The Abducted Bride

by Anne Herries

  He blamed himself for all she had suffered. He had no right to hold her to the contract she had signed, though it was lawfully binding. If she decided that she would be happier staying at home with her father—or married to someone else—then the contract must somehow be undone.

  She was clearly very attached to Henri, had been so from the very beginning. He was her friend and she had shown her joy when they met again outside the church in Spain… Nicholas scowled as he recalled the moment he had heard Deborah promise to wed Miguel Cortes. For a few minutes he had feared she was truly that devil’s bride and beyond his reach. After reflection he had realized that such a ceremony could not have been legal, but might still have prevented a true marriage for years while the Papal authorities wrangled over the finer points. Except that he would have made her a widow had the Don not done so first.

  A shiver went through Nicholas as he remembered what Henri had revealed to him. How Don Manola could bear the weight of such sins he did not know. He crossed himself. It was a long time since Nicholas had been to confession, but now he felt the need. A blackness had entered his soul after Isabella’s murder, festering inside him for too long. He must regain his faith and ask God’s forgiveness before he was fit to marry any woman.

  He had told Don Manola that the feud between them was at an end. All he wanted now was to take his wife back to France—but did she wish to go with him?

  ‘I am glad to have you back,’ Sarah said and hugged her cousin. ‘I was afraid you would not be here for my wedding—indeed, I wondered if I should ever see you again.’

  ‘I should not have been happy to miss your wedding, cousin.’

  Sarah looked at her uncertainly. Deborah had been home only a few hours, of course, having arrived late the previous evening, and they had not really had much chance to talk, but she seemed subdued, unlike her normal confident self.

  ‘Was it so very terrible?’ she said softly. ‘You must have been frightened. I think the Marquis de Vere must be very wicked to have snatched you as he did that day. My poor uncle was half out of his mind. I have never seen him so distressed. I think he should petition the King to have the marquis arrested.’

  ‘No! No, you do not understand,’ Deborah cried, alarmed at the idea. Her father could not possibly be contemplating such a move, surely? ‘The marquis was seeking to protect me from Don Manola’s son. Had Father and I sailed for Spain as we intended, it might have been too late. I might have been married before we knew anything was wrong.’ She shuddered as she recalled the Don’s last words to her. ‘You cannot imagine—Don Manola intended…’ She shook her head. ‘No, I cannot speak of it. Forgive me, Sarah. I must be alone for a while.’

  She left her cousin staring after her as she went quickly from the room. Fearing Sarah might follow, she went out into the garden. It was a cool, overcast afternoon, which looked as if it might turn to rain, and she had no cloak, but she did not wish to return to the house to fetch one. She needed to be alone for a while, to have time to sort out her feelings.

  Her head down against the wind, she walked quickly towards a small summerhouse where she would be sheltered from the worst of the weather.

  It was late September now and the roses had been spoiled by heavy rain. Before long it would be autumn and then the leaves would start to fall—and then it would be winter. Deborah had always loved her home, never minding the isolation that was sometimes forced upon them by severe conditions, when the roads turned to a quagmire and it was impossible to travel, but the thought of long dark evenings alone made her spirits sink. Sarah would be gone, and Sir Edward often spent hours in his library lost to the world. Deborah would be left to her needlework and her thoughts.

  Oh, how she wished Nicholas would come to her, but there had been no word from him since they reached England. She had hoped for a letter or a message, just to say he would come as soon as he could—but there was nothing.

  Henri had escorted them back to their home, where he would stay for a few days before returning to his ship, in which he intended to sail for France. She wished with all her heart that she could go with him!

  Deborah entered the summerhouse and sat down on a wooden bench, her arms wrapped about her as she let her mind drift back to those sunlit days in France when she had danced and Nicholas had made her feel as if she was loved and wanted.

  She sat there for almost half an hour, lost in her dreams, deliberately blocking out the other memories—the ones that had begun to haunt her. It was odd how she had felt so strong when she was in Spain, but now, when she was safe, she was haunted by what might have happened.

  The sound of booted footsteps made her look up, and in that moment she realized that she had turned cold. She was shivering as she rose to her feet just as Henri entered the summerhouse.

  ‘Your cousin thought I might find you here,’ Henri said, looking at her anxiously. He saw how pale she was and took off his cloak to place it about her shoulders. ‘You are chilled to the bone, lady. Will you not let me take you back to the house now so that you can warm yourself?’

  ‘Yes, of course I shall come with you.’ Deborah smiled at him. ‘I was thinking and I did not notice the cold—but I am glad of your cloak, sir, and you are good to give it to me.’

  ‘You were thinking of Nico?’ he asked, but did not need to be told the answer.

  Deborah met his concerned gaze. ‘You know me too well, I think. I had hoped we might have had some word from him before this.’

  Henri frowned. ‘You are not the only one, mistress. I do not understand him. When you were ill, it was he who sat with you until the fever seemed to abate and he was sure you would recover. I do not know why he did not accompany you home himself. I could have carried any messages he wished to send to London.’

  Deborah’s voice was caught with emotion. ‘I fear he is angry with me. He believes I went willingly with Miguel Cortes—that I was a willing bride.’

  ‘Perhaps he is angry,’ Henri replied, looking thoughtful. ‘Nico is not always easy to know, my lady. And since Isabella died…’ He frowned. ‘I know he has suffered agonies of mind—but he should not have hurt you so. You have suffered enough these past weeks.’

  ‘You are so kind…’ Her eyes misted as she gazed up at him.

  ‘What may I do to make you smile?’ Henri asked. ‘Shall I go to London and command him to come to you?’

  Deborah shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. ‘No, Henri. I would not have you do that. He must come when it pleases him. I would not have him forced—in any way.’

  If he wanted to be released from his promise to wed her she would not say him nay, though it broke her heart.

  ‘He is a fool!’ Henri said sharply. ‘I would not desert you, Mistress Stirling.’ An intense longing came into his eyes. ‘I know it is not I you love, sweet lady—but I would give my life to serve you. If Nico were fool enough to let you slip through his fingers, I would offer you my heart and name. I do not press my claims above his—but I am here if you need me.’

  ‘Oh, Henri,’ she said. ‘You are my friend and I love you dearly as my friend, but…’ She faltered and could not go on, for she did not wish to give him pain.

  Henri took her hand and kissed it. ‘I know it is too soon to speak of such matters, but should you ever change your mind you have only to send for me and I shall hasten to your side.’

  Deborah nodded but her throat was too tight with emotion to answer for a moment. He was so gentle, so kind, and she wished it was he she had fallen in love with—but it was not. Her heart was breaking for a wicked charming rogue who seemed to have forgotten her.

  ‘We shall speak of other matters,’ Henri said. ‘Sir Edward has begged me to stay for your cousin’s wedding and I have said I will—if you would be pleased to have me stay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I should,’ Deborah replied, having conquered her urgent desire to weep. ‘Unless you have pressing business waiting at home?’

  ‘Nothing that would drag me from your side i
f you have need of me.’

  ‘It is not fair to you,’ Deborah replied. ‘But I should miss you if you leave us too soon. My cousin does not understand what happened…and my father is consumed with guilt. You are the only one I can talk to about…that day.’

  Henri’s smile seemed to embrace her. ‘You need not fear to speak to me, my lady. If anything troubles you…anything you are afraid to speak of to your father…’

  He offered his arm and Deborah laid her hand on his velvet sleeve. ‘I have dreams sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘I dream that Miguel Cortes comes for me.’

  ‘You may rest easy,’ Henri said, glancing at her in concern. ‘He is truly dead. I made certain of that before we left the village. You are quite safe, my lady. Nico’s feud with the Don is at an end. No one will seek to harm you again. I promise you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She blushed. ‘I know it is foolish, but I wanted to be certain he was really dead. It all seems like a nightmare. I hardly know what happened that day. I had already begun to feel strange…long before I fainted in the street.’

  ‘You had a fever—perhaps something you ate or merely the heat of the sun. It was a very hot day. After what you had been through, it was scarcely surprising you were ill.’ He looked at her intently. ‘You are still pale. Are you feeling unwell?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said and smiled. ‘I am truly recovered—and your concern makes me feel so much better. I believe I shall not have bad dreams again now you have reassured me.’

  ‘I am glad I was able to ease your mind.’

  Henri frowned as they walked back to the house in silence. Where was Nicholas? It was he who should have been here to comfort Deborah. Why had he abandoned her so cruelly?

  Henri felt very angry with his friend. If Nico did not come by the time Mistress Palmer was wed, he would go to France and fetch him!

  He was bending over her, his strange, staring eyes feasting on her naked flesh. She felt the touch of his clammy hand, smelled the stench of his unclean body. His flesh was rotting, falling away from the bones of his face…

  Deborah gave a cry of fear and woke from the nightmare. She was sweating, trembling as she sat up in bed and looked about her. It was just a dream. She was in her own room and nothing could harm her.

  She had not had the dream for three nights, but this time it had been worse than the others had before it and she still felt afraid, even though she knew it was foolish.

  She left her bed and went over to the window, staring out at the moonlit garden. How foolish she was to let herself be frightened by a silly dream. Miguel Cortes was dead. She was not his bride.

  Where was Nicholas? Why did he not come to her? Three weeks had passed since Henri had brought them home to England and there was still no word from Nicholas.

  He could not love her or he would not have stayed away so long. Surely he must know how she longed for him. He was never far from her thoughts, and her heart called out for him. If he cared for her at all, he would surely know how desperately she needed him.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Deborah said and kissed her cousin’s cheek as she gave her a blue silk garter sewn with pearls. ‘Master Henderson is very lucky in his bride—and I hope he knows it.’

  ‘Yes, he does,’ Sarah replied and dimpled with pleasure as she hugged her cousin. ‘I cannot wait to be his wife—but what of you? Are you feeling better at last, Deborah?’

  ‘Yes.’ Deborah smiled. It was now mid-October, almost a month since she had come home, and she was beginning to feel more like her old self. Her grief had begun to turn to anger and she no longer gave way to tears in the privacy of her chamber. She had not had a dream for seven nights now and she believed they might have gone at last. ‘I am not as tired now. Besides, I refuse to be miserable today. This is your wedding day and we must all be merry. I want to celebrate my dearest cousin’s happiness.’

  Deborah had that morning woken with a new determination. She would put her hopes of Nicholas aside and make the most of her life. It would be foolish to spend the rest of her days sighing over a man who clearly did not want her.

  He had stayed away because he wanted her to understand that the contract was broken. In France he had thought himself obliged to wed her for honour’s sake, because she was under his roof—but now that she was back with her father he had forgotten her.

  Well, she had been warned. Marie had told her that it was Isabella he loved, and that once his revenge was complete he would no longer want her. Deborah had not believed her, thinking it was just the other woman’s spite—but it seemed she had been right.

  It was a cool, crisp day but thankfully there was no sign of the dank mists, which had curled across from the northern moors and made the weather so unpleasant this past week. The sun had decided to shine as if to bless the day and the bride.

  Sir Edward was to give Sarah to her husband, and so it was Henri who escorted Deborah to the church. They stood together to watch as the couple took the vows that would bind them for the rest of their lives.

  Afterwards, they threw handfuls of dried rose petals over the bride and groom, and then the guests all trooped back to Sir Edward’s house where a feast was waiting.

  Sir Edward had spared no expense for his ward’s wedding. There were minstrels to entertain them with songs of love, jugglers, and clowns to make them laugh, especially a little fool no higher than Deborah’s knees, who ran around with a pig’s bladder on a stick, attacking all the biggest men and poking fun at them.

  After the sumptuous feast of numerous courses had been served, the musicians set up a merry tune and the bride and groom began the dancing.

  ‘Will you dance, lady?’ Henri asked Deborah when the guests began to join the bridal couple in the dance.

  ‘Yes, yes, I shall,’ Deborah said as she took his outstretched hand. ‘Why not?’ Why should she not dance and be happy? She had done nothing for which she ought to feel shame. And if she had noticed that some of the ladies looked at her oddly, she would not let it upset her. Not today of all days!

  Soon they were whirling and twirling in a mad romp that had everyone breathless. This was followed by more stately dances, and then yet another wild romp that made Deborah laugh. Her cheeks were flushed with becoming colour and her eyes were shining as she gazed up at her partner.

  It was the first time she had felt happy in weeks, and it was so good to cast off her cares for a little time. Henri was her friend and she knew she could trust him, so when he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth she did not push him away.

  It meant nothing—just that they were both swept away with the music and laughter, and had perhaps drunk a little more wine than usual.

  Watching from the other end of the hall, where he had been standing unobserved for some minutes, Nicholas scowled. He had been fretting while he was kept kicking his heels waiting the prince’s pleasure, and now it seemed he need not have been anxious. Deborah was in no need of comfort—she was clearly quite happy with the situation as it was.

  He turned away, leaving the revellers to their amusement. He had ridden hard from London and he was weary. If he spoke to Deborah now, he might say something he would later regret.

  Deborah retired to her chamber only after the bride and groom had been properly fêted and conveyed to their marriage bed. To spare Sarah’s blushes, Sir Edward had forbidden the guests to enter her chamber, declaring that the old ways were best forgotten.

  ‘I’ll not have my niece mortified by outdated customs,’ he had declared stoutly. ‘We shall see them to the door and then leave them in peace, my friends.’

  It was the kindest way, and Deborah was glad her cousin had been spared some of the more vulgar jests that were commonplace at weddings. She kissed Sarah good night and whispered to her, then turned away to her own rooms at once. Now that the laughing and dancing were over, her spirits had begun to sink once more.

  Where was Nicholas? Why had he not come to claim her?

  Deborah submitted to the ministrat
ions of her maid, an elderly woman who had cared for her since childhood. Jane was a kindly soul but did not make her laugh as Louise had. She dismissed her once she was undressed and sat brushing her own hair by the fire.

  She sighed and laid the brush down. She was tired and yet felt unable to sleep. Going over to her window, she looked out and thought how much more inviting the garden was at Chalfont.

  The sounds of revelry were dying away now. Some of the guests had already retired, though many of the men had no chamber of their own and would be forced to rest where they could find space. Most of the ladies were sharing a bed with other ladies, as was usual on such occasions. Deborah was relieved that she had not been asked to share or give up her room to guests, as she might have been at another time.

  The house was filled to capacity. Had it been just her and her family, Deborah would have gone down to walk alone in the gardens, but she knew that would not be wise while they had so much company. Men had drunk a great deal of wine at the wedding—and a woman with a blemished reputation might find little respect at such a time.

  The ladies had not been the only ones to glance at her with speculation in their eyes that night. She had heard no whispers behind her back, but she did not doubt that many believed she had been violated. It was so unfair! She had done nothing to deserve censure, but few would believe her innocent.

  There was one escape for her from the life of seclusion that would otherwise be forced on her, she knew. Nicholas might have forgotten her, but Henri was becoming more ardent in his wooing. He was always respectful towards her, but this evening he had taken his chance to give her that brief kiss.

  She knew he would speak to her father if she gave him hope. In her heart Deborah believed she was Nicholas’s wife. She had given him her promise and her love, and the marriage contracts had been signed. She supposed they could be broken, though it would not be an easy thing to accomplish. Nor did she wish for it, though she had come to believe that Nicholas must. Had it been otherwise, he would surely have sought her out long since.