by Lynn Lorenz
Lord Basil Clayton sat in a chair next to the fire burning in the pit and stared into the flames. Three weeks since he’d agreed to the marriage of his sister. The duke must be most anxious for a wife.
His sister had taken the marriage offer well, and for that he was glad. Perhaps she could be happy at Baymore, and her little Anne also. As her brother, he’d arranged her first marriage and she’d seemed pleased with that one.
Over the course of her brief marriage, she’d written to him of her new husband, that he’d been kind and good, and of her pleasure at the birth of Anne. All good things. She’d never spoken of love and had never expected it, but he knew now she would have preferred a love match.
Wouldn’t we all? Basil snorted. Love? Women’s foolishness!
Aye, there were some who loved each other, but among the nobility marriages were more of necessity and position, than of love. Still, it was true that over time, convenience had become love in some cases.
Basil had seen her married to a younger son of Mayfield, and gone on living his life knowing he’d done well by her, and his responsibility for her was complete.
Then her fool of a husband had been caught in some intrigue against his own brother, the Duke of Mayfield, and in the subsequent fighting he’d been killed. Beth and Anne had been returned to Basil, unhurt, thank God, but her husband’s foolishness had tainted her good name.
The only thing that had saved her and her child from the same fate as her husband was that, before dying, her husband had declared her innocent of all knowing of the plot. Well, that and knowing that if his sister had been harmed in any way, Basil would have gathered his men and demanded justice, if not a small piece of flesh for taking the life of his innocent sister and her child.
He glanced at the tent. Inside Beth and Anne played on the quilts. The child was beautiful, and his sister just as fair.
Basil sighed and closed his eyes.
Around the camp, his men worked, brushing down the horses, gathering firewood for the evening meal, the cook and his helper making sure all was ready, and the guards patrolling the edge of the woods and the road.
“Riders approach!” a cry went up and Basil groaned. What now? Hopefully, some passing merchants, not a gang of thieves.
Beth stuck her head out of the tent. “Basil?” Her gaze searched his then darted toward the road.
“Have no fear, Beth. I’ll see to it.” He rose and straightened his cloak, his hand going to the hilt of his sword hanging at his hip.
After a quick nod, she ducked back in, pulling the drape closed, but he knew Beth.
She’d make her own preparations for safety.
»»•««
“My lady, what is this?” Her lady-in-waiting, Martha, stood from her spot on a cushioned bench. The old woman had been with Beth since Beth was a child.
“We have visitors.” Beth turned, strode to her trunk, and kneeled. After throwing back the lid, she pulled out a dagger and slipped it among the folds of her gown in case she had need of it.
“Put Anne in her crib, Martha.”
Martha moved to the baby, scooped her up in her arms, and placed her in the small crib. “Shhh, sweet Anne,” she crooned.
Beth’s gaze never left the tent’s curtain as her ears strained to hear beyond the heavy canvas of her abode. Little Anne babbled and played with a small cloth doll, but Beth focused all her attention on the happenings outside.
Every muscle in Beth’s body tightened as she strained to hear her brother’s voice call to her either in warning or in welcome. At last, voices raised in greeting, many hooves stomped the ground, and the snorting and whinnying of the horses told her there had to be at least a dozen riders.
It seemed safe, for now. Her grip on the hilt of the blade eased, but she didn’t let it go.
She parted the canvas and peered out.
A large man dismounted, wearing a polished metal chest plate over a richly embroidered tabard, a great sword at his hip, and a helmet that covered most of his head. He removed it and shook out thick brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore a close-cropped beard, and his eyes were the oddest shade of gray.
Was this her duke?
Had Baymore himself come to escort her to his keep?
Heart beating an uncertain rhythm, she scanned him, top to bottom, while she had the chance to look without fear of being seen as too bold. All in all, he pleased her in his looks.
But looks weren’t all, she knew that.
Her brother greeted the man—they clasped arms, then headed toward the fire. A chair was brought out for their guest and placed across from her brother’s seat. The duke’s men spread out among their men, tying their horses to a line, unsaddling, and setting up their own tents nearby.
So, he had come to greet her.
“Is it him, the duke? Come to meet you?” Martha whispered from her post at the crib.
“Shhh. I think it must be him.” She waved her hand for quiet, her gaze still latched onto the man.
Her heart fluttered at the thought of his anxiousness, at his concern for his new bride, and at his good looks—she could not deny that so far he pleased her.
He removed his riding cloak, draped it over the back of his chair, and she got a better look at his form. Strong legs from riding, wide shoulders, and muscles in his arms from carrying a sword. He was no duke in name only, that much she could tell.
Her eyebrows rose as she reached the bulge in his trousers. If she judged right, he had a well-sized maleness. She bit her lips, but a soft giggle escaped.
Ye gods, she missed being with a man. Ashamed to admit to even herself, even though she’d never loved her husband, he’d opened her eyes to the joys of wifely duty. He’d been a kind and good lover, although she had no other experience to judge him by. For his part, he’d taken his time with her, hadn’t hurt her, and had been most affectionate.
She missed being held, being kissed and caressed. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She missed the smell of a man, of his sweat and taste, and the feeling of his manhood entering her. Between her legs her woman’s core clenched, and wetness gathered there.
What would Martha say if she knew her charge had such bawdy thoughts? Or Basil? He’d probably choke on his ale.
With a quiet shudder, she opened her eyes and stared at her next husband, Duke of Baymore. Her belly gave a little flutter, her pulse quickened, and she licked her lips.
He was a fine figure of a man—that she could not deny. After all, he’d come to see her. She looked down and spied the toe of her slipper peeking from beneath the hem of her plain gray wool traveling dress.
“Oh hell!” With a sharp hiss, she spun away from the opening and rushed to her trunk. If he were to see her for the first time, she’d best to make it memorable. She pulled out all of her gowns, tossing them on the rugs laid down to cover the ground until she found the right one.
Holding up the green velvet gown, she looked it over and smiled.
“Martha! Quick, attend me. I cannot meet His Grace in this dress.”
Martha ran to her and helped her undress. Once the new gown was on and arranged, Beth sat on a stool.
“Hurry, Martha. I know we don’t have the fire for the curling iron, but at least brush out my hair!”
Martha snatched the tortoiseshell and boar bristle brush from Beth’s small trunk and went to work on her hair.
»»•««
“So, the duke has sent you as an honor guard?” Basil regarded the man sitting across from him. He’d presented himself and his papers as soon as they’d sat. Basil passed them back to Baymore’s master of arms.
The man certainly looked the part. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t muscle. He looked like a soldier, but his manner and speech said this man was someone’s second or third son, a nobleman by birth, but without lands of his own.
“Aye. His Grace is much concerned for his bride’s welfare. There have been bandits reported on the roads along this stretch. He wasn’t sure how many
men you’d have with you.”
“I will thank His Grace when we meet. I had not heard of the trouble before we left my keep.” Basil smiled.
“And her ladyship? Is she about?” The man strained his neck to catch a glimpse of her.
“She’s in her tent with her child and her maid.”
“Her child?” The master of arms sat up. “I had no idea she had a child?” He frowned.
“Is that a problem?” Basil asked. “His Grace was informed of my sister’s situation and of the child and wrote of his acceptance of them.”
“Indeed, I’m sure he was. It was I who was not informed.” He grimaced. “I should have been told,” he mumbled.
Basil chuckled. “I can see it may change things, Master Marcus. Number of armsmen and such.” He waved a hand. “Indeed, a babe can be much to handle.” He arched an eyebrow at his guest.
“Indeed.” Marcus fell quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Basil wondered what plans circled in the man’s head.
»»•««
Holy hell, a child! Marcus would have to speak with William about this turn of events. He’d known she’d been married before, but news of the child shook him. He swallowed and glanced at the tent.
Wooing a woman was bad enough, he had little experience with that, but now to woo a woman with a child? Was that even possible?
The thought of his failure at his mission made Marcus’s belly sink like a skipping stone under the surface of lake water. One, two, three, and then a great hard plop.
“His Grace bid me to ask if all is well, and if there is anything you and your sister require?”
Lord Clayton tilted his head to one side, watching him through narrowed eyes. A sure sign of distrust. Not good. Had he done something wrong, made some misstep? Perhaps His Lordship saw straight through him to the deceit he and William had planned?
“Your duke is most kind, but there is nothing. Our plan was to break camp on the morrow and make our way to the castle in two days.”
“Break camp?” There wouldn’t be enough time for him to woo the most willing wench in what was left of this day, nor in the morning before camp would be struck and they were on their way. He hadn’t the skill with women for that. The wenches of the keep might have spoken about him, but none of them had led him to their beds.
“It would be a shame to arrive before the keep had been made ready, my lord.”
“Made ready?” Basil shifted in his chair.
“For the arrival of Lady Mayfield, of course. The duke wishes to have the keep prepared to its best for her inspection and approval.”
“Does he?”
“Aye.” Marcus once again looked around the camp. “Where is your sister, Lord Clayton?”
“She will appear soon enough.” His eyes narrowed. “Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong?” Marcus swallowed.
“Aye. You seem anxious to see her, as if you were the husband, not the duke.”
Marcus tried to keep his expression calm, not to betray his shock at being found out. He’d have to step carefully if he wanted to play this game. Basil of Clayton was no fool, and if Basil suspected there was more to it, their plan would be finished, and Baymore with it.
“I assure you, we are all, down to the lowest villager, anxious to see our duke’s new bride.” He gave Basil a full smile. “I cannot deny I haven’t fallen prey to the suspense either.” He shrugged.
“You are not married?”
“No. I am master of arms. A soldier in the duty of His Grace.”
“One can be married and in service, can they not? Or does your duke forbid it?”
“He does not.” Marcus shrugged again. “I’ve never found…the time. Or the woman.” He looked up into Basil’s eyes.
“Woman, eh? Pity,” Basil muttered under his breath.
“What?” Had that been a trace of disappointment in the lordship’s voice?
“Nothing.” Basil waved his hand and looked away.
“And yourself? There is no Lady Clayton?” Marcus began to wonder if Lord Clayton had something in common with His Grace and Lord William other than his nobility. Basil had to be in his mid-thirties, if not nearing forty, despite his youthful looks. He should have married long ago.
“No.” Basil’s teeth snapped shut on the word, telling Marcus there would be no more discussion on that topic.
The two men fell into an uncomfortable silence as they watched the fire. As the sun set, the cook called for the evening meal. A table, carried by four armsmen, was set up near the fire. Benches were then placed alongside it, and two lanterns on each end of it to light the diners as they ate.
Basil stood and held out his arm toward the table. “It’s time to sup. You will join my sister and me at our table.”
Marcus nodded. “Thank you, Lord Clayton, for your hospitality.” Due to Marcus’s position, Basil didn’t have to invite him, so he was fortunate, he supposed. It would give him some time to speak with Lady Beth and begin his attempt to woo her. Dread filled him, sitting in his belly as heavy as a block of stone.
The flap of the tent opened and a woman stepped through. As she straightened, and moved into the dim light of the lanterns and the fire, Marcus bit back his gasp.
She was so beautiful.
In that moment, his heart sang, then died.
Chapter Sixteen
“Come, page. Liam, isn’t it?” Duke Baymore motioned for Liam to join him. “We’ve much to do. The servants are preparing Lady Beth and Lord Clayton’s rooms, so I’m going to need you to help me.”
“You, Your Grace?” Liam squeaked. What could the duke possibly want him to do? He’d already polished all the man’s arms, oiled his leathers, cleaned out the fireplace, and laid new logs.
“Aye. I have need of your services, my young page.” Jackson trotted down the stairs and strode across the hall toward the doors of the keep.
Liam raced to keep up with the big man as he crossed the bailey to the back of the castle, unable to tamp down the excitement bubbling up in his chest. There’d been so much talk of the new bride, and everyone scrambled to make the keep ready for her arrival.
“Where are we going, Your Grace?”
“To the laundry.”
Liam skidded to a stop. “The laundry?”
“Aye.” Jackson continued on, then realizing his page wasn’t at his side, he halted and turned. “Liam? Are you coming?” He grinned at Liam, his face warm and happy.
“Aye.” Liam ran to his duke’s side and looked up at the man. He was built like a mountain and to Liam he seemed just as tall. There was no denying it, Jackson Baymore was a huge man, and not just in size.
Liam had studied the duke and in the short time he’d been assigned as his page he’d learned much more about him. For one, he had a presence that, even while he dozed by the fire, filled the great room. He laughed a lot. Especially with Lord William. They met many times during the day, conferring over papers, discussing the business of the castle and lands, and at every meal.
Except of late, Lord William had been very busy. But the news of Baymore’s bride had filled the keep, and that she was due soon, explained his prolonged absence. Still, it didn’t explain the duke’s sudden change of temperament, this seriousness that had come over him, as if something troubled his mind. A man about to wed should be happy, shouldn’t he?
“Am I being sent to work in the laundry?” Liam wasn’t afraid of hard work. It might be a relief not to be His Grace’s page, to not feel the confusion he felt when he placed his father against his duke and found his father lacking.
“Nay, boy. I’ve a surprise for you.” Jackson walked on, passing the courtyard that held the bathtubs, until they reached the stone laundry house. “Yo, mistress!” Jackson sang out.
“Here, Your Grace!” The laundress came out, wiping her red, chapped hands on her apron. “Have you brought him, then?” She smiled at Liam and he gave her a nod.
“A surprise?” Liam said. “For me?”
Jac
kson laughed and clapped Liam on the shoulder. “Are they ready?”
“Aye, and just as you ordered, Your Grace.” She turned and went back inside, then returned holding a large, folded stack of clothing. She handed them over to the duke, then gave a quick curtsey and laughed at Liam’s expression.
He shut his mouth and looked up at his duke.
“These are your new clothes. Can’t have my page running around the keep not dressed in a proper uniform.” Jackson held up a tabard, complete with the Baymore crest on the front, and handed it to Liam.
Liam stared at the pile of clothing. He’d never seen such fine work in his life, not even his ma’s. The neck and wrists had silk ribbon ties, and the crest had been embroidered on the chest.
“Come on. First a bath, then you dress.”
“But this is more than a uniform. There must be some mistake.” There were several sets of clothing in the bundle, not just a uniform. Not even at home did he have so many fine things to wear.
“Well, you need some clothes for when you’re not in uniform, Liam. This one is for special occasions. If you’re going to be my page, I want you clean and well dressed, understand?” He looked down at Liam. Liam swallowed, nodded, and then looked away.
The duke had taken him into his keep, given him a position fit for a noble’s son, and now a new set of clothes the like of which he’d never hoped to own.
He didn’t think he could speak without the duke knowing of his emotions.
Jackson went to the baths and ordered a hot tub of water, another treat for Liam. He expected his duke to leave him, but Jackson sat on a bench in the afternoon sun, closed his eyes, and dozed. From what Liam had seen of the man, he could sleep just about anywhere.
When his bath was over, Liam got out of the tub, dried himself off, and went to the bench. His new clothes sat next to the duke.
“Best put on the regular one,” Jackson said as his eyes popped open.
Liam jumped back. “Gawds! I thought you were sleeping.” He exhaled and put his hand over his heart to keep it from bursting out of his chest.
“A mercenary takes his sleep when he can.”
“A mercenary?” Liam’s brow furrowed. “But you’re the duke.”
