The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Merrick shook his head. “No, Grandpa, I didn’t drown,” he softly, gently answered.

  The earl cleared his throat. “This is all very touching, but I’m tired and thirsty and could use some wine. Shall we retire to your hall, my lord? Your dear wife looks tired, too, and so does this elderly fellow who, I take it, is your grandfather?”

  “I’m perfectly fine!” Peder declared, clinging to his grandson as if he feared he’d disappear again.

  “Constance should rest,” her husband said to him. “So come, Grandpa. Come home with me.”

  “IT’S LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A minstrel’s tale,” Beatrice said as she watched Constance prepare for bed that night. “He’s like a sort of prodigal son, only he wasn’t really. It wasn’t his fault he went away. And then he didn’t dare come back.”

  She sounded almost like the Beatrice of old, but there was a look in her eyes that told Constance her girlish innocence was gone. She was a woman now, and one who would carry the burden of her father’s shame for the rest of her life.

  Until, perhaps, she found someone to take that burden from her, or gladly share it.

  “I’m glad the earl’s put you in our care,” Constance replied. “I can always use your help.”

  “I’m very grateful. Anything I can do to help you, you have but to name it.”

  Constance stifled a little smile, thinking she would welcome another pair of hands or assistance with the servants in a few months, when she would be busy with a new and wonderful concern. But she’d not yet told her husband, so she didn’t want to tell Beatrice, either. “Thank you. I hope you’ll have a fine husband and a household of your own someday.”

  Beatrice’s cheeks reddened and she crossed to the window, looking out at the night sky. “I’ll never marry. I’m the dowerless daughter of traitor.”

  Constance went and put her arm around her cousin’s slender shoulders. “You’re the cousin-by-marriage of the lord of Tregellas. And we’ll gladly give you a dowry.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “I can’t ask that of you.”

  “You’re not. I’m telling you how it will be,” Constance replied with a smile. “If there’s a man you wish to marry and he shares that desire, we’ll do everything we can to make the marriage.”

  “You really are too good to me,” Beatrice whispered as she hugged her cousin.

  A deep, slightly husky male voice interrupted. “Have we not had sufficient tears today?”

  Constance looked over her shoulder at her husband standing on the threshold of their bedchamber. Whatever his name was, the very sight of him made her heartbeat quicken and her body warm with desire.

  “It was a rather unusual homecoming,” Constance remarked with a seductive little smile that, judging by the look that came to her husband’s face, had exactly the effect she was aiming for.

  Beatrice hurried to the door. “I’ll leave you now,” she murmured, then she ran from the room, weeping.

  “I regret that the sight of me makes Beatrice burst into tears,” Merrick remarked as he came farther into the room.

  “She’s rightly upset about all that’s happened and worried about her future. I told her we would provide her with a dowry.”

  “We will?”

  “She must have one if she’s to marry well. You do want her to marry well?”

  “I would have her wed tomorrow if I could.”

  Constance frowned. “Don’t you like Beatrice? Or is it because of her father’s crime that you—?”

  “I’m the last person to blame a child for the sins of the father,” Merrick said, “and I do like her. It’s just that she always seems to be so anxious or upset when she’s near me. As Henry once so memorably remarked, I don’t bite.”

  “But you are intimidating. And don’t tell me you don’t know that. In fact, my imposing lord,” she said, insinuating her arms around his waist and giving him a very impertinent grin, “I think you’re very well aware of how you’re perceived, and cultivate that reaction, too.”

  Merrick didn’t smile in return. “It does keep people at a distance.”

  “There’s no more need for that, is there?” she wheedled.

  He kissed her lightly, and then he smiled. “No—except for my enemies, or those who might become my enemies.”

  “Of course. You may be as stern and forbidding to them as you like.”

  “I’m glad I have your permission, my lady,” he replied.

  There was something in his response, beneath the jovial banter, that disturbed her. “What is it? Did Earl Richard say something to trouble you?”

  “Not the earl,” Merrick replied as he stepped away from her. “My grandfather had some news for me today. Talek set fire to the mill.”

  Constance sat heavily on the end of the bed. She’d been wrong about that, as she had about so many things…. “Because you dismissed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to find him and bring him to justice.”

  “Justice has already been meted out. Talek’s dead, by my grandfather’s hand. It seems Talek was guilty of other crimes, as well. If my grandfather hadn’t killed him, I would have.”

  Constance looked down at the floor. Talek had been a friend to Peder, too, and if Peder believed Talek guilty, he probably was. “How did Peder find out?”

  “Talek confessed. Then he threatened my grandfather with…” He eyed his wife speculatively. “How much do you know about the smuggling around Tregellas?”

  “Enough to guess what Talek’s threat might have been.” Talek likely claimed he would expose Peder’s illegal activities. “But the taxes really aren’t fair and—”

  “I’ll do all I can to change that.” Merrick’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction. “But if my patrols have no luck catching tin smugglers, well…this is a difficult coast to guard.”

  Constance regarded him warily. “Are you telling me, my lord, that you’d let tinners get away with breaking the king’s law?”

  “As I have broken the law against participating in tournaments, perhaps?” he countered, smiling at her surprise. “My love, not only would I, I have. Remember that I grew up here with a grandfather who’s been smuggling for years. I know every cove, every beach. Which ones they use, which ones they don’t. So if my men have had no luck…” He shrugged, and grinned with roguish delight.

  Constance laughed merrily and shook her head. “There may be no end to the things I’ll discover about my husband.”

  “But those are the only laws I’ll turn a blind eye to,” he said firmly, sounding more like the man who’d arrived in Tregellas all those days ago.

  “Those are the only ones I’d care to see broken,” she agreed. “Although, if I had my choice, I’d prevent you from going to tournaments. You could get hurt.”

  “But then you’ll tend to me, won’t you?”

  “Well, my lord, when you put it like that…”

  Instead of smiling at her response, however, he remained grave as he took hold of her hands. “Peder had other news. It seems Eric was caught trying to force another girl in Truro. He’s in prison there now.”

  “Good!”

  “At least he didn’t get Annice with child.” Merrick’s face clouded for a moment. “I didn’t mean to speak of such matters tonight.” He let go of her hands and patted his tunic. “I’ve brought you a gift to…to make up for many mistakes.”

  “I made mistakes, too.”

  “Not like mine.” He lowered his voice and spoke in a seductive purr. “Will you come and get it?”

  She gave him a sultry smile in return. “It’s in your tunic, not your breeches?”

  “Your impertinence continues to astonish me, my love,” he replied with that devastating little smile that nearly made her forget what she was about.

  “Your body continues to astonish me,” she whispered as she insinuated her hand into his tunic.

  “Beware. It has teeth.”

  She stopped and looked swiftly up at his face. His smil
ing, handsome face. “But it shouldn’t hurt you,” he said. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she replied as she reached farther inside, taking her time and moving her hand over far more of his broad chest than was strictly necessary until she felt something enshrouded in velvet cloth. She drew it out and regarded him quizzically, then unwrapped a beautiful comb of horn, the top wonderfully carved with tiny flowers.

  “Oh, Merrick, it’s lovely!” she cried, running her fingertip over the carvings.

  “May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  She gave him a puzzled look, then she understood and, smiling, went to the stool at her dressing table. He followed and began to comb her thick, luxurious hair that he’d admired from afar all those years ago.

  Leaning back, Constance closed her eyes. “I hope you really don’t mind Beatrice being here. She’s much quieter than she used to be.”

  “It’s not her chatter that troubles me. She can be quite amusing. I’m just not looking forward to all the young swains we’ll have to accommodate when they come seeking her out. She’s becoming a very beautiful, charming young lady.”

  Constance opened her eyes, to see her husband’s rugged chin. “Beautiful? I know she’s a pretty girl, but…”

  Merrick leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You see her with the eyes of a cousin. I see her with a man’s eyes, and believe me, my beloved, she’s fast turning into the sort of woman men will fight over. Have you never noticed how much she resembles you?”

  In truth, Constance hadn’t. “Perhaps she does, a little,” she mused. “Her hair is darker than mine and her eyes a deeper blue.”

  “No woman will ever be as beautiful to me as you are, but she’s going to be very lovely indeed. I would rather not have lovesick young men coming to blows in our hall.”

  “Perhaps we should think of finding a husband for her ourselves then,” Constance proposed.

  “Kiernan seemed quite attentive during the evening meal.”

  Constance turned so fast, the comb caught in her hair. “Ow!” she cried, putting her hand to her head as she gave him a dumbfounded look. “Kiernan?”

  “What’s wrong, my love?” Merrick replied as he worked to extricate the comb without snapping any of the teeth. “He’s young, he seems honorable and an alliance with his family would be advantageous.”

  “He’s just…he’s just not the sort of man who’d be right for Beatrice,” she said, knowing her excuse was feeble, but certain in her heart that Kiernan couldn’t make Beatrice happy.

  “What sort of man do you think Beatrice should marry, besides a very patient one?”

  Although his tone was teasing, Constance answered seriously. “A man who’ll love her as she deserves to be loved.”

  “Have you any candidates in mind?”

  She hadn’t before, but now one came to her, and although she surprised herself with her instinctive choice, the moment his name popped into her head, she felt it was right. “Ranulf.”

  That took Merrick aback—literally. “Ranulf?”

  “She thinks he’s hiding a broken heart. That’s why he’s so cynical about love and romance.” Constance gave her husband another insolent grin. “There is something about a man with a secret.”

  “She may be willing, but Ranulf? He always claims he’ll never love any woman well enough to wed.”

  “And you have no idea why?” Constance asked with a puzzled frown.

  Merrick kissed the tip of her nose. “If I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t. Even Henry can’t get him to say anything more than that.”

  “Well, if he’s not willing, what about Henry?” she suggested. “I think I’ve been very wrong about him.”

  Her husband sighed and his expression grew troubled. “As was I. I fear Henry’s never going to forgive me for accusing him of betraying me and trying to do you harm.”

  “I’m sure he will, in time.”

  “I’ll live in hope,” he said as he sat on their bed. “I wish I’d told both my friends the complete truth long ago.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner,” she said as she sat beside him. “It would have saved me much distress. Promise me there’ll be no more secrets between us.”

  He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I promise.”

  “So now I’ll tell you my secret.”

  Worry darkened his features. “Your injury isn’t more serious than Brother Paul—?”

  “I’m with child.”

  Merrick stared at her incredulously.

  “You’re going to be a father,” she said, smiling with all the happiness she felt.

  His eyes bright with joy, Merrick cried out her name and hugged her close. “I can’t believe it!”

  She pushed him away a bit so she could breathe. “Have we not made love often enough?”

  “Yes, but…oh, Constance, my love, my heart! I don’t deserve this, too!”

  “Of course you do,” she replied, pretending to be indignant. Then her expression softened, and so did her voice. “You deserve to be happy, husband, for the sake of all that you’ve endured, the burden you bore, the pain you suffered. I’ll do all I can to help make you happy, God willing, for the rest of my life.”

  “God be praised, you’ve already given me more than I ever hoped to have. Constance, this is wonderful! I’m so happy. And you—are you well? Should we send for Brother Paul? Or a woman skilled with such things? A physician?”

  She put her fingertips against his lips to stem his anxious questions. “I’ve never felt better or happier,” she assured him, smiling and loving him with all her heart. “I’ve found such love and contentment as I never hoped to have. Now, please, stop talking, my dearest, and make love to me.”

  His deep, full-bodied laugh filled their chamber. “That’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been asked to be quiet.”

  Then his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper as he leaned close to kiss her. “Since I want nothing more than to please you, I’m eager to obey both requests, my most beloved lady.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4587-1

  THE UNWILLING BRIDE

  Copyright © 2005 by Margaret Wilkins.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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