“Bring the priest,” he boomed. “Do it now before the lady and I change our minds.”
Pulled away from the table and his fourth cup of cheap wine, Audric had never been forced to move so fast in his entire life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She wasn’t hungry.
After the hasty mass performed by the priest from Jedburgh, there was much food and drink to be had. It was surprising, considering the English armies had to bring their provisions with them, and that included sides of aged beef that had been carefully packed in straw to keep the temperature even and the meat dry. It was very dry, in fact, so much so that the men had taken to cutting it up and boiling it in a large cauldron they’d found on the grounds of Monteviot. The smells of meat were heavy all over the compound.
But Rhoswyn wasn’t hungry for it. She wasn’t hungry for anything, nor was she thirsty. Shock had seen to that. She sat next to her new husband at the bigger of the two tables in the hall of Monteviot, watching the English and the Scots feast on the boiled beef. Next to her, Troy – as she’d been reminded of his name by the priest who’d married them – wasn’t eating or drinking very much either, and he’d barely spoken to her through the meal. He was more intent on speaking to his Sassenach brothers and cousins, men he’d introduced to Rhoswyn but she’d forgotten their names as soon as he’d told her. The night was disorienting enough without having to remember names that would have no meaning to her.
She just wanted to get this night over with.
Artis and Dunsmore, her cousins, had brought her bedroll and possessions into the hall. They’d been strapped to her big black horse, which had been stabled for the night. Now, the big leather satchel and her neatly-bound bedroll sat next to her feet. On her right, Keith tried to speak to her now and again, but she ignored him. She truly didn’t have anything to say to the man. She was torn between being furious with him and not wanting him to leave her. But she knew, after this night, that her life would change and seeing her father would be rare. She missed him already. God, she just wasn’t prepared for any of this.
But facts were facts. This was her life to be.
Therefore, Rhoswyn supposed she had no choice but to make the best of it. So much that Troy had said to her rang deep – about not shaming their fathers, about doing what had to be done. He’d spoken to her politely, with that beautiful deep voice, and the truth was that he’d soothed her somewhat. The man possessed some kind of magic to do that.
“My lady?”
It took Rhoswyn a moment to realize that the young knights across the table were trying to capture her attention. There were three of them, big men, but their youthful faces belied their age. The oldest couldn’t have seen any more than twenty or twenty-one summers. Two of them were obviously brothers, with black hair and blue eyes, while the third one had a granite-square jaw and dark blond hair. When they saw that they had her attention, the younger black-haired knight smiled.
“My lady, we were wondering,” he said. “Where did you learn to fight? You were very skilled in your battle against Troy today.”
It was a polite question asked by a young Sassenach who had evidently had too much to drink. They were smiling, their eyes bright, and they seemed rather animated. But Rhoswyn was embarrassed to be the object of their attention and she lowered her gaze, quickly, hoping that if she didn’t give them an answer, that they would leave her alone. She didn’t realize that Troy had heard the question and now his focus was on the young knights.
“You will address her as Lady de Wolfe,” he growled. “And clearly, she learned to fight well enough that she managed to catch me off-guard. But I promise you that had you been in my position, the same thing would have happened. Or worse.”
Corbin had been the one asking the questions and he grinned as Troy admitted his shameful defeat. “I am not so sure,” he said. “I would not have faltered as you did.”
“Is that so? You have a big mouth and an even bigger imagination, de Bocage. She would have run you through before you would even realize what had happened.”
Corbin laughed, knowing he was provoking Troy but a little too young to care. “Untrue,” he said. “As soon as she revealed herself to me, I would have pushed her back by the face. ’Tis a bold wench who would challenge a man.”
He was talking as if Rhoswyn couldn’t hear him and his words were a challenge in themselves. Rhoswyn’s head came up and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the arrogant young knight’s assertion. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“’Tis a fool who believes he can best me,” she said, entering the conversation. “Have ye ever fought a woman before?”
Corbin’s smile faded as Troy’s new wife spoke up. “Never,” he said. “I would never fight one.”
“How do ye know ye havena? Ye could have fought a very good one and ye just never knew it.”
“And you could have been beaten by her,” Troy put in for his prideful young friend. “In fact, you have probably been beaten by many women, Corbin. Hell, with the way you fight, my mother could beat you if she had a mind to.”
That brought laughter from those around them and Corbin frowned deeply. “No woman can beat me.”
Troy looked at Rhoswyn, who looked at him with a rather startled expression. Startled that the man was so close to her, his face now just a few inches from hers. Of course, she’d been sitting next to him all evening but only when he looked at her did she realized just how close he’d been.
Those eyes… she’d been right. They were hazel, but a very pale shade of the color that looked gold in certain light. It was the most beautiful color she’d ever seen. And his lips… he was smirking, but it wasn’t at her. It was at the knight across the table. When he spoke, there was some appreciation in his tone.
“This one can,” he said.
Before Rhoswyn could reply, he turned away and found his cup of wine. Rhoswyn watched him for a moment, unsure if there was approval in his voice when he’d spoken. She had no way of knowing; she didn’t know the man. She’d just met him and she’d just married him. He was her husband, but he was a stranger.
Was it possible that, somehow, the warrior in him was the least bit impressed with her?
“It is impossible for her to best me,” the young knight scoffed, disrupting her train of thought. “No offense intended, Lady de Wolfe, but you caught your husband off-guard. He has admitted that. It is the only reason you won. Do you know that Troy de Wolfe can tear men apart with his bare hands in battle? When his anger is roused, you have never in your life seen such a warrior. It was fortunate you caught him when you did. Otherwise, he would have torn you to shreds.”
Troy thumped on the table, loud enough to get his attention. “Cease your prattle,” he said. “It is over with. Change the subject and speak of something else.”
Corbin backed off, but not enough. He put his cup to his lips and drank deeply before speaking.
“If she was my wife, I would put her over my knee,” he said, muffled in the cup. “Now that she is your wife, you can punish her for ramming her knee into your…”
Case slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, forcing a smile at Troy. “He has had too much to drink,” he said. “I will remove him.”
Troy eyed the two brothers. “You had better,” he said. “If that young fool rouses my anger, I will rip his head from his shoulders. Remember that.”
Case knew that Troy wasn’t serious – well, not entirely serious – but he pulled his brother from the table nonetheless, yanking him down the bench to where his father was sitting. Troy fought off a grin as he watched Case explain to his father why they had come to that side of the table, biting off a laugh when Michael smacked his youngest son on the side of the head. Corbin yowled.
“Would ye truly rip his head from his shoulders?”
The soft question came from Rhoswyn. Troy turned to look at her, realizing it was the first thing she’d said to him nearly all night. With a twinkle in his eye, he shook his
head.
“Nay,” he said. “Not really. But it is enough of a threat to move him and his flapping lips away from you. I do apologize if he offended you. He is young and silly, but deep down, I believe he’s a good man. He will grow into himself in time.”
Rhoswyn watched as down the table, Corbin defended himself from his father’s anger. “He reminds me of the young lads that serve me pa,” she said. “They’re like young colts. Wild, playful, and no fear. They’re hard tae tame sometimes.”
Troy nodded. He, too, was watching Case and Michael scold Corbin for his behavior. It occurred to him that it might be better to retreat to the marital chamber now that the evening was deepening and the situation in general was calming. Certainly, the lady was much calmer than she had been earlier, which Troy hoped was a good sign for the night to come. He hadn’t been a bridegroom in eighteen years, not since he married Helene, and he should have been nervous about it. But he wasn’t; he was oddly resigned to it. There was no sense of sexual anticipation, only duty. He had a duty to fulfill.
And so did his new wife.
“Mayhap we should retire for the evening before the situation here gets out of hand again,” he said to her. “It has been a tiring day for us both, I am sure.”
Rhoswyn’s heart began to beat more rapidly, now nervous at what Troy was suggesting. She wasn’t a fool; she knew what a wife’s duty was. Her mother had schooled her on it when she had been about eleven years of age, right before Heather Whitton Kerr had passed away from an ailment in her lungs. That had been a terrible time in life to lose one’s mother, and Rhoswyn hadn’t missed her mother so much as she did at this moment. Wasn’t the woman supposed to be here with her, giving her daughter what comfort she could and last-minute advice?
But there was no comfort and no advice. Rhoswyn was alone in all of this and she grabbed her possessions at her feet and abruptly stood up. As Troy said his farewells to his father and the others, Keith realized that his daughter was about to depart. He turned away from his conversation with his brother and grasped her by the arm.
“Are ye leaving, lass?” he asked.
Rhoswyn nodded her head. She was trying very hard not to look at him, afraid she would embarrass herself with an emotional display.
“Aye,” she said. “He wishes it.”
“Ye mean yer husband?”
“Aye.”
The hand Keith had on her arm gave her a reassuring squeeze. “’Twill be all right, lass,” he murmured. “The Wolfe says that his son is the finest of men. He’ll make a fine husband. Be worthy of him. Obey him and be a good wife.”
She looked at him, then. “If he is a good husband tae me, then I’ll be a good wife tae him.”
Keith shook his head. “Yer husband can do as he wishes,” he said quietly. “Remember that ye’re a Kerr; we hold honor as the most valuable thing there is.”
Rhoswyn looked at him, pointedly. “If that is true, then ye should have told me about yer plans tae marry me off. Ye should have been honest, Pa.”
Keith wouldn’t admit that there was some truth to her words. But he didn’t regret what he’d done or how he’d done it. “’Tis over now,” he said quietly. “Ye’re married tae a de Wolfe now, the most powerful English family on the border. Ye’ll be respected and important now.”
That wasn’t exactly what Rhoswyn wanted to hear. She was about to leave her father, perhaps forever, and she wanted to hear something sentimental and reassuring. But she knew that was too much to ask. Ever since her mother’s death, Keith hadn’t been able to speak on his feelings.
Perhaps it was just as well.
“Think of me once in a while, Pa,” she said as she turned away, her throat tight with emotion. “Think of the daughter ye gave over tae the English.”
“Ye’ll thank me for it someday.”
Rhoswyn wasn’t so sure. All she knew was that she felt she was heading to her doom. As she stood there with her sack and bedroll clutched up against her chest, she realized that Troy was standing next to her, waiting. When she looked at him, uncertainty on her features, he gestured to the hall entry.
“This way, my lady,” he said.
He led and she followed, wandering through a maze of inebriated English soldiers, hearing strains of music somewhere as someone strummed a mandolin. It was a smoky hall, filled with dirty men, and the stench was enough to make her eyes water. But she clutched her possessions to her, terrified, as she followed her new husband from the hall.
They exited into the bailey beneath a clear sky and brilliant stars. The storm that had threatened earlier in the day had blown off somewhere, leaving a crisp evening. As soon as Troy hit the dirt of the bailey, he stopped and turned to Rhoswyn. But she came to a halt because he did, looking at him with suspicious eyes. He tried not to smile at the look on her face, as if waiting for him to do all manner of terrible things to her now that they were out of the hall and alone.
“I was waiting so you may walk beside me,” he said. “I do not expect my wife to walk behind me.”
Hesitantly, Rhoswyn closed the gap, looking the man in the face, wondering if he was really as kind and understanding as he seemed to be. This was the same man she’d beaten in a fight, the same one who had hit her on the side of the head and nearly knocked her senseless. The same man she’d kneed in the groin, as the young English knight had so thoughtfully pointed out. All of those terrible things had happened, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge; at least, on the surface. Who knew what would happen once he got her alone.
She was apprehensive for that moment.
Troy could see the utter anxiety in the woman’s expression. He’d seen it all evening, since the priest had married them. She’d been silent and still all night, hardly moving, and he didn’t think she’d eaten very much, if at all. Not that he blamed her. Perhaps he was old and hardened, so much so that even a marriage didn’t get him too worked up. He had seen nearly forty years; he couldn’t imagine that his new wife had seen half of that. She was young, he was old. She was beautiful and he had wrinkles on his face.
It was going to be an interesting evening.
“My brothers have made up our bedchamber,” he told her as he led her towards the tower. “I cannot vouch for the comfort of the bed, but I know they did what they could. After the siege, there wasn’t much left to work with.”
Rhoswyn was walking beside him but she was about five feet away, clutching her possessions to her chest as she looked around the compound. “This is me first time tae Monteviot,” she said. “I canna see much tae it.”
Troy looked around, too. There was a big stone wall, an oddly large bailey, the tower, outbuildings, and a hall built next to the tower. Most Scottish towers didn’t have a hall, but this one did.
“It is not spectacular, but it is strategic,” he said after a moment. “But I am sure you already know that.”
She nodded. “Me pa said so.”
Troy pointed off to the east. “My father’s seat of Castle Questing is about twelve miles that way,” he said. “My own castle of Kale is five miles to the north, but Monteviot sits close to the English border. It is barely a mile to the south. The reivers that had settled here were making great misery for the English villages.”
They had reached the darkened tower and it loomed over them. But the stench of smoke and death was strong, and Troy reached out to open the entry door that had been repaired from scraps of wood that they could find. He started to go in but noticed that Rhoswyn wasn’t moving. He paused.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
She was looking up at the tall, bulky tower. “The siege,” she said. Then she paused, hesitantly, before continuing. “That smell… me pa said ye were burnin’ men.”
Troy was honest with her; there was no reason not to be. “It was not by choice,” he said. “It was by necessity. The tower was the last holdout; we had control of the bailey, the outbuildings, and the hall, but there were about thirty Scotsmen holed up in the keep. We trie
d to get them out; we even promised to release them unharmed if they would only leave the tower. They refused so we burned them out.”
Rhoswyn understood; she knew battles. She knew how Scotsmen thought. “They would rather die than surrender.”
Troy nodded but he didn’t reply. She seemed to be rather depressed by the thought so it was better to not comment. He reached out a hand to her.
“May I take your baggage?” he asked.
Rhoswyn shook her head, miffed that he would think her so weak. “I’m capable of carryin’ it.”
So much for being polite. Troy led her up to the floor above the small solar, the level that had the two undamaged rooms on it. But the smell of smoke was heavier than usual and when Troy opened the chamber door, he could see why; the hearth had malfunctioned and there was a blue layer of smoke in the room. Coughing, he opened the door and went straight to the hearth that was happily blazing away.
“Damnation,” he muttered, coughing and kneeling down to tend to the chimney. “Did no one check the chimney when they started this blaze?”
Rhoswyn followed him into the chamber, her eyes burning from the smoke, and quickly set her possessions down against the wall. She noticed there was some kind of oil cloth on the mattress, which was lying on the floor, and she picked up the cloth, waving it briskly and driving the smoke out of the room. She coughed, Troy coughed, as they both struggled with the smoke.
“This was not how I’d hoped the chamber to be,” Troy said. “I cannot offer you much comfort, but I’d hoped we’d at least be able to breathe.”
It was meant to be a quip, but Rhoswyn missed the humor completely. She continued to fan, moving a good deal of the smoke out of the door. There were two small windows that someone had covered with oiled cloth, and she ripped the cloth free, letting the air from outside suck into the room.
“The smoke will be gone soon enough,” she said, though she coughed as she said it. “Considerin’ that the rest of the tower smells of smoke, I suppose it willna matter much. There is smoke everywhere.”
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 222
