Belle’s ears burned. What foul piece of tomfoolery is this?
Mark cleared his throat. “When I discovered this dire situation, tis true that I played at wooing Mistress Griselda, but only until I had the opportunity to seek out Belle and to free her from Fletcher’s tyranny. I had no intention to injure Mistress Griselda. The ashes and duckling bones were my own invention, and not LaBelle’s.”
Mortimer squirmed at the mention of duck bones. Belle lifted a brow. Methinks I spy a guilty conscience, but he will never confess to it.
A smile ruffled Mark’s mouth. “The truth of the matter is that I did indeed sign a betrothal contract, but not with Master Fletcher. My contract was with the Cavendish family whom I have known and loved all my life. In short, my lords, I arrived at Bodiam Castle in early October to claim both my bride and her marriage portion.”
Belle collapsed on her bench. Her head buzzed. Please God, don’t let me faint now. She bit the inside of her cheek.
Mark looked down at her. “I fear I have taken my lawyer by surprise, your honor. I had no opportunity to acquaint him with this matter.”
Belle gnashed her teeth as rage gnawed at her heart. I will hang you myself, you traitorous dog! So she was the rich wife Mark had bragged about, and it was Bodiam’s lush fields that had been promised to him, not the acreage in Northumberland. Oh, Papa, how could you do this to me!
Mortimer’s confident demeanor slipped askew. “Do you have this spousal contract? I demand to see it!”
“Here, my lords!” Kitt stood on his bench so that all the spectators could see him. “I am Lord Hayward’s squire and I hold the document for him.” He jumped down and leaned over the gallery railing. He dropped a packet into the bailiff’s waiting hands.
Belle moaned under her breath. You, too, Kitt? Is there no one left in this world who has not betrayed me? Would she never be the mistress of her own life, but always at the beck and call of some man?
The judges slit open the waxy envelope and studied the contract. Belle gathered her robe around her, pushed herself off her bench and stalked over to her client.
“You have not won me if that’s what you think,” she snarled in an undertone.
Leaning down, Mark whispered. “Tis not you I want to win, but Bodiam.”
A red blur clouded her vision. “Of course! I should have known!”
“Nay,” the handsome viper protested. “Tis not for me but for—”
“Silence the prisoner!” bellowed Justice Noble.
Once more the guards yanked Mark away from her. He mouthed something to her but she could not decipher it, nor did she care to. She had believed too many lies from those honey-sweet lips of his.
Belle addressed the court. “Your gracious pardon, my lords. Twill not happen again, I assure you. May I beg your indulgence and see this contract for myself?”
The bailiff passed the document to her. Her heart grew heavy as lead when she read the words that bound her and her possessions over to Sir Mark Hayward. She swallowed an oath at Kitt’s looping signature across the bottom. The oath changed to a muffled sob when she noticed her father’s firm countersignature. Sold like a horse!
Belle returned the document to the bailiff. She had a good mind to walk out of this courtroom right now and leave Mark to his fate. Let them hang him. Then she would be free at last.
To do what? Sit in her cold, dark castle nursing her injured pride while his too-handsome body rotted away in some graveyard? Let the wretch live, but he would have to muddle through life without her.
The splatter of heavy raindrops against the thick glass windows broke her musings. She shook her head to banish any tender thoughts of him that still clung there. Justice Barnes cast a stern eye on the prisoner.
“Under your most solemn oath, do you swear that Mistress LaBelle knows of this betrothal?”
Mark’s mouth twisted. “Aye, she most certainly does.”
Belle glared at him. Hedgepig!
“And,” the justice continued, “does Mistress LaBelle wear your ring of promise?”
Mark nodded. “She does indeed this very minute, your honor.”
His golden ring seared Belle’s finger. Maltworm!
Justice Barnes’s grim features softened. “And have you exchanged a kiss with Mistress LaBelle to seal this agreement?”
Mark grinned. “We have indeed, your honor. Many sweet ones.”
Belle’s lips burned. Thieving weasel!
The judges again conferred in whispers. The crowded courtroom squirmed in their seats. None of them could remember such a fascinating afternoon. Mortimer mopped his face with his wrinkled handkerchief. Mark hissed for Belle’s attention. She refused to glance his way.
Justice Barnes nodded to the bailiff, who rapped his staff for silence. “Tis the opinion of this court that the estate of Bodiam Castle with its furnishings, chattel and income—including the aforementioned ruby brooch—belongs to Sir Mark Hayward lawfully betrothed to Mistress LaBelle Cavendish Fletcher. Furthermore, this court judges that Lord Hayward has been wrongfully and shamefully accused of diverse crimes by Master Mortimer Fletcher. Therefore, we find for the defendant. Not guilty of all charges!”
Kitt and Brandon broke into lusty cheers. The spectators stamped and hooted. Mortimer shook the railing in front of him and screamed, “Tis another plot to wrest my fortune from me!”
Justice Barnes gave him a cold look. “Do not try our patience any longer, Master Fletcher. Go back to London and consider yourself a most fortunate man. If you dare return to Sussex or ever harass Sir Mark Hayward in any manner, this court will take a serious interest in the exact nature of your late brother’s death.”
Mortimer looked as if he would faint.
As soon as his guards unlocked the fetters on Mark’s wrists, he pointed to Fletcher.
“I thank you, my lords, for your just verdict. Mortimer Fletcher, I give you one day and a night to vacate my house at Bodiam,” he shouted.
The crowd cheered again.
Belle fumed. His house already! I’ll make him rue that pretty speech!
Without further ado, the justices descended from their bench and disappeared behind closed doors. Mortimer pushed his way out of the chamber. Pandemonium erupted on all sides as the citizens of Hawkhurst and Rye jostled each other in their haste to congratulate the victor and his lawyer. Belle jammed her papers back into her case. The sooner she could flee this den, the happier she would be. She would return to London and there sort out what she intended to do with the rest of her life.
“Doctor Bartholomew!” Mark called over the heads of his admirers. “A word in private, I beg you.”
Belle ignored his continued entreaties. She snatched up her case, lowered her head and elbowed her way through the mob of well-wishers. At all costs, she had to avoid not only Mark, but also her father, Kat and that wretched little brother of hers. Get out of this building, doff the confining gown in the stable where she had quartered her hired horse and be off to London. The devil take the weather! She would ride all night.
Mark caught her at the top of the stairway. “Bel…Bartholomew! A word!”
Belle twisted in his grasp. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
He chuckled. “Good! Just listen for I have much to say to you.”
He dragged her into an arched doorway. Jobe appeared from nowhere and stood in front of them, effectively blocking not only her escape but also the scrutiny of curious eavesdroppers. Belle twisted off his ring.
“Here!” She pressed it into his hand. “Take back your ring. I wish I could take back all those kisses as well.”
Mark’s dark eyes blazed. “For once in your life will you shut your mouth and open your ears? I signed that agreement for you, not for my personal gain. You told me you wanted Bodiam to be yours above all else in this world. So be it! Now you have got it, including that deuced ruby brooch. I want none of it.”
She snorted. “Ha! Pigs fly in legions around chimney pots!”
&nb
sp; He shook her shoulders. “Will you listen? That contract was given to me by Fletcher, not your father. I changed some of the wording as a safeguard to your property. If you take the time to study the document, you will see that I changed the date to a month earlier. Kitt agreed to sign it of his own free will.”
She curled her lip. “My poor little brother! You have already infected his brain with your lying tricks. My congratulations.”
Mark’s face hardened. “If you were truly a man I would challenge you for that remark. Unplug your ears, Belle. I love you!”
Those last words stabbed her heart. Of all the lies he had ever told her, this one was the very worst. Without thinking, she slapped him. “Go tell that to your mistress, you knave. She might believe you. I never will. You could have spared me that final perfidy. You are too cruel by half.”
He released her. His face drained of all its color. “And you have no woman’s heart under that lawyer’s robe. Everything must be your way or no way. Your stubbornness will never let you see what is right in front of your nose. Very well. I have done with you. A clean break, Belle, for I will not let your sword pierce me again. I have suffered enough injuries for your sake already.”
He clapped his hand on Jobe’s shoulder. “Let us be gone, my friend. There is nothing more for us here.”
“The horses await us in the stable across the square,” Jobe told him.
Mark nodded, then he ducked under his friend’s outstretched arm and clattered down the stairs.
Mark’s sudden departure took Belle by surprise. Before she could stop him or shout to him, Jobe backed her against the paneled door.
The African’s dark eyes glinted. “Did you enjoy that, Belle?”
She swallowed but refused to give way to the veiled threat in his voice. “Aye, I relished it! Mark has no rights over me. I will not be bought and sold like a cow.”
He gave her a smile without warmth. “In my homeland, a woman would consider herself most fortunate indeed if a man paid five cows for her. In your case, I might offer a goat.”
Her lower lip trembled. “How very fortunate for both of us that we are not in Africa!”
“On the other hand, Mark has sacrificed everything for you.” Jobe pushed his face closer to hers. “Everything. He owns nothing now but the borrowed clothing he wears, his exceedingly faithful horse—and sour memories of you.”
Belle felt chilled. “I gave him back his ring. And he now has Bodiam’s wealth to fill his pockets.”
Jobe shook his head. “And still you do not hear what has been said to you. Mark told your parents and your brother as well as me that he does not want your pile of stones for himself—only for you. He was willing to sacrifice his freedom—even his very life to see that you got your dearest wish.”
Icy fingers closed around her heart. “Papa…Papa gave him land near Wolf Hall. Mark has that.”
Jobe bared his teeth. “While he sat in his cold cell, he gave back all that had been promised him by your esteemed parents. He said that his honor would not allow him to accept their generous fee since he had handled the affair so badly. I repeat—he has nothing!”
“Where will he go?” she asked in a small voice.
His eyes narrowed. “Far away from England. We will seek adventures in the wide world, enjoy good times, share much wine and many women.”
Nay! her heart shouted. “Do you see this future in your land of shadows?”
Jobe’s gaze pierced through her. “I know it to be true.”
She tossed her head. “Mark is English. He will come home as he did before.”
“But not to you,” the African rumbled. “You knew him when he was a callow youth and followed your bidding like a puppy. I know him as the man he has become. He will never reappear in your life.” Jobe straightened up and pulled his hood over his head. “I once told you that you would find happiness when you stopped running from yourself. Tis too bad that you are afraid, for you have tossed your happiness away like a child’s broken toy. May your pride keep you warm—alone.”
Pride? Alone? Memories of Mark crowded into her mind, clamoring for her attention. How he had teased her, taught her, protected her, fought with her, fought for her—and most of all, how he had loved her! He couldn’t leave her now. Bodiam was nothing without Mark to share it.
Dear God, what have I done? Bunching her robe in her fists, Belle dashed ahead of Jobe and plunged down the stairs. Tears burned her eyelids. She pushed open the heavy door to the square.
The rain poured down in sheets. Shielding her eyes, she searched for Mark. There! Across the way in the semi-shelter of a narrow alley, he sat hunched over his saddle, holding the reins of Jobe’s mount. While he waited, he rubbed his forearm—exactly the place where she had broken it so many years ago.
“Mark!” she shouted over the deluge. She raced across the street, slipping on the wet cobblestones. “Marcus,” she said when she reached his side. She took hold of Artemis’s bridle. She wouldn’t let Mark ride out of her life.
He gave her a cool look. “What did you do with Jobe? Push him down the stairs?”
Belle wanted to say how sorry she was. She wanted to thank him for everything he had done for her. To tell him how much she had loved him since she was a young child. Instead, she blurted out, “I want my ring back.”
Mark wiped the rain out of his face. “Could you please repeat that?”
Swallowing, she gripped the bridle tighter. “I said I want my ring back—please, Marcus,” she added. “I…I love you.”
He threw his head back and laughed in her face.
The rain hid the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I have been such a dolt. That I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry! I really am! Didn’t you hear me? I said I love you. What the hell are you laughing at?”
Still chortling, he dismounted. “Your mustache is melting off,” he said, draping his cape over her shoulders.
Belle touched her upper lip and caught the bedraggled thing before it fell to the ground. “Great Jove!” she mumbled ducking her head. “I am undone.”
Mark pulled her closer to him. “I know a good lawyer if you need one,” he murmured in her ear.
She glanced up. His eyes had softened into the look she had grown to love. “Then may I have my ring back? I swear I will never part with it again.”
Mark cocked his brow in the most endearing fashion. “Hold, lawyer! Will my ring be received as a token of a promise to marry?”
Belle’s teeth chattered. “Aye, and the sooner the better before we both die from a chill.”
He pulled the circlet of gold from his little finger. “The season of Advent comes upon us quickly. If the banns are published tomorrow, we could be married in a week. If not, we must wait until Christmastide.”
She held out her left hand, fingers spread wide apart. “You know I have no patience, especially when it comes to waiting for Christmas,” she replied. “Don’t tease me so, Marcus.”
He tapped her wet nose. “One thing more—do you also promise to be married in your shift? I will have no man say that I took you only for your wealth.”
She nodded. “Agreed, as long as we don’t get married out of doors in the middle of a snowstorm. Sweet Saint Anne, I am wet to the skin now!”
Mark slid his ring over her finger. “Then tis a match. I would kiss you to seal our bargain but we have already attracted some attention. I don’t want the good people of Rye to think that I have an unholy interest in young men.”
Belle grinned at him. What a roguish devil he was! “Then take me home—to Bodiam.”
He lifted her into his saddle, and then mounted behind her. Jobe crossed the street and took up his reins. “I see that we are now three,” he remarked.
Reaching over, Belle touched his arm. “Thank you, Jobe. I am forever in your debt.”
Mark saluted him. “Whatever you did, my friend, you saved my life.”
Jobe flashed his broad smile. “Exactly so!”
M
ark kneed Artemis into a walk. “I have just thought of something, my sweet,” he said in Belle’s ear.
“What?” she asked, shivering in earnest.
“When you marry me, you will attain your heart’s desire.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Your love?”
He chuckled. “That as well, but I was speaking of something else. You will finally become a true lady—Lady Hayward.”
“Oh!” Belle had never before considered that pleasing aspect. “Twill seem very strange. You will have to teach me how to be one.”
Mark chuckled then he whispered into her ear. “I will be happy to give you the first lesson just as soon as we can find an accommodating inn and I can get you out of those wet clothes. Truly, ma petite chou-chou, you are far too desirable to remain a boy!”
Epilogue
November’s icy rains ceased just long enough to bless Mark and Belle’s nuptials with sunshine. Three days before the beginning of the Advent penitential season, the happy couple pledged their lives together in a simple but heartfelt ceremony in Bodiam’s chapel. Walking slowly but without the aid of his crutches, Sir Brandon Cavendish gave away his only daughter to the one man he had always hoped she would marry. Lady Kat wept with joyful abandon. Montjoy drank a great deal of spiced wine so that Jobe had to carry him home. Stormy weather prevented Belle’s half-brother Francis from crossing the Channel in time but he promised to fete the newlyweds at Christmastide when he returned from his studies in Paris.
The bride, as promised, wore only her shift, an exquisite garment of ivory linen, trimmed with lace and many colorful love knots fashioned by Ivy with a good deal of help—and hindrance—from Kitt. The legendary Cavendish brooch sparkled from Belle’s bodice, but Mark had eyes only for her.
“One day our own daughter will wear it when she marries some knavish fellow,” Mark told Belle much later that night when he unpinned the ruby.
Belle snuggled against her new husband. “But we don’t have a daughter—yet.”
“Tush, chou-chou.” He kissed her lips, lingering there for a delicious moment. “All things will come in good time.” He drew the bed curtains tight around them to keep out the chill of the November night and to keep in the warmth of their love.
Halloween Knight Page 25
