The Lord's Forced Bride

by Anne Herries

  Catherine did not believe Andrew to be like his father or the dowager’s second husband. He was a good, decent man, for she would not have loved him so very much if he had not been—but there was no hiding the fact that he had been commanded to marry Catherine. She had been given to him, as a part of the package the King had decided was to settle the debt between their two families. Andrew had accepted the decree, as they all had—but was he regretting it already?

  Catherine wished that she might go to her room and weep, but the dowager was looking at her, waiting to see if she would break. If she showed weakness now, her mother-in-law would believe she could do exactly as she pleased in the house. Catherine had no choice but to carry on as if nothing had happened, even though her heart felt as if it might break.

  ‘My husband will not betray me,’ she said, meeting the older woman’s speculative gaze bravely. ‘He is a good, honest man, and he cares for me. I do not believe that it is in his mind to take a mistress.’

  ‘Well, I hope you are right,’ the dowager said. ‘Once there is a mistress, you will lose influence with him, Catherine. It happens in most marriages, especially those arranged for property and power. My son has been given high honours, and I dare say he intends to treat you with respect—but if that hussy gets her claws into him, you will lose him.’

  Catherine turned away. She went over to the window, not wanting her mother-in-law to see that her eyes were fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. Looking down into the courtyard, she saw that Andrew was dismounting from his horse—and Lady Henrietta had met him. They were standing close together, the lady looking up at the gentleman. Catherine could see her face, but not her husband’s. As she watched, Lady Henrietta reached up and kissed him. He reached out and held her with one hand for a moment, before stepping back.

  Catherine turned away quickly. She did not wish to see more. Indeed, she wished she had not seen as much. It was clear that her husband had been pleased to see the lady. Perhaps it had been arranged between them at court…perhaps it was the true reason Andrew had decided to come here rather than go to his home as he had first intended.

  Maybe Lady Henrietta was already his mistress. Catherine felt as if a dagger had been plunged into her heart. How could she have been so foolish as to believe that he loved her? She was ignorant of the ways of love, her beauty insignificant beside that of her rival. It would be hard to fight her—and yet she would! The determination not to give in was hardening inside her as she turned back to face her mother-in-law.

  ‘Andrew is home,’ she said. ‘Excuse me, I must find Sarah and make sure that dinner is nearly ready.’

  She walked away with her head high. She loved Andrew, and she would do all she could to keep him by her side.

  ‘Sir Robert has agreed to release my labourers,’ Andrew told Catherine after his mother had retired to her chamber, leaving the married couple together that evening. ‘He will send some of his own peasants to help us prepare the land so that we shall have a crop next year. I asked him to dine with us, but he said that we should go there instead, Catherine. I agreed, because you have enough to do getting the house ready. I do not want you to tire yourself too much. You are very young, Catherine.’

  ‘Not too young to be a wife,’ Catherine told him with pride. ‘If we are not to entertain next week, we shall do so at Christ’s Mass. I have spoken to Sarah and she tells me that we may buy what we need in the town. Please indulge me in this, Andrew. I should like to celebrate the holy night here in our own home.’

  ‘If that is your wish, I shall send out invitations to our neighbours,’ Andrew said. ‘As long as it will not be too much for you? Lady Henrietta told me she thought you looked tired, Catherine.’

  ‘I am not as tired as I was last night,’ Catherine replied. ‘I know I fell asleep waiting for you, Andrew, but I shall not tonight.’

  ‘Then I shall come to you,’ he said and smiled at her in such a way that Catherine’s heart raced. When he looked at her like that she believed that he must care for her. He did care for her! She would make him love her, because she was not going to stand back and let Lady Henrietta take him away from her!

  ‘Bring me my best night-chemise,’ Catherine said as she saw the robe her maid had put out. ‘I want the white lace one…’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Tilda went to the armoire and brought out the delicate lace chemise. She laid it on the bed, then turned her efforts to unlacing her mistress’s gown. ‘Your bath is prepared, mistress. If you wish for it, your washing gown is there with the drying cloths.’

  ‘Thank you, Tilda,’ Catherine said and stepped out of her gown. ‘I shall not need you again this evening.’

  She removed her shift after the serving woman left her, going through to the dressing room where her bath had been prepared. Easing down into the scented water, she soaped herself, knowing she was ready for her husband’s loving. She would welcome him when he came to her bed. She stepped out of the bath, wrapping the large bathing cloth about her as she walked into the bedchamber. Her white chemise was lying on the bed. Catherine picked it up and slipped it over her head. She was seated on the padded stool, brushing her long hair when the door opened and Andrew walked in. He came to her, taking the brush from her and smoothing it through her glorious red-gold tresses.

  The sensation made Catherine want to melt with love for him, and when he put the brush down, she stood up and went to him, lifting her face for his kiss.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said huskily, his arms going round her. He pulled her hard against him. Catherine could feel the hard bulge of his arousal, his heat burning into her, making her body melt into his. He did want her! He did care for her!

  Catherine laughed softly as Andrew gathered her into his arms. He carried her to the bed, placing her gently on the fresh sheets, the smell of lavender wafting up in a wave of clean freshness.

  Catherine determinedly shut out her doubts and feelings of jealousy as she opened her arms to him. She gasped, the pleasure shooting through her as he held her close, his hands moving over her back in sensuous strokes that had her trembling with delightful sensations. She opened to him as his hands, mouth and tongue explored her, seeking out the tender places of her body so that she trembled, arching towards him as he entered her. A little scream issued from her lips as he plunged deeper and deeper inside her, carrying her with him on a wave of sensation that had her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched into him, moaning and sighing.

  When his climax came, Catherine felt a wave of ecstasy wash over her. She clung to him as he spilled himself inside her, tears trickling down her cheeks as the wonderful feeling of completeness claimed her. She buried her face in the salty warmth of his shoulder, loving the soft stroking of his hands down the arch of her back and over her buttocks.

  ‘Sleep now, my darling,’ Andrew whispered against her hair.

  ‘Stay with me,’ Catherine pleaded. ‘Do not leave me, Andrew. I want to wake up and find you here.’

  ‘I shall stay,’ he promised. ‘Sleep now, my sweet Cat.’

  He must love her, Catherine thought as she let herself drift away into sleep, comforted by the scent of the man she loved so much.

  It was dark and cold when Catherine woke suddenly. What was that noise? She opened her eyes, hearing an odd clicking sound that made her sit up and look about her. She was stunned to see that the rug in front of the fire was alight, the flames shooting up fiercely. Giving a cry of alarm, Catherine jumped up and ran to the rug. She grabbed hold of it, bundling it into the large open hearth so that the flames and smoke went harmlessly up the chimney. Picking up the iron poker, she held the rug in the hearth until it began to crumble and fall into a smouldering heap.

  ‘Catherine—what is happening? The stench of burning is strong.’

  Catherine glanced round as her husband came in from the dressing chamber. ‘The rug caught fire. Fortunately, I woke and snatched it up. Had I not…’ She frowned as she stared at the fire. ‘I canno
t think why the log fell on to the rug. The fire was dying down when we went to bed.’

  ‘It was still alight when I left you,’ Andrew said. ‘But I would not have thought it was fierce enough to set the rug on fire. We must have a guard set in future. I would not have you burn to death like—’ he broke off abruptly.

  ‘Like the Marchioness of Malchester?’

  ‘Who told you about her—my mother? I told her she was not to upset you with such tales.’

  ‘She did not tell me—and it has not upset me,’ Catherine said. She smiled at him. ‘Accidents happen, Andrew. I promise you that I did not intend to set myself on fire.’

  ‘Do not even speak of it!’ Andrew shuddered. ‘But I was about to return so I should have found it even had you slept on.’ He saw that she was looking at her right hand. ‘Did you burn yourself, Catherine?’

  ‘It is nothing, just a small scorch.’

  ‘Let me look,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I have some salve in my room. I shall bandage it for you. Wait here whilst I go and get it.’

  Catherine sat down on the edge of the bed. She shivered, reaching out to pull a shawl about her shoulders. It was so shocking to think that she and Andrew might have been burned to death had they still been sleeping! How could it have happened? She could have sworn that the fire had burned too low for a flaming log to fall on to the mat.

  And what was the clicking noise that she’d heard as she woke? It had sounded like a door shutting…as if someone had left the room. Could someone have entered as she lay sleeping and deliberately set fire to the rug? It was a shocking thought, but so improbable that she dismissed it almost instantly. No one would do such a thing! Of course they would not—why should they?

  She dismissed the thought as Andrew came back into the room carrying an earthenware pot and some fresh linen. He placed it on the bed beside Catherine, then reached out and took her hand, running a gentle finger over the redness where the flames had caught her. He bent his head to kiss the spot, then opened the pot and smoothed some of the salve over the burn, wrapping the clean linen around her hand.

  ‘It should heal in a day or two,’ he said. ‘I hope it is not too painful?’

  ‘It hardly hurts at all,’ Catherine said. ‘Thank you for tending it for me, Andrew.’

  ‘It was my pleasure and my duty to care for you,’ he replied. ‘You are my wife, Catherine. The duty of a husband and wife is to care for each other—is it not?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said. She smiled as he leaned forward to kiss her softly on the mouth. ‘It is my hope that we shall always care for each other.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for leaving you like that, Catherine. I did not dream that the fire would catch hold and set the rug alight.’

  ‘It was not your fault,’ Catherine said. ‘We shall forget it happened.’

  ‘I shall not forget,’ Andrew said. ‘That fire was not high when I left it. I do not think it was an accident. Someone intended that you should die in a fire.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Catherine said. She hesitated for a moment. ‘I did hear a clicking sound as I woke…like a door opening, but I know the door to the hall is locked, for I locked it myself.’

  ‘But the only other door is into the dressing room. Had someone come that way I should have seen them.’

  ‘There may be another door…’

  ‘Where?’ Andrew frowned. ‘Do you mean a secret door—a passage leading into this chamber?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Catherine said. ‘If the fire was not an accident there must be another way in, Andrew.’

  His gaze narrowed, dark and penetrating. ‘Unless I am lying and I set fire to the rug? Do you think I did it, Catherine?’

  ‘No, of course not!’ A shiver ran through her, for the idea was horrific. ‘Why would you? No, it was not you.’

  He stared at her hard. ‘I swear that it was not me. Why would I want to kill my wife?’

  ‘You would not. Of course you would not,’ Catherine said. She raised her eyes to his. ‘I know you care for me, Andrew. You have no reason to wish me dead.’

  ‘I certainly do not wish you dead,’ he said angrily. ‘But I can see that you are wondering. There must be a secret way into this chamber! Has Sarah said anything to you of this?’

  ‘No, but she may not know of it,’ Catherine said. ‘Sarah would not sneak in and try to kill me. I know she would not!’

  ‘No, but I know someone who might.’

  ‘Andrew!’ Catherine was shocked, for she understood his meaning instantly. ‘Your mother would not murder me. No, I shall not believe it.’

  ‘Would you rather believe it was me?’

  ‘I do not wish to believe anyone capable of such a thing,’ Catherine said. ‘I am sure it was not your mother, and I know it was not you, Andrew—or Sarah. Perhaps the log was still hot inside and broke apart as it fell. It must have been an accident, for I cannot think of anyone who would wish to kill me. My death would benefit no one.’

  ‘There are some who might kill for spite or jealousy,’ Andrew replied. He was frowning, and Catherine knew that he still suspected his mother might have done it. ‘But if whoever it was knew of the secret entrance, it must be someone who knows the house. I certainly have not heard of it, but I shall make inquiries tomorrow.’

  ‘Do not be angry, Andrew,’ Catherine begged. ‘As yet we cannot be sure that it was not an accident. We must wait and see what happens.’

  ‘Wait until someone tries to kill you again? No! I shall not wait while someone plots to kill my wife. I intend to discover who is behind this, and I shall begin by questioning Lady Gifford in the morning.’

  Catherine saw that he was very angry. She did not know what to say to ease his anger, though she felt that it would be a mistake to throw accusations at anyone. The fire could have started accidentally, and she would have preferred to let it go rather than cause unease and trouble in the house. She was winning the loyalty of her servants, but if they were made to feel as if they were under suspicion it would cast a cloud over everyone, and she had wanted to make the festivities a special occasion for them all.

  Andrew was so angry that there was clearly nothing to be done for the moment. She would try to make up for it by showing that she did not blame anyone. If someone held a grudge against her, it was unlikely to be the servants, for they had work and money for wages, and must know that her death would bring a shadow over them all. If she too were to die in a fire, it would seem as if the house were truly cursed. And of course it was not—could not be. She shuddered, feeling cold despite her determination to put the whole business from her mind.

  Catherine went back to bed, but she did not sleep. Andrew chose to sit in the chair by the fire, as if on guard, though he must surely know that even if someone had tried to set Catherine’s bedchamber on fire, they would not try anything more that night. She tried to tell herself it was an accident, but knew that in future she would be on her guard. If someone had one unsuccessful attempt on her life, it was possible that they would make another.

  ‘I hope you do not think that I would do such a thing, Catherine?’ the dowager complained when they met later that morning. ‘Andrew practically accused me of sneaking into your room and deliberately setting fire to the mat.’

  ‘The door to the hall was still locked. Since whoever it was must have used a secret entrance, I think it unlikely you could have done it, Elspeth,’ Catherine said. ‘Besides, we do not yet know if it was deliberate or an accident.’

  ‘Your husband is convinced that someone intended you to die in the fire,’ the dowager said, her expression grim. ‘I should question that servant girl. She must know if there is a secret way into the master suite.’

  ‘I have spoken to her myself,’ Catherine said. ‘Sarah swears that she has never heard of a secret entrance, and nor has her father. I think that what I heard must have been the wind or something dropped elsewhere in the house. It could not have been someone leaving the room, and the only
other way out is through the dressing room. Andrew was there writing in his ledger and must have seen anyone who went that way. Therefore it could only have been an accident.’

  ‘I do not see how it could have been, unless one of you made up the fire earlier. If the servants lit the fire before you retired, it would have burned low by the time you woke, Catherine. How could a log have fallen and set the mat on fire? I think it would need to have been placed there deliberately, as Andrew says.’ The dowager frowned. ‘I do not see why one of the servants should wish you harm, for you are a fair mistress, Catherine. They have you to thank for their work and the prospect of better times to come.’

  ‘Thank you, Elspeth,’ Catherine replied. ‘I consider that a compliment. Andrew must be wrong, for I cannot see anyone wishing to harm me. Why should they? Who would benefit from my death?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the dowager replied. ‘Only someone who thought you were in their way would wish to kill you.’ Her gaze narrowed. ‘I have nothing to gain from it, Catherine. My son would not have tolerated me here had it not been for you.’

  ‘I did not believe it was you,’ Catherine assured her. ‘Andrew was concerned. He should not have accused you, Elspeth. I shall tell him he must apologise.’

  ‘No, say nothing further,’ the dowager said. ‘I think we should both be careful, Catherine. You must always be alert, for if you do have an enemy that enemy may be closer than you imagine.’

  Catherine shook her head. She was not sure what her mother-in-law was implying. She could not be hinting that Andrew might have set the fire himself? Catherine refused to entertain the suspicion for a moment. He had been so angry! Besides, why would he want her dead?