Muriel couldn’t believe what Nicholas had just done for her. She was so happy, she felt like kissing him.
“Take a bite. It is exquisite,” he said, holding a spoonful of the tart up to her mouth. She opened her mouth and he put it in, and their eyes stayed locked the entire time.
“Mmmmm,” she said, as he pulled the spoon away. She licked her lips and saw him staring at her mouth. “I can see now why you wanted Henry in the kitchen. He has a true skill with cooking. I can also see why you crave tarts.”
“Aye,” he answered, looking at her mouth. “But it isn’t always tarts I crave.”
“My lord, my lord, you’ll never believe it,” said Roger rushing up to the dais. “I just heard it from the herald and I know you won’t be happy.”
“Roger, what did I tell you about this nonsense?” asked Nicholas. “Now settle down, take a deep breath, and start over.”
Muriel watched Nicholas slowly scoop up another spoonful of his tart and place it into his mouth as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Roger took a deep breath and released it, and was about to start over when the herald blew his straight trumpet, stopping the music and the idle chatter as well.
“What’s all this about?” asked Nicholas, obviously not happy to have his meal interrupted.
“I announce the earl of Pensworth and his son, Lord Reynard,” said the herald.
“What?” Nicholas threw down his spoon and looked over to the door. Muriel saw a man walk into the room in full array – grand clothing, rings on his fingers and a long bright green cape lined with ermine fur. Another noble followed right behind him being escorted into the great hall with an entourage of men behind them. “What the hell are my father and brother doing here?” Nicholas jumped up. “Roger, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried, my lord, honest I did.” Roger just shrugged his shoulders and held up his hands.
“What’s the matter with having your father and brother here?” asked Muriel, picking up his discarded spoon, reaching out for another bite of the tart. “I’d like to meet them.”
“Get up,” he said, dragging her to her feet so forcefully, she dropped the spoon.
“Why?” she asked, confused. “Is the meal over already?”
“Squire, take her to my solar quickly, and lock her inside.”
“Aye, my lord, but why?” asked Roger.
“Don’t ask questions, just do it. Now hurry up, and take the back stairway. Go!” He dragged Muriel around the trestle table and all but pushed her into Roger.
“But I’d like to stay,” she said. “I haven’t finished eating.”
“You’re done, now don’t deny me. I’ll come to the bedchamber later, so wait there for me and don’t leave.”
“All right,” she said, looking at him from the corner of her eye as she went with Roger. She didn’t understand any of this. They’d been getting along so wonderfully, and he’d even arranged to have some of the church’s sheep graze on the land she rented from him. This was a good thing and would bring in some money as well as some wool for her and her brother to live on. But now he acted as if he wanted nothing to do with her.
“Follow me,” said Roger, leading the way. He walked quickly through the corridors, and she almost had to run to keep up.
“What is going on?” she asked, as Roger opened the door and they entered the room. “It’s almost as if Nicholas doesn’t want me to meet his father and brother.”
“It’s more like he doesn’t want them to meet you,” he told her, lighting the bedside candle as they spoke. Muriel noticed it was a candle made of beeswax, and expensive. It wasn’t the smelly tallow candles made of animal fat that she used in her home.
“That makes no sense, Roger. Why not?”
“I can’t really say.”
Muriel could see that Roger was bursting at the seams to reveal some idle gossip. He had a loose tongue and got excited by knowing things that were usually only whispered through the rushes. She knew if she tried a little harder, he’d spill everything to her about the baron that she wanted to know.
“That’s fine. I understand.” She pretended not to care, knowing that would bother him even more than trying to get him to talk. “It’s probably nothing anyway.”
She walked over and played with the bed curtains. They were made from dark blue velvet. Dark and mysterious like the lord of the manor. The whole room was ornate – from the gilded paintings of knights and battle scenes on the walls to the gold chalice sitting atop a shelf next to the mounted array of impressive looking weapons. “You may as well leave now, since you don’t know anything about it.” She turned and walked over to the window and threw back the tapestry and made a big show of taking a deep breath of air.
“Oh, all right, I’ll tell you. But please don’t say anything to Lord Nicholas.” He turned and closed the solar door. “He already thinks I have no restraint where gossip is concerned.”
“Really? That surprises me he would think something like that. And of course I would never repeat a single word you told me. I can be trusted,” she said with a smile and turned to hear his story.
“Lord Nicholas does not like being around his father or brother.”
“Why ever not?” she asked innocently, trying not to sound too anxious. “They looked like nice enough men.”
Roger hurried over to her, talking in a low voice. “It’s jealousy, I tell you. Lord Nicholas always wanted a castle, and his brother who is older will inherit their father’s castle at the death of the old man.”
“Well, I’d think the king would build Nicholas a castle since he is not only a baron, but a baron of the Confederation of the Cinque Ports. That’s a pretty prestigious title. Don’t you agree?”
“I do. But unfortunately, King Edward doesn’t have the money to build a castle right now. You have no idea how expensive that undertaking truly is. Matter of fact, he’s even borrowed money from his barons in order to fund his overseas campaigns.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “So is that why only the baron and portsmen with ships are free from taxes and not the merchants in town?”
“That’s right. King Edward needs every shilling he can get, and that’s why not everyone in New Romney is tax exempt. Only those who lend their ships to him in war.”
“But what does this have to do with Nicholas not getting along with his father and brother?”
“I’m just saying – Nicholas is jealous of his brother, and his father doesn’t think he’s achieved enough in life.”
“Were there just the two siblings?” she asked curiously, turning back and running her hand over the beautiful tapestry as she spoke.
“Nay. There are three brothers. But the youngest one is from the earl’s mistress. I thought you knew that.”
“Nay, why would I? So what happened to his other brother? Does he live nearby?”
The squire looked at her as if she’d gone daft. “Muriel, you ate your meal next to him today.”
“No, I didn’t,” she objected. “I sat between Lord Nicholas and Brother Germain.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, my! So are you saying Brother Germain is Nicholas’s brother?”
“Half-brother. The third born, and illegitimate, and that is why he went into the friary.”
“Aye,” she said in thought. “I suppose the third child normally does end up there. Especially if he’s a bastard. But what, pray tell, does any of this have to do with me?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I think Nicholas is embarrassed that you’re here and sitting at his side at his table.”
“Why? That’s ridiculous. I’m only his clothier. I’m sure he’ll explain it to his family.”
“Hired help doesn’t usually sit above the salt,” he pointed out, and she knew it was true.
“Roger, are you saying . . . does Lord Nicholas . . . he couldn’t possibly . . .”
Roger just nodded his head. “He likes you. A lot. And of course his brother and father will neve
r approve. Nicholas is from nobility and any woman he marries has to be of noble blood as well.”
“Marries?” She laughed. “You almost sound as if you think we’re getting married. I assure you, our relationship is one of business only.”
“Is it?” Roger just looked at her and raised a brow. “I have to go back to the great hall now, my lady, so please don’t leave this room.”
“Roger! Stop referring to me as my lady. I’m only the daughter of a merchant and don’t appreciate you trying to show humor in this situation.”
“Did I call you my lady?” Roger looked as if he really didn’t remember. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It just must have slipped out.”
He left the room, and Muriel felt her body shaking. This was the second time today someone had called her my lady. And Nicholas was the other person – who had thankfully stopped himself in midsentence.
She walked back over to the window and looked down to the courtyard. A knight and his lady exited the great hall, and she marveled at the beautiful gown and headpiece the woman wore, and also the elegant tunic trimmed in fur amidst the array of shiny weapons that were donned by the man.
A falconer strolled out of the mews, placing a falcon on the arm of the lady, and a stableboy walked by guiding one of the finest horses she’d ever seen in her life. Mummers and minstrels strolled through the courtyard, and the knight threw coins at their feet in appreciation for the entertainment. She gazed out past the stone well and the huge orchard with many varieties of fruit trees, up to the battlements of the manor where the guards were switching their posts.
Everything here was so grand, that it really was a small version of a castle. She remembered how Cecily had hinted that there could be something between her and the baron, and now Roger did the same as well.
Could everyone see something that she couldn’t? And could this whole thing be an omen? “Lady . . . Romney,” she said softly, testing the title on her tongue. Her mother had always said she’d marry someone handsome, strong, protective, and very rich someday. Could a mere merchant’s daughter really end up as a baron’s wife? And should she – a woman who had lost almost everything in the last week – even be thinking this way in the first place?
Chapter Ten
“Father, and Brother, to what do I owe this surprise visit?” Nicholas walked up to greet his family, having a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Romney, call us by our titles as you should,” growled the earl of Pensworth.
“Aye,” echoed Nicholas’s brother.
Nicholas took a deep breath and released it. “Earl Pensworth, Lord Reynard, so nice to see you. Please, come join us for a meal.”
“You’re eating now?” His pompous brother, Reynard, strutted up to the dais, looking down at their half-brother. “Brother Germain, why is the meal now instead of tonight as is proper? Is this how it’s done in a mere manor house these days?” He looked over to Nicholas and smiled.
“It is what the baron ordered,” replied the monk.
“Who were you sharing a trencher with?” asked his father, walking behind the dais and sitting down in Nicholas’s armed chair.
“Yes, who was that wench?” Reynard sat in the chair vacated by Muriel. “Comely, but dressed rather simply, I noticed.”
“That was Muriel Draper, the merchant’s daughter from the village.” Brother Germain so eagerly volunteered the information.
“A commoner sitting at your dais?” snapped his father, sitting suddenly upright with his back rigid. “Nicholas, addled decisions such at that is the reason why you don’t have a castle to your name.”
“Baron Nicholas,” he made sure to say. “And while I may not have a castle, I do have a title given to me by the king himself that I have earned. My title is Lord of New Romney and Baron of the Cinque Ports if I must remind you. I am a landowner of hundreds of acres as well. Now tell me, where is mother? Nicholas hoped to change the subject.
“No women came with us on our travels,” said the earl, taking a bite of the prime cut of meat right off of Nicholas’s trencher. “Besides, she is ill.”
“Ill?” This alarmed Nicholas. “Is it something to be concerned with?”
“Nay, she’ll be fine,” said his father with a wave of his hand.
“She’s back in Pensworth with my wife and children,” said Reynard. “That is, she’s with the only grandchildren our parents will ever have, and also the only future heirs to the Vaughn estate.”
“Stop it,” said Nicholas. “While we know Brother Germain won’t have heirs – even if they were legit, I’m certain I will some day.”
“Hah!” Reynard laughed and put his feet up on the table, sucking down some wine. “You’ve dismissed all the ladies we’ve sent your way. So who will you be marrying . . . that merchant’s daughter?” He and his father laughed, and even Germain smiled.
“As Baron of the Cinque Ports, the king has given me permission to make my own choice in marriage. So, aye, if I choose to marry a commoner, than so be it.”
The earl slammed his hands on the table and got to his feet. “You always were the defiant one of all my sons,” he snapped. “Well, I’m your father, and I don’t agree. Nicholas, you are five and twenty years of age now, and have never been married. It is time you marry, but you must marry within your status. That is, a noblewoman. It’s the proper thing to do. The House of Vaughn has not been sullied in generations and I won’t have you doing it now.”
“Oh really.” Nicholas looked over to the illegitimate monk when he said it. If anyone sullied the family name, it was his father, not him. Nicholas didn’t want to have this conversation with his family again. And he felt relieved that the alliance his father had made, betrothing him to a baby years ago hadn’t worked out. By the time the girl was of marrying age, she was already dead. He needed to change the conversation quickly. “The trade fair as well as my banquet isn’t for a month yet,” said Nicholas. “Why are you here so soon?”
“We’ve come early to see how your port operates and to see how you plan for a banquet. We also came to do a little trading on the docks. We heard some elaborate foreign trade ships were spotted crossing the channel, and we plan on bringing back grain, spices, and weaponry to Pensworth that’ll raise some noble eyebrows.”
“This is my port, and as baron, I have first choice of any goods that are imported,” Nicholas explained.
“If you can outbid us, brother, than so be it,” sneered Reynard.
Nicholas didn’t want to have to bid for goods against his own family. While he had just as much money as them, they’d drive the price up and he’d end up spending more in the end. They probably came here just to spite him since they knew he dropped more money on fine imported goods than any baron up and down the coast.
He leaned forward, putting his hands on the table, and spoke in a low voice so the rest of the occupants in the room wouldn’t hear him.
“Take your stinking boots off my table, Brother. And Father, I’ll not listen to you and your demands in my own home.”
He turned to leave, and heard Reynard from behind him.
“Going to go bed that merchant’s daughter now?” he chuckled. “After all, the noble ladies aren’t to your liking since you truly belong in the middle class.”
“He’d better not bed her, and certainly not marry her,” warned his father. “If he plants his seed in her and I end up with a bastard grandchild of a mere merchant, I’ll be the brunt of every jest back in Pensworth.”
“You can stay in the west wing chamber while you’re here,” Nicholas said without turning around. “Sir Stanwick will escort you.”
“Of course, my lords, let me show you to your chamber,” he heard Sir Stanwick say as he stormed away.
He took the steps two at a time, getting to his solar just as his squire was leaving.
“My lord? You are here already?” asked Roger.
“Sleep in the great hall tonight, and try to keep my father and brother away from my
door,” ordered Nicholas, angrier than hell because of the turn the night had taken. He’d not have them coming into his home stirring up trouble. They had no right nor power here, and he’d have to just remind them of it.
If he wanted to sleep with a merchant’s daughter, then he would! He entered the room and shut the door – sliding the bar hold in place. He slowly turned around to see Muriel standing there looking like an angel.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, as he walked toward her. “Is there trouble with your family?” She laid a gentle hand on his arm as he approached her.
His gaze fastened to her hand and slowly traveled up her arm. He wanted her. Desperately. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was attracted to her, or because his father and brother told him he shouldn’t bed her. Either way, it didn’t matter. Tonight he would make love with the merchant’s daughter, and no one was going to stop him.
Chapter Eleven
Muriel released her hand from Nicholas’s arm and took a step backwards. He had a hungry, dangerous look in his eyes and she felt a tingle run up her spine in an involuntary response to his perusal.
“Lord Nicholas?” she asked meekly, and watched as his hands went to his weaponbelt. He pulled his sword from the scabbard and held it up in the candlelight for a mere second, the glimmer of the metal shining in the dimly lit room. It was long and large and she heard herself gasp at the mere length and strength of his weapon.
“I’m Baron of the Cinque Ports and Lord of New Romney,” he said, laying his sword on a nearby table.
“Yes, you are,” she said, feeling her heart about beating from her chest. He was scaring her. His power as well as his essence filled the room, leaving her feeling suddenly closed in. She found it hard to breathe. Yet at the same time, his manly presence and his untamed prowess excited her beyond control. She’d never felt this way before.
“No one tells me what I can or cannot do,” he growled. “Do you understand?” His eyes stayed fastened on her as he undid the buckle of his weaponbelt and dropped it to the ground at his feet with a loud thunk.
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