The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Merrick drew back, a look of complete disgust on his face.

  His voice nearly gone, Henry choked back a sob of anguished despair. “Can you so easily believe I’d betray you? Do you truly think me so completely without honor?”

  Merrick shouted for the guard to open the door.

  “For the love of God, Merrick, you have to believe me!” Henry cried as the massive door creaked open. “They’re conspiring against you—and against the king, too! Once they have Tregellas, they’re going to lead a rebellion.” He raised his shackled hands and clasped them together, pleading. “Wait for Ranulf. For God’s sake, Merrick, wait for Ranulf!”

  Merrick went out without a backward glance and the door clanged shut behind him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THOUGH SHE WAS MINDFUL OF Brother Paul, who’d insisted on coming with them to Tintagel, Constance nudged her horse to a slightly faster walk as she, Ranulf, the priest and their armed escort rode through the narrow valley leading to the earl’s fortress. In the near distance she could see large stone walls whitened with lime and an arched gate flanked by square towers.

  At least the weather was good; had it been otherwise, she would have had more difficulty convincing Brother Paul to let her leave the monastery. Even so, the cool breeze coming off the sea whipped her cloak about her, and poor Brother Paul, farther back on his donkey, looked as if he was shivering.

  She raised her voice to call out to Ranulf, so that the knight riding in front of her could hear her above the wind and the waves crashing against the cliffs. “Those are the outer defenses?”

  Ranulf let his horse drop back until he was beside her. He nodded. “That gate guards the bridge to the island.”

  “It seems a very defensible place.”

  “And an easy place to which to lay siege,” Ranulf answered, clearly not overly impressed. “One need only block that gate and set up a blockade, and you could starve out the garrison in a few weeks.”

  Constance hadn’t considered that aspect of the location. “Then why would the earl choose such a place for a fortress?”

  “Can you not guess, my lady?” Ranulf asked with a sardonic smile.

  “Because King Arthur was born in Tintagel?” she ventured. Like anyone who’d been in Cornwall for more than a week, she was well versed in the tales recorded by Geoffrey of Monmouth about the legendary king.

  Ranulf’s smile became more natural. “Exactly.”

  “Richard wasn’t born in Cornwall.”

  “No, but this place does convey a certain fame by association. Richard is an ambitious man.”

  “I hadn’t considered Tintagel in that light.” She gave Ranulf a wary glance. “How ambitious is the earl? Do you think he’ll ever rebel against his brother?”

  “No.”

  Constance recalled her husband’s fears. “Merrick thinks he might.”

  “Merrick sees danger around every bush and shrub, my lady. And in truth, given that he’s the lord of a great estate, he must be prepared for war. I have no such responsibilities, so I can afford to think of conflict only in terms of whether or not I may gain an estate. Merrick must think in terms of protecting what he already possesses.”

  By now they’d reached the outer gate. Ranulf identified their party, and the gates swung open to allow them to enter. From there, it was a rather precarious ride across the narrow bridge and through yet another gate before they entered the main yard, which was a-bustle with servants and soldiers, an indication that the earl was in residence.

  Brother Paul looked about him, both amazed and impressed. Meanwhile, Ranulf swung down from his horse and hurried to assist Constance, who didn’t refuse his help. She wasn’t feeling sick or dizzy, but she wasn’t about to risk swooning.

  Ranulf called for a groom and issued a few brief orders to his men. He spoke to the groom when he appeared, then returned to Constance. “It seems we’ve arrived at a good time. The nobles are gathered in the hall. I was afraid Merrick might be out hunting or otherwise away from the castle.”

  “Let’s not waste another moment,” Constance said, heading for the large building that had to be the hall.

  As they entered, Constance paid no heed to the size of the chamber, or the banners hanging from the beams, or the tapestries. Her attention was on the group of men seated and standing near the hearth at the far end.

  “Constance!”

  Merrick shoved his way through the group and rushed toward her, a smile of such joy on his face, she could scarcely believe it was the same man.

  And then she was in his arms, engulfed in his embrace. “Constance,” he whispered. “You’re alive! Praise God, you’re alive!”

  “I suggest you loosen your hold and let her breathe,” Ranulf remarked behind them. “She’s not quite completely recovered.”

  Merrick gasped and quickly let go of her.

  “I have a slight ache in my head, that’s all,” Constance assured him, thrilled by this reception.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Merrick murmured as his gaze searched her happy face.

  Ranulf tapped Merrick on the shoulder and nodded at the group of men watching them. “Have we interrupted a counsel?”

  Merrick forced his attention away from Constance. “Yes. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

  Ranulf didn’t immediately follow. “Where are Lord Carrell and Lord Algernon?”

  Constance quickly surveyed the gathering, seeking their villainous relatives. She couldn’t see the uncles, but a frowning Kiernan was among the group, his father beside him.

  Merrick’s brow furrowed. “They were here.”

  “They can’t be permitted to leave,” Ranulf urged. “They’re conspiring against you and the king and the earl.”

  Merrick’s eyes flashed. “What evidence—?”

  “Henry sent me letters that he intercepted bearing Lord Carrell’s signature and seal. They’re damning, Merrick.”

  “Your father often accused his brothers of wanting to steal Tregellas,” Constance added, “and being willing to do anything to get it. I thought it was just his usual raving, or suspicions deepened by his final illness, but I believe Henry has indeed discovered proof of a conspiracy.”

  “Henry attacked—”

  “He was helping me escape from the fighting, trying to take me to a safe place. I wanted to tell you in the monastery, but you left before I was able.”

  Merrick blanched. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

  “Lord Merrick,” called out a tall, well-made man seated on a brightly cushioned chair. “Are you not going to tell us who these people are?”

  Constance had never met the earl of Cornwall, but she was sure she was looking at him now.

  “Yes…no…I must go, my lord,” her husband replied, more incoherent than Constance would ever have believed possible. “You must excuse me.”

  He turned on his heel and ran out of the hall. As Constance and Ranulf stared after him, Kiernan’s voice broke the shocked silence. “That is Lord Merrick’s wife, my lord, and that other fellow is his garrison commander.”

  Pride and anger fired in Constance. Taking Ranulf’s arm, she advanced toward the earl and the other powerful noblemen gathered around him.

  “I am Lady Constance of Tregellas, my lord earl,” she announced. “And this is my husband’s most loyal and trusted friend, Sir Ranulf. We come to bring you proof of a conspiracy against you and your brother the king.”

  A SOUND OUTSIDE THE CHAMBER caught Henry’s ear. Lifting his head, he listened closely. Was it a jailer bringing food? Guards coming to take him to his execution?

  A slow, torturous death more like.

  Maybe it was just the rats. If they were looking for food, they wouldn’t find any here, unless they considered him food.

  Henry curled his lip in disgust, making it bleed again. He licked away the warm, coppery liquid and decided that if he had to die, he wasn’t going to be gnawed by rats first.

  He got to his feet and grabbed the waste buck
et, throwing its contents as far across the small chamber as he could. Thus armed, he flexed his knees, trying to loosen the stiff joints.

  A key turned in the rusty lock.

  Not rats, then. He swiftly put down the bucket within arm’s reach, sat and lowered his head as if he were asleep. If the guards were coming to take him to his death, the moment his shackles were uncoupled from the wall, he’d grab the bucket for a weapon and try to escape. Better to die fighting.

  Lord Carrell came into the chamber, his nose wrinkling with the stench.

  What did he want? Not to confess, of that Henry was certain.

  He hated to think he might die while this blackguard lived, but he showed no sign of despair or dismay when he spoke. “Greetings, my lord traitor. Have you perchance come to join me in confinement?”

  “Still the charming knight, are you?” Lord Carrell retorted, his words slightly muffled by the cloth he pulled out of the sleeve of his long tunic and held over his nose.

  “A true gentleman is always a gentleman, regardless of his circumstances,” Henry replied. “Of course, you’re no gentleman and likely never were, treacherous snake that you are.”

  “Say what you will, I’m free and you’re going to die,” Lord Carrell sneered. “Your former friend is most determined to have you brought before the king’s justice at once. Stand up.”

  Henry’s blood chilled in his veins, but he made no effort to move. “If you don’t mind, my lord, I prefer to remain seated.”

  “Stand up or I’ll have the guard drag you up by your hair.”

  “In that case…” Henry rose, glad his recent activity had eased his stiffness so he didn’t look weak in front of the dishonorable offal before him. “Now, then, my lord, what brings you to my abode?”

  Lord Carrell shook his head. “Men like you never learn, do they?”

  “I’m actually quite accomplished.”

  His enemy’s brows lowered. “You can stop trying to play the merry rogue with me. It’s not working. Your friend wasn’t fooled, was he? He still thinks you’re a lying, despicable dog.”

  Henry’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “For now. He’ll discover the truth when Ranulf arrives.”

  Lord Carrell’s eyes flared with surprise. So Ranulf still had not come. He hadn’t had a chance to tell Merrick about the letters, or show him the proof that he—Henry—hadn’t betrayed him. That was why he was still here.

  “My own plans may have gone a little awry, but not so badly as yours, my lord,” Henry said, hoping Ranulf would get there soon. “Alas, my lord, I fear your messenger to your confederates in the north never made it past the boundary of your estate. The poor fellow was intercepted and strongly encouraged to give up his pouch. Then it was sent along to Ranulf. Your plans have been thwarted, my lord, and in a little while, you’ll be here instead of me.”

  “You strutting ass!” Carrell growled. “Do you really think you can defeat me with nothing but a few letters?”

  “Considering what’s in those letters, I’d start praying for mercy right now, if I were you.”

  Carrell’s lip curled. “You’re so very clever, are you?” He began to twist the cloth in his hands until it was like a coiled rope. “How unfortunate for you that all your shrewdness isn’t going to prevent you from succumbing to your wounds before you’re brought before the earl of Cornwall to spread your lies.”

  As he started toward Henry, the younger man lunged for the bucket. He struck Carrell on the side of the head. Carrell staggered sideways, his hand to his face as he pulled a dagger out of his belt. Henry swung the bucket again, striking his enemy’s hand. With a curse, Carrell let go of the dagger, which fell into the fetid straw.

  “Guard! Guard!” he shouted as Henry tried desperately to reach the blade.

  Carrell realized what he was doing and scrambled to get the weapon first. Henry tugged on his chains, paying no heed to the pain in his wrists, but the dagger was too far away.

  The door opened—and Merrick rushed into the room. He instinctively kicked the dagger away from both men.

  “He tried to kill me!” Carrell cried, his cheek red and bruising as he rubbed his equally bruised hand.

  “I was defending myself,” Henry said, panting, as he got to his feet. “I have evidence of his treason.”

  “I know. Ranulf has come.”

  As Henry slumped against the wall with relief, Carrell massaged his left arm. “This alleged proof is a lie!” he exclaimed. “Those letters are forgeries.”

  “Bearing your signature? Stamped with your seal that never leaves your finger?” Henry demanded.

  “Anyone may copy a seal,” Lord Carrell snarled, his complexion gray and his lips turning blue. “He’s lying, I tell you! Trying to save himself!”

  “That will be for the king to decide, but I fear he will not take your side, my lord,” Merrick said. “There is too much evidence against you, including the word of Sir Henry.”

  With an enraged snarl, Carrell charged Merrick, trying to push him out of the way so he could get out the door. He might as well have tried to move a mountain. Merrick grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around and pinned Carrell’s arms behind him. “There will be no escape for you, my lord.”

  Carrell grimaced as if in great pain. Then he collapsed in Merrick’s arms.

  Merrick shouted for the guard and when the man came, wide-eyed, the lord of Tregellas laid the unconscious nobleman on the floor. “Fetch help and tell whoever comes to take good care of him. I want this man alive to stand trial. But first, give me the keys to these fetters.”

  The guard fumbled to untie the huge ring of keys from his leather belt, then tossed them to Merrick before he rushed out of the cell.

  “I was afraid you were going to kill me before Ranulf got here,” Henry said, still panting, as Merrick unlocked his chains.

  Merrick looked Henry in the eye. “I might have,” he admitted. He put his shoulder under his friend’s arm. “May God forgive me.”

  Henry leaned on him heavily. “And Constance?”

  “Well. She came here with Ranulf.”

  “Thank God for that. I truly tried to help her, Merrick.”

  “I know,” Merrick replied. “Don’t talk anymore. Brother Paul, a physician, has come from the monastery with Constance and he can tend to you. He’s very skilled.”

  “Good. I think you might have broken a rib or two.”

  “I’m so sorry, Henry. Please be quiet and save your strength.”

  Henry grinned as they started up the steps and out of the dungeon. “I’ll forgive you as soon as you get me some wine.”

  ALTHOUGH SHE WAS IN BED IN A finely appointed chamber, Constance wasn’t asleep. Brother Paul had insisted she rest, and the earl had made it very clear by his peeved expression that he really didn’t want her in the hall as they discussed the treachery of her uncle and Lord Algernon.

  Perhaps he didn’t like it when the queen insisted on being part of her husband’s political discussions, either.

  In truth, she was glad to get away. It was nerve-racking being near Merrick, yet unable to speak to him privately.

  What lie had he told her, what could he have done, that could make such a man sound so remorseful, so anguished? Her mind conjured a host of answers, each more terrible than the next.

  A knock sounded on the door, which creaked open a little. “My lady?”

  God help her, Kiernan. Was he always going to be a thorn in her side, appearing when she least wanted to see him?

  She would feign sleep. She closed her eyes and took deep, slow breaths. She heard the door begin to close….

  “What are you doing outside my bedchamber?” Merrick demanded, his voice a little muffled because he, too, was in the corridor.

  “I came to see Lady Constance,” Kiernan replied, sounding tense but determined. “Will she be all right?”

  “Brother Paul believes she will soon be completely recovered. So now you may go.”

  “I was at the ha
ll moot—”

  “I know. I saw you there.”

  Kiernan drew in his breath sharply. “So help me, my lord, if you’ve taken a mistress—”

  Constance threw back the covers and started to get up. Kiernan had caused her a great deal of trouble, but for the sake of their past friendship, she would help him if she must.

  “I have not taken a mistress. I am too content with my wife to crave another.”

  She froze near the door and held her breath to listen.

  “It was Annice’s decision not to marry the smith’s son,” her husband explained.

  “But Constance looked so—”

  “Constance knows why I made that decision. More than that, I will not say.”

  “If you ever hurt her, my lord—”

  “I would rather die than cause her pain.” Merrick’s voice grew accusing. “What about you, Kiernan? Are you a spiteful man? Would you destroy a mill to ease your wounded pride, no matter who might suffer?”

  “No, by God, I wouldn’t!” Kiernan cried, and if ever a man sounded truly aghast at an accusation…

  “Constance thought you wouldn’t stoop to such an act. Neither do I.”

  There was a moment’s silence, and she would have given much to be able to see them instead of only listen.

  “Our estates adjoin, Kiernan, and I hope for peace between our families. I know that you care a great deal for Constance, and that she was glad of your friendship. No man knows what the future holds, and she may have need of friends in the days to come. It would do my heart good to think she has one in you.”

  “I…my lord…I will always be her friend,” Kiernan stammered, obviously as taken aback as she by Merrick’s words. “If she needs anything…anything at all…she has but to ask.”

  What future was Merrick talking about? Why did he think she would need a friend?

  “I believe I’ve misjudged you, my lord,” Kiernan said.

  “Others have done so before,” her husband answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to see my wife.”