Eric’s arm. She loved the feel of him, the strong muscles, the warmth. Eric’s muscles would be every bit as impressive as Lord Gawain’s. There was no doubt of that.

  She felt herself flush. Another church took up the peal and they continued up St Thibault’s street with the sound of the bells drowning out the chatter of the townsfolk. As they walked, it dawned on her that she really need not take the veil. Her heart lifted. That time was behind her. She had been deluding herself to think that she might become a nun. Berthe had known it, as had her parents, but it had been Eric who had shown her a different and altogether more exciting future.

  However, it was too soon to commit herself to him. Saints, only a day ago she was planning to take the veil. Even so, marriage to Eric was a real possibility. ‘Eric?’

  ‘Aye?’

  She bumped her head against the top of his arm and said quietly, ‘I am not certain about you and I, but I want you to know I will never become a nun.’

  She knew immediately she had said the right thing. For even though it was broad day and they were standing in the middle of Provins and the proprieties ought to be observed, Eric did what she had been longing for him to do for the past hour. He swept her into his arms and kissed her. The townsfolk and Eric’s men-at-arms were staring at them, grinning, and Rowena didn’t care. It was a good kiss. And, like the kiss they had exchanged in the garden at Monfort, it was very thorough.

  * * *

  Eric’s cavalcade turned off the main highway and on to the road for Monfort. The lowering sun striped the ridges and furrows of the fields with black shadows.

  For the journey home, Eric had made sure that he and Rowena rode between two pairs of horse soldiers. The mules carrying the cloth lagged some way behind with another pair of horse soldiers. Eric wasn’t expecting anything untoward to happen, but after that disturbing incident with the arrow in the chase, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he must keep Rowena safe.

  She was frowning at some pewter-coloured clouds building up in the sky over the forest. ‘It will rain soon,’ she said. ‘We are fortunate to have missed it.’

  ‘Aye.’ As they clopped long, Eric studied her, marvelling at the difference between the child he had known and the woman riding beside him. When had the pretty child metamorphosed into this beautiful woman? The changes, infinitely tiny, were impossible to identify. Petite as ever, Rowena hadn’t gained much in inches. The curve of her nose and cheek seemed the same; she had the same long, sweeping eyelashes. Her blue eyes were immediately recognisable and yet she seemed a thousand times more lovely than she had as a girl.

  Eric’s chest ached with an emotion he couldn’t pin down any more than he could identify the changes in this altered Rowena. Triumph? Pride that she was truly considering him—a foundling, for pity’s sake—as a prospective husband? Perhaps even a touch of nerves, though why he should be nervous he had no idea. He was determined his courtship of her would be successful. He would win her. Rowena was going to be his wife.

  Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe had yet to agree to marry him. She had, however, given him a shockingly public kiss in the middle of a Provins street. A kiss that had left them both extremely disordered. Admittedly, Rowena had tidied herself up quickly enough afterwards, the Rowena riding at his side was the aloof Rowena. Her veil was neatly tucked under her cloak, and try as he might, he couldn’t get as much as a glimpse of a single golden tress.

  He stifled a grin. He was looking forward to disordering her again quite soon—this evening perhaps, after they had eaten. His pulse thrummed with anticipation and he shifted in the saddle. Lord, the sooner she agreed to marry him, the better. Rowena might no longer be a virgin, but he intended to treat her with respect. When they bedded, it would be after they had spoken their marriage vows. Which had better be soon. Tension balled in his gut and he frowned as he tried to identify the cause. He felt uncertain, which was unlike him. Rowena must agree to marry him. He felt unnerved—another unfamiliar emotion, one he didn’t care for. How was it that he could want her so much? It didn’t make sense, not when they had not seen each other in years.

  They rode through the village and were nearing the manor gate when Alard spurred up. ‘Sir, behind us. The riders who followed us yesterday.’

  Turning in the saddle, Eric found himself looking at the same group of riders that Lord Faramus had sent to keep an eye on his daughter. Frowning, he drew rein. The tension was back in his gut. The thought that Lord Faramus was continuing this surveillance didn’t sit easily with him. The count must know he wouldn’t hurt a hair on Rowena’s head. Eric’s birth might be questionable, but Lord Faramus had known him since he was practically an infant. For years, Eric had been labouring under the illusion that the count thought him trustworthy. Apparently not. He swore under his breath.

  Rowena’s harness jingled as she stopped at his side. ‘Eric?’

  He jerked his head back at the riders. The party had grown, there were half a dozen of them today. ‘Your father’s watchdogs are back.’

  She studied the horsemen, a small pleat in her brow. ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘Your father doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘That’s nonsense, Eric, of course he trusts you.’

  ‘Then why the watchdogs?’

  The pleat in her brow deepened. ‘Something’s not right. Eric, those horses are all wrong.’

  ‘Forget the horses, the point is that your father doesn’t think much of my honour.’

  Eyes earnest, she reached across and touched his arm. ‘That’s not true. Father has told me many times how proud he is to have trained you.’

  ‘Then why the hell is he having us watched?’ Eric scowled at the horsemen, shaking his head. He was angry the count didn’t think it worth his while to honour their agreement. ‘This is ridiculous, Count Faramus swore to give me a free hand. Either he trusts me or he doesn’t.’

  Unlike the previous day, the horsemen didn’t seem inclined to keep distance between them, they approached at a stead
y trot.

  Rowena gave him a gentle smile. ‘Perhaps they bear a message.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Eric sighed and kept his expression bland. The lead rider was wearing chain mail and the man at his side had a quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulder. His gaze sharpened. The arrows were fletched with white feathers. White feathers? Eric’s stomach dropped.

  The message these men bore was not from Rowena’s father. Nor was it one that he wanted delivered. ‘Alard!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Get Lady Rowena inside the gates. Move!’

  Eric reached for his shield and drew his sword. His mind raced as he homed in on the archer. Even as he watched, the man was reaching behind him, fitting an arrow to the bow.

  Thank God Alard had been trained to respond instantly to his orders. Leather creaked, a spur chinked. Eric heard receding hoofbeats and Alard bawling at the guards to open the gate. Alard was taking Rowena into the manor. Behind the walls, she would be safe.

  ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Form a line. Shields at the ready?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Those men do not get past us.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Chapter Six

  Safe inside Eric’s hall, Rowena’s skirts dragged through the rushes as she paced up and down in front of the fire. Her heart was in her mouth and she wasn’t quite sure why. If those horsemen answered to her father, why had Eric had her bundled inside so dramatically? What was happening out there? Who were those horsemen? Was Eric in danger?

  ‘Alard?’

  Eric’s squire gave her a wary look. Rowena had let him see her displeasure at being manhandled in so disrespectful a manner. ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘I am going up to the solar,’ she said.

  ‘Then I must come with you.’

  Her foot tapped. ‘I don’t see why. I shall be perfectly safe in the solar.’

  The solar window overlooked the bailey and stable yard and it had occurred to Rowena that through it she would have a clear sight of what was happening outside.

  Alard gave her a shrewd look. ‘You wouldn’t be thinking of looking out of the window up there, my lady?’

  She stiffened. ‘What business is it of yours if I am? I want to know what’s happening.’

  ‘There was an archer in that troop of horsemen.’

  A chill draught fingered the back of Rowena’s neck.

  ‘His arrows were fletched with white feathers,’ Alard went on. ‘My lady, that window is well within range of an expert bowman and Sir Eric would string me up if anything happened to you. You had best remain here in the hall.’

  ‘White feathers? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Sir Eric told you what happened in the chase?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, he did.’

  She chewed her lip. ‘The white fletchings could be just a coincidence, many arrows have white fletchings.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Sir Eric wouldn’t want to take the risk. My lady, you must stay here.’

  Nodding, Rowena stared at the fire. ‘If those men don’t answer to my father, who are they?’

  ‘I don’t know. My lady, please don’t concern yourself, Sir Eric will deal with them.’

  Rowena’s throat felt dry. She was trying to remain calm. It was her duty to hide her anxiety, it wouldn’t do to undermine Alard’s confidence in his knight. It was hard to hide her concern though, because it seemed that with every breath a new worry sneaked up on her. Thankfully Eric and his men outnumbered the strangers, but if they came to blows someone might get hurt—a carefully placed arrow could kill or maim even an armoured man. And Eric hadn’t been wearing his chain mail for the trip to Provins, just his leather gambeson. An image of Eric, with an arrow—no!

  Swallowing hard, she started pacing again. It made no sense. Why would a poacher want to draw attention to himself in such a way? ‘If Eric doesn’t hurry up, I shall kill him,’ she muttered.

  Alard gave her a weak smile. ‘As you say, my lady.’

  Even as Alard spoke, the hall door was pushed back and she heard the chink of spurs. Eric. Rowena let out a relieved sigh. There was no blood or any sign of any hurt, though he was breathing hard and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. He thrust his gloves into his belt and strode to join her by the hearth.

  ‘Eric, those men—they’ve gone?’

  ‘Aye, they took to their heels swiftly enough once you went inside. Chased them to the outskirts of Provins where they disappeared.’

  ‘Are they poachers?’

  Dark-lashed green eyes bored into her. ‘All you need to know is that they were not your father’s men.’

  ‘I had worked that out for myself. I kept trying to tell you the horses were wrong, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  He grimaced. ‘My apologies, I should have heeded you.’

  ‘Eric, horses have always interested me. I’m familiar with every last animal in my father’s stable, but those—they were not familiar. At first I thought it possible Father must have bought new horses, but when Alard mentioned the bowman had white fletchings on his arrows, I thought of yesterday, of course.’

  Eric’s smile was tight. ‘That man was no poacher.’

  ‘Then who—?’

  ‘Put him out of your mind, we have more important matters to attend to.’ Her elbow was taken in a firm grip and she was steered in the direction of the stairwell. ‘My lady, if you would accompany me upstairs. We will wait in the solar. Alard, find Sir Guy and ask him to join us. Then fetch Helvise and join us yourself.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  In the shadows of the stairwell, Rowena hung back. ‘Eric? Who are we waiting for? What’s happening?’

  ‘I’ve sent for the village priest, Father Peter.’ The grip on her elbow gentled. ‘Rowena, I am sorry that it has to be done in such haste, but I will have you safe. We will marry today.’

  She blinked. ‘Marry? Today? Eric, I haven’t given my consent.’

  ‘You must.’ His gaze was intent. ‘Rowena, I beg you, we don’t have time for all that. Marry me. Today. I need to make sure you are safe and I can best do that if you are my wife.’

  Rowena’s breath caught, the seriousness of his expression told her that Eric truly meant to marry her. Even as she was conscious of a tiny bubble of excitement rising inside her, she repressed it. Fresh from the convent, she wasn’t ready to give her consent to marrying him. It was far too soon. She thought she’d have days, maybe weeks in which to decide. ‘Today? You would marry me today?’

  He gave her a soft smile and put his palm to her cheek. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Eric, it’s far too soon.’ She returned his smile, she trusted him. Eric was no tyrant. ‘You won’t force my agreement.’

  ‘I am afraid that I must.’

  Rowena stiffened. ‘Eric?’

  He grimaced. ‘I must. Rowena, you will marry me today.’

  ‘No.’

  He looked as though she had slapped him across the face. ‘Rowena, you don’t dislike me. I swear I will care for you.’

  ‘But my parents—I thought that if we did marry, they would witness our wedding. I’d hoped—’

  ‘We can’t delay.’ Holding her fast by the hand, Eric towed her relentlessly up the stairs. ‘You need fear nothing. The marriage will be legal and binding in every respect. Father Peter will be honoured to marry you and there will be witnesses.’

  ‘Sir Guy, Helvise and Alard?’

  ‘Exactly. We’ll marry in the solar, come on.’

  Rowena’s head was in a whirl, there was too much to take in. One moment she was worrying that Eric was going to take serious hurt and the next he was dragging her upstairs for their wedding. In the solar he releas
ed her and looked down at her, mouth grim.

  ‘Eric, why can’t we wait for my parents to join us?’

  He pushed back his hair. ‘It is for your safety.’ His chest heaved. ‘Rowena, I didn’t want to alarm you, but I believe the archer in the chase is the same man as the one who approached with those horsemen just now. And I believe you were his target.’

  ‘Me?’ Her jaw dropped. ‘But why should anyone want to kill me? Why?’ Even as Rowena spoke, the answer flashed through her mind. ‘You think my cousin is responsible.’

  Eric folded his arms across his chest. ‘Who else?’

  ‘Eric, it is true Sir Armand wants Father’s land, but he wouldn’t kill me for it!’

  ‘Could you swear to that? Lord Faramus made it plain he loathes the man.’ He gave her a rueful grin and stepped closer, so close that she had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. ‘I blame myself. I had plans to make enquiries about Sir Armand, but some wench I know was taking up all my time. Demanding to be courted. Begging for my kisses.’ He ran his fingers softly down her cheek.

  ‘I did not beg!’

  He grinned. ‘You did, you know. In town, those big blue eyes were begging for a kiss all afternoon.’

  Rowena had glanced at his mouth before she realised that he was trying to distract her from thinking about her cousin. And he was succeeding. Her heart warmed. Bless him, he didn’t want her to worry. Pointedly, she took a step back. She needed to think.

  ‘Sir Armand...’ she breathed. ‘He was trying to kill me.’ It was horrible to contemplate, and yet all too plausible. Chillingly so.

  ‘It would be dangerous to ignore the possibility that you are his target. Certainly he wants to prevent our marriage. He will not succeed. As my wife, you will be mine to protect. Rowena, your parents have given their blessing to our union. We marry today.’

  Rowena heard footsteps, someone was hurrying up the stairs. Helvise entered, immediately followed by Sir Guy and Alard. Rowena stared at Eric, dazed by the speed of events.