The Maiden Bride

by Becnel, Rexanne

  All eyes followed her as she crossed the hall. The servants were out in force, preparing the castle for the imminent arrival of the visitors. But they slowed in their tasks as she threaded her way through them. They stared at the sister, Linnea, who had deceived their new lord—and themselves as well. One and all they’d thought her to be the Lady Beatrix, and now that was Linnea’s only comfort. She’d fooled them all. Willing herself to a courage she was not sure she possessed, she stiffened to a haughty posture and raised her chin to a regal angle.

  Somehow she made it across the hall then up the winding stairs. At the second level she paused and though it was the last thing she wanted to see, she stared past the antechamber to the door that led into the lord’s chamber. It stood ajar and as she watched, a woman pushed through the opening, her arms filled with soiled bed linens.

  Linnea must have gasped or made some other horrified sound, for the maid looked up and abruptly halted. Norma looked back, then made her way back down the stairs.

  “Not her!” the old woman hissed, understanding Linnea’s thoughts. “’Twas not her.”

  The young woman’s face went scarlet at Norma’s words, while Linnea’s went pale. Though her relief was huge to know this maid was not one of the women Axton had taken to his bed, there was still the fact that the maid obviously knew what Norma meant. She knew what Axton had done. Everyone must know.

  Norma grabbed her hand and together they made their way to the third level. Lady Mildred’s chamber was warm and well lit, with two wall sconces and a brace of candles beside a tub. The tub was filled with fragrant, steaming water and sat before the small wall hearth. A delicate gown of salmon-dyed linen and other necessary women’s garments were laid out on the bed.

  The lady herself sat on an upholstered bench before the window.

  She dismissed Norma with one raised eyebrow and the faintest gesture of her hand. “Do you need assistance with your bath?” she asked Linnea once they were alone.

  “No.”

  Baring herself before this woman was not something Linnea desired to do. But the chance to thoroughly cleanse herself was something she could not forgo. She approached the tub while watching Lady Mildred warily.

  “Why have you summoned me here? Does your son know?”

  “I have my reasons,” the woman replied. “And no, he is not aware that you are with me now.”

  “You know my family returns with Henry of Anjou.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she did not respond directly to Linnea’s comment. “Go on. Bathe while you may. Once Axton returns to the castle, he may seek you out. When you are not there he will rage the length and breadth of Maidenstone to find you. Unless you wish him to find you at your bath—and mayhap you do—I suggest you get on with it.”

  Linnea’s jaw tensed. “I assure you, that is the last thing I desire!” She began to unlace her gown.

  Her words drew an amused chuckle from the older woman. “I wonder if you will tell me the true extent of your feelings for my son.”

  Linnea sent her a sidelong glance but did not pause at her task of removing shoes and stockings, and gown and kirtle. “I like Peter very well,” she sarcastically replied.

  Lady Mildred smiled. “And he likes you. What of Axton?”

  Linnea sternly ignored the sudden lurch of her heart. “Axton does not like me. In fact, he despises the sight of me, the sound of me, and the very thought of me.”

  This time the woman shook her head and smiled. “Judging from your evasive answers one would think you are avoiding my question.” The smile faded. “What are your feelings for my son Axton?”

  Linnea did not at once respond. She did not want to respond. To purchase more time, she clutched a length of towel to her and stepped into the hot water, then let the towel fall to the floor as she sank into the soothing broth.

  “Ahh.” The exclamation escaped her lips unexpectedly. She released her hair from its fitful chignon, shook it loose, then sank completely under the water before rising to face the question that yet lingered between her and this woman. Indeed, what were her feelings for Axton?

  “We have been as man and wife,” she began in a tone far less forceful than she might have wished.

  “You deceived him apurpose.”

  “To save my sister from a man … from a man we feared would treat her cruelly.”

  “But you would willingly suffer that cruelty for her.”

  Linnea had been staring blankly at the uneven wooden edge of the foot end of the tub. But now she glanced sharply at Axton’s mother. The woman knew more than she ought. She had been talking to Norma!

  “I love my sister. I would do anything for her,” she said curtly.

  “You are the second twin.” When Linnea did not bother to respond to that obvious fact, the woman continued. “’Tis an old and foolish belief, that the second babe is accursed. I comprehend now that you have done all this to prove yourself worthwhile to your family. And I suppose in that you have succeeded. But you do not appear much gladdened for your success.”

  She pushed up from the bench and approached the tub. She offered Linnea a bowl of shaved soap. “You have achieved all you hoped for. You lulled us into complacency while your family did mount a challenge to our position at Maidenstone. And you have made a fool of my son—a man who came, against the opposition of his family and all logic, to have a deep and abiding care for you—”

  “He did not care for me! He could not—not when he brings other women so swiftly to his bed!”

  “Men are not known for their fidelity. It does not mean they do not care—”

  “My father loved my mother. Once my mother was gone he did not—”

  “And my husband loved me!” She broke in, leaning down until their faces were very near. “My husband loved me and I loved him and I have been faithful to his memory. But we speak of you and your husband, and he is his father’s son—”

  She broke off and drew back. But Linnea had heard what the woman started to say, and though she did not believe it, oh, she wanted to.

  “What … what is that supposed to mean?”

  Lady Mildred’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “Your husband—though I suppose he is not truly your husband, since you married him under a false name. Axton is not a man of inconstant affection. His loyalties run deep. Likewise, betrayal strikes him to the heart. Such a betrayal as you have dealt him will be a hard thing for him to forgive.”

  Linnea stared at her in amazement. “Forgive? Surely you do not think—No. He will never forgive me. He cannot, not and have Maidenstone too.”

  At that, Lady Mildred frowned. “That is the only thing.”

  Linnea sank down to her chin in the water. “Yes, for him this place has always been the only thing.”

  Lady Mildred moved restlessly around the room, silent for a while, and Linnea took that opportunity to scrub herself. Arms, legs, face, hair. When she finally rinsed the lavender-scented suds from her heavy hair, the Lady Mildred once again was studying her.

  “Tell me of your sister.”

  Linnea eyed her warily. “She is sweet and guileless and easily intimidated. She does not deserve your enmity—nor his. This deception was of my own making, not hers. I would beg you to intercede for her, should Axton be inclined to treat her cruelly.”

  “Does she look like you?” the woman asked, ignoring Linnea’s plea.

  Linnea pondered her reply only a moment. Then she sighed. “We are identical in every way. Save one.” She raised her leg. “This birthmark is the only thing that distinguishes us from one another.”

  Lady Mildred stared at the mark, then back at Linnea’s face. Then she turned away and went to the window. In the silence that fell, Linnea felt a shiver run through her. The water was growing chill. She should finish her bath and prepare herself for the coming unpleasantness. As she dried herself and dressed, the Lady Mildred remained quiet. Only when Linnea sat before the fire and began to comb and dry her hair did the woman rouse from her dee
p thoughts.

  “So, Axton shall be as pleased with the real Beatrix as he was with the false one.”

  The color drained out of Linnea’s face. It was no more than she could have expected from the woman. After all, Lady Mildred’s one goal was to gain what was best for her son. Still, she’d seemed to imply that Axton might somehow forgive Linnea—or else Linnea had misread her intentions. Now, though, it seemed she was content to see Axton wed again—only this time to the true Beatrix.

  “Does that thought displease you?” the woman continued, eyeing Linnea shrewdly. “Would you rather remain wed to him?”

  Linnea pulled the bone comb through her hair, unmindful of the painful tug as the carved teeth found a knot, then broke through it. “To remain wed to him would be … it would be impossible. He despises me.”

  “But you do not despise him.”

  That said, the woman pushed to her feet. “I must go. There are tasks I must supervise. You, however, should stay here. Dry your hair and dress it. Nap, if you will. I will have a tray sent to you if you would eat. But I caution you to remain in this chamber until I send for you. Or Axton does.”

  Then she left and Linnea was alone to ponder her fate. There was no understanding this strange interview—most especially the emotion that drove Lady Mildred so unexpectedly. One thing Linnea knew, however: Axton would not send for her. She doubted he ever wanted to lay eyes on her again.

  “Where is she!”

  Peter trailed after Axton as he stormed across the crowded bailey. The people fell away—guards and servants, peasants and children—as the lord strode angrily past them. His brother struggled to keep up. “She cannot have escaped. It is impossible!”

  “Then where in God’s name is she!” Axton roared, slamming into the great hall.

  All activity ceased. Every eye turned askance to him. Lady Mildred paused in conversation with one of the castle women, but she did not flinch. She caught her son’s gaze. “She is in my chamber.”

  Anything she might have added was lost when he let out an exceedingly foul oath, then strode purposefully for the stairs.

  Linnea heard him coming. A deaf woman would have heard him. In the short minute it took for him to reach the third floor, she positioned herself near the window—as far from the door as she could get, if the truth be told. Her hair was neat, her dress impeccable. But she trembled like a sapling willow before a spring storm and her palms were damp with perspiration.

  The door flew open, crashing against the wall. Then he was there, in the room with her, and she forgot to be afraid. He was there, tall and formidable, weary and streaked with the sweat of his day’s work, yet powerful as only a man can be powerful. He glared at her, and she knew he hated her. But she could not hate him in return. She had betrayed him; she understood that he had every right to hate her. But she was so glad to see him, so deprived of any sight of him, that all she could feel was an absurd sort of joy, an insane surge in the vicinity of her chest, as if her life force had abruptly been renewed and her heart and lungs and everything else worked better and faster than they had before.

  He stared a long angry minute at her. Emotion seethed in the silent chamber, burning the very air with its blistering intensity. But like all fire did, it burned hot and then sputtered low, until they were standing facing one another without the buffer of anger between them.

  Axton stepped back, as if he suddenly would flee her presence. But Linnea raised a hand to him, palm up and pleading.

  “I … I had hoped to see you again, but I had not expected to.” She swallowed as the reality of this moment washed unwelcome over her. “Shall this, then, be our farewell?”

  Axton stiffened as a longing so vivid, so powerful that he feared he could not withstand it, struck him with cruel force. He’d been furious to find her released from the prison he’d put her in. Furious and panicked too. But having found her, the fire and need of those two emotions had merged into something far worse.

  He wanted her. He wanted her physically, but he also wanted her yielding and sweet, welcoming him home every day when he returned to her. He wanted her to care for him as he had come to care so desperately for her.

  “By Lucifer and Judas!” he swore, shuddering at his perverse reaction to her. She was his own personal Judas, sworn to him yet betraying him. And still he would clasp her to his bosom and suffer the consequences!

  Again he stepped back.

  He struggled for composure, to control the hard pounding of his heart and the urgent force of his desire for her. “Duke Henry comes, along with your sister and her doomed bridegroom. While the outcome of that dispute is already foretold, what will become of you is not.”

  He stopped short. What was he saying? What did he intend for her, the sole cause of this madness—to allow her to choose her own fate?

  He thrust his damp hair back from his brow and steeled himself against any weakness. “Have you anything you wish to say before I decide your fate?”

  She shook her head no, but her eyes, dark as the sea at storm, shimmering with what he feared were tears, communicated more than words could. He forced himself to be cruel, as cruel as she had been to him.

  “Do not think to turn that sorrowful look upon Henry. Likewise, do not delude yourself with the hope that he will offer you his protection or find you a suitable husband among the many who court his favor. You have no value now,” he continued, growing angrier with every word. “You have no dowry and now you have not even the value of virtue. You can be only one thing to Henry—or to any other man!”

  He broke off as the idea sprang full-blown into his head. It was insane—and yet it was the only solution he could find in this insanity that was caused of her machinations.

  He crossed the room and grabbed her by the arms. The tears that had shimmered in her eyes before had swelled and spilled over, and now left damp, glimmering tracks down her cheeks. It must be his own peculiar perversion that even still, he could not bear to see her cry.

  “I will keep you,” he muttered, staring down into her great, luminous eyes. “I will keep you locked away, in a place where no man but I can have you.”

  He pulled her up against him, so that he could feel the sweet warmth of her belly, the full softness of her breasts. He could breathe her in. She was his for the tasting and for the taking. And he would take her, he swore an oath to himself.

  His mind made up, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. The bed was nearby and convenient, and though she struggled against him, she was no match for him.

  “Be still,” he growled. He pressed her down into the bed, holding her there with his greater weight.

  “No, I will not be … I will not be your whore.” She whispered the word as though it was foul to even speak it.

  But her opposition only roused his anger and stiffened his resolve. “You assumed that role when you took on your sister’s name. You have whored for your family—and liked it very well,” he added. He pressed his aching loins into the yielding softness of her belly and at the same time forced her legs apart with one knee. “There is no honest life left open to you. You have not the virtue to demand marriage, nor the dowry to buy a place in the abbey.”

  “No! No, you’re wrong—”

  “There is no other place for you but in my care,” he insisted. Beneath him he felt her resistance falter. Her hands pressed against his chest, but they weakened. Her lips, pressed tautly together in anger and other emotions, now trembled.

  Though he knew he was striking her where she was most vulnerable, he buried any twinge of guilt. He meant to win this battle of wills. He meant to keep her for his own, whether he hated her or—No!

  He shook his head against the beginnings of an insane thought. No matter what other perverse emotions he felt for her, it did not matter. She had no other options, so he would keep her.

  One sister to wed, the other to bed.

  “You have no other choice, save to whore for any man who will have you for the co
in. You should be grateful I save you from such a fate.”

  Linnea heard his every word and she understood them. She knew he spoke the truth. Yet she could not resign herself to what was happening to her. To what he intended to do. She loved him. She had not wanted to hurt him.

  But she had hurt him, and now he was hurting her.

  He leaned on one elbow and unfastened the front of his braies. Then he pulled up her skirt until they were pressed, flesh to flesh. He was hard and ready, and she … she, God help her, was ready too. She loved him despite all the madness that lay between them. She would not fight him.

  He entered her and she closed her eyes. But not fast enough to mistake the slight softening of his intent features. He knew she was ready for him, and so he must know that she desired him yet. And if he knew she desired him, he might know, also, that she felt even more. Had his mother revealed her suspicions, or had she, herself, somehow revealed it to him?

  He began to move in an erotic rhythm that took her out of herself. He took control of her, body and soul, with that age-old rhythm, with the connection it forged between them. In the hot, rousing pace he set, Linnea ceased to care. He possessed her body, and she gladly accepted everything he offered her. Then he groaned and a shudder wracked his magnificent warrior’s body.

  Linnea lost the last of her shattered control. For one violent, lightning moment they were joined in the most perfect union God could ever have conceived between a man and a woman.

  Then it was over and they were only two people on a bed, gasping for breath. Tears started afresh in her eyes, for the reality was too cruel for her to accept.

  Axton drew back, frowning. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. He meant physically of course, and she was not hurt physically.

  He rolled off her and lay on his back, staring at the painted roof of his mother’s bed until his breathing became more normal. “Tears will not change your fate. Better that you save them to use upon another. Though they will not sway Henry either,” he added cuttingly.

  Linnea rolled away from him. She could not bear this. It was too hard.