CHAPTER SIX
Swan relished the warm summer wind on her face as they cantered across the plains of Salop, headed west towards Oswestry. Her fine gown would be ruined after this, but she didn’t care. Caution tempered her desire to let the horse have its head. Such uncertain terrain was sometimes treacherous in full daylight. She was free, riding by the light of the moon with her dear brother and a man for whom she was developing intense feelings.
Bronson’s ready acquiescence in Rodrick’s scheme had taken her by surprise, but he had never made any secret of his unhappiness with her fate. William too had wanted to accompany them, but Rodrick had persuaded him to distract their parents’ attention.
Bronson and Swan had left first, Rodrick not far behind. They rendezvoused in the stables. The ostler didn’t blink an eye when his lord’s son picked out three horses to be saddled, hastily rounding up a couple of stable boys to assist.
If the heir to Ellesmere was shocked when she hitched up her skirts and straddled the palfrey, he gave no indication of it other than a slight smile. Bronson rolled his eyes. “That’s Swan for you.”
She and the horse knew each other well. They’d grown up together and she intended to enjoy this last ride. “Thank you, Rodrick,” she said, patting her mount’s neck. “You don’t know what this means to me. It’s an unexpected pleasure to ride Cob one last time.”
He laughed. She loved the way he laughed, tossing his head back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Your palfrey’s name is Cob?”
Bronson joined in the laughter. “What else would a swan name her horse?”
In their youth Rodrick and Grace had often ridden out together. It was always a competition. He loved his sister, and she would have enjoyed this ride, but the idea of letting her lead the way never occurred to him.
Now he was content to watch Swan ride ahead of him and Bronson, her moonlit hair streaming in the wind like a banner, bared legs pressed to the horse’s flanks. “She’s quite something,” he said to himself, blinking when Bronson responded, “Yes, she is.”
He cast a sideways glance at his companion. The full moon emphasized the clench of Bronson’s jaw. “You’re not happy about the nunnery.”
“Not happy? I’m furious, livid, resentful. Swan is a woman made for a man. She’ll be buried away. It’s against nature.”
“There’s no way to avoid it?”
“Believe me, I have racked my brain for a solution. Cuthbertson has the power to turn King David against my parents in the blink of an eye. It would break my father’s heart to lose Kirkthwaite Hall.”
Rodrick recognised the implications for all Montbryces of the loss of the FitzRam’s ancestral home. Their great grandfather had arranged for it to be rebuilt for Caedmon and his wife, Agneta. He’d never been there, but had heard often enough of its grandeur. “There must be a way to counteract his influence. I’ll speak to my father.”
Bronson reined in his horse and looked at Rodrick through narrowed eyes. “Why?”
Rodrick halted his mount, his thoughts confused. “I care for her.”
Bronson snorted. “You mean you want to take her to your bed. It’s a common failing of men who meet Swan.”
The pleasant hardening at his groin bore out Bronson’s words, but there was more to it. “I can’t deny I’m attracted to her, cousin, but I want more. I enjoy her company, her intelligence, her spirit.”
Bronson exhaled resignedly. “You’ve spent exactly four hours in her company. Yesterday you abhorred her.”
Rodrick smiled. He appreciated a man who spoke his mind. “Yesterday she was a shrewish nun. Today she’s a goddess.”
Bronson shook his head. “I won’t lie to you. She can sometimes be devilish.”
His cousin’s warning only intensified his arousal.
Bronson laid a hand on his arm. “If you are serious, I will aid you, but it won’t be easy. You and I and Swan—we’re half second cousins, only linked by our common great grandfather. But many will cry foul and accuse you of consanguinity if you pursue her. She has been hurt enough. You must be sure.”
A strange calm settled in Rodrick’s heart as he watched Swan ride back towards them, a happy cherub come down from above. He was sure. He’d never been so drawn to a woman. “I will speak to my father before dawn.”
“What are you two plotting back here?” Swan asked breathlessly as she came abreast of them. “I‘d have ridden all the way to Wales if I hadn’t noticed you weren’t still behind me.”
The lightheartedness fled when neither of Swan’s companions smiled in response to her jest. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry I rode off. I thought you were right behind me.”
Cob became nervous when Rodrick suddenly dismounted and came to her side. He put one hand over hers, the other on her bare knee. She glanced at Bronson who had definitely seen their cousin’s unseemly action yet said nothing. Her heart stopped beating as Rodrick’s hand stroked her leg. She managed to squeak, “What’s going on?” out of her dry throat.
“Look me in the eye, Swan,” Rodrick commanded. “I intend to speak to my father to help me devise a plan to keep you out of the convent.”
She stared at him, not comprehending his meaning, but unwilling to douse the spark of hope in her breast. “I don’t understand.”
“Our cousin fancies he’s in love with you,” Bronson explained.
She looked into Rodrick’s eyes, expecting to see amused denial, but her heart leapt into her throat at the sincerity on his face. It broke her heart. Why now? “This cannot be,” she cried. “We are cousins.”
Rodrick reached up, put his hands on her waist and lifted her from the horse. The breath wooshed from her lungs when he pulled her body to his. “We are second cousins, Swan, and half second cousins at that. If you tell me you feel for me what burns in my heart for you, I will move heaven and earth to remove any impediments to our union.”
Her treacherous hips wanted to press against the evidence of his desire. She’d seen her brothers naked when they were children but didn’t recall anything of the size and hardness of the flesh nestled against her mons. Heat flooded her despite the evening chill creeping off the moor. Her knees threatened to buckle. The impulse was to agree, but was it only that Rodrick offered a means of escape, slim though the chances were. Did she yearn for him, or for freedom?
The brush of his warm lips against hers dispelled any doubts. She melted into him, opening readily when his tongue coaxed entry. She savored his taste, drank of his moisture, inhaled his breath as their tongues mated.
Bronson cleared his throat. “I take it that’s a yes.”
Rodrick cupped her chin. “Good enough for me,” he breathed.
Bronson’s emotions were confused. A vision of Grace emerged behind his eyes as he watched the smoldering passion erupting between his sister and Rodrick. Why hadn’t he told his cousin he suspected she’d been in his chamber and had aided in Swan’s game?
His companions were oblivious to his presence. They had set out as a threesome, now he was superfluous. If Grace had accompanied them—
Better not to harbor thoughts that led nowhere. The rapidly developing relationship between Rodrick and Swan would cause enough uproar. Grace was attractive, beautiful, but still she was his cousin. And a widow. Had it even been a year since her husband had died?
This was all moot. He had sworn off marriage. God had taken two wives and two children from him. He was destined to be alone, without a mate.
Besides, he might be drawn to her, but it was unlikely she would care for him, an unsophisticated northern cousin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bronson and Swan had suggested it would be better for Rodrick to speak to the Earl alone.
He had never visited his parents’ bedchamber at night. It had seemed a good idea, but as he stood outside the heavy oaken door, fists clenched, knees stiff, he questioned the wisdom of it. But the morrow would be filled with departing guests and meetings with Leicester. And Swan would be gone, lost to hi
m forever.
He put his ear to the door. Voices. They were awake. Good! Unless—
His parents were still deeply in love and never made any secret of their physical interest in each other, but—
He wiped the sweat from his brow and tapped on the door, hoping he didn’t smell too much of horse—or Swan. What was the scent that clung to her?
The murmurings within ceased.
“Who’s there?” his father demanded.
“Rodrick,” he replied, hoping he didn’t sound like a naughty boy disturbing his parents at night.
“Your father is tired. Can it not wait until the morrow?” his mother said softly.
“Non, maman. I must speak with you both now.”
The door opened abruptly. His red faced father, clad only in a bedrobe he was cinching at the waist, glared. “This had better be important, Rodrick. Your mother and I were—”
Rodrick struggled successfully to keep his eyes off his father’s groin. “I apologise. I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t urgent.”
His sire beckoned him impatiently into the chamber. His mother appeared from the garderobe. He breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn’t still abed and had donned a voluminous nightgown and bedrobe. But her flaming red hair, normally bound up and braided, fell around her shoulders. Its beauty struck him again, despite the steaks of grey. It was odd how Grace had inherited those tresses, and he had not. She motioned him to a chair by the cold hearth.
“I’ll stand,” he replied. “But you two may want to sit.”
His father poked at the ashes. “No use. Gone out completely. Tell us what you want before we all freeze to death.”
How could anyone be chilled on this warm summer’s night? He was on fire. “It’s about our cousins.”
Why had he started with that?
His father arched one dark eyebrow. “Cousins?”
“Bronson and Swan.”
“Swan?” his mother said, sitting down in one of the chairs.
This wasn’t how he’d planned to proceed. “It’s a nickname Suannoch was given. Because of her long neck.”
The memory of it had him sweating again. This was going from bad to worse. His parents exchanged a strange glance.
“Start at the beginning,” his mother suggested.
The beginning? How had it begun? Yesterday he’d been content with his bachelor life, today he was obsessed with a woman he barely knew. Was it because she was being whisked away that he wanted her? He remembered their kiss. There was alchemy between them. He felt the rightness of it in his bones. “I want to marry Swan.”
He wished the fire still crackled heartily in the grate if only to alleviate the utter silence that greeted his pronouncement. A nightjar chunnered somewhere in the nearby woods.
“You cannot. She’s your cousin,” his father finally said, standing with his back to the hearth as if there was still warmth to be found there.
His mother came to her feet and faced her husband. “Only second cousins, and half at that.”
His mother’s comment seemed to indicate her support. It buoyed his spirits. “Our consanguinity is four generations ago. Surely we can get a dispensation?”
His father scoffed. “From the new Pope? Do you know nothing of Anastasius? You just met the girl, and it seems to me yesterday you indicated you didn’t like her much. Mayhap the red gown has you bewitched.”
Evidently his father had noticed and paid attention. His mother looked askance at her husband. He understood their skepticism, but it irritated. He wasn’t a youth infatuated with his first girl. “I’ll admit my first impression of Swan wasn’t good, but who can blame me? All the men present reacted negatively to her. But we have to take into account her state of mind. How would you feel and act, Maman, if you were condemned to be shut away in a convent against your will?”
His mother looked at her husband. “Resentful, angry.”
“But this night I met a different Swan. She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman with spirit. If I was being forced into the monastic life, I’d be grovelling on the ground, weeping. You should have seen her tonight, riding—”
Scowling, his father looked him up and down, then raised a hand. “Enough! The less I know the better. I trust you behaved honorably. What of her parents if she disobeys them?”
Rodrick wished he had changed out of his dishevelled tunic and dirty boots before embarking on this interview. “They are not in favor of her exile. The man who was to be her father-by-marriage is insisting on it as penance for the death of her betrothed. He holds the threat of King David over their heads. They might lose their ancestral home.”
His father’s eyes widened as he came to an abrupt halt. “Not likely to happen.”
Rodrick’s spirits lifted. “Something can be done?”
His father sat. “Bronson wouldn’t have known this when they set out from Kirkthwaite, but we received word earlier this evening of King David’s death. The news was brought to Leicester.”
Rodrick stared at his father, waiting for his heart to slow. The implications of the death of the Scottish king went far beyond his own problems. “What of the succession. Did he anoint his grandson?”
“It would appear so. He didn’t have much choice after his son died. But Malcolm is eleven years old and Donnchad of Fife, Scotland’s senior magnate, rules as Regent. David’s other grandson, William, younger yet, is Earl of Northumberland. I suspect Donnchad will want to enlist the support of landowners such as the FitzRams for these young royals. The last thing he’ll need is dissension in Northumbria. He’s apparently been touring Scotland with Malcolm. It wouldn’t surprise me if Aidan has already taken advantage of the situation.”
“It’s imperative I impart this news to Bronson and Swan at once. We must have already left the Hall when word was brought.”
His mother eyed him suspiciously. “We wondered where the three of you had gone.”
Rodrick felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “I set out to give Swan one last opportunity to ride, but something happened to me out there on the moors. I don’t want to let her go. Now we have hope.”
His father came to his feet and put a hand on Rodrick’s shoulder. “One obstacle may have been removed, but you must seek the priest’s permission next. I’ll accompany you when you speak with him.”
He embraced his parents then hastened to Bronson’s chamber where he hammered loudly. Bronson opened the door wide.
“Good, you’re still dressed.”
“I wouldn’t sleep if I went to bed, so what was the point?”
He clamped a hand on FitzRam’s shoulder. “Wake your sister. I have news.”
Bronson’s eyes widened. “You’re smiling. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Rodrick pulled him towards Swan’s chamber. “Hurry.”
They both rapped on her door. It opened a crack. Amber eyes peered out cautiously.
“What’s happened?”
“Open the door,” Bronson said. “Rodrick has news, and he’s still smiling.”
She allowed them entry. Rodrick wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed she was still dressed in the red gown.
She must have sensed his feelings. “I didn’t want to take it off; or rather I didn’t want to put the habit back on.”
Rodrick took hold of her hands, wondering if she could hear the thudding of his heart. “You won’t ever have to don religious garb again.”
He tightened his hold on her hands when she swayed.
“How can it be?” she asked.
“King David of Scotland is dead.”
Bronson thumped his fist into his palm. “Ha! And Malcolm is anointed king?”
“Yes. With a regent. And don’t forget, Montbryces are now supporters of the Plantagenet cause. The Scottish throne is allied to the same cause. The FitzRams are our family. We won’t take kindly to mistreatment of our family.”
Rodrick had addressed his words to Bronson, all the while keeping his eyes on Swan’s fa
ce. She had closed her eyes and was breathing deeply, but still gripped his hands. Free of the convent, more or less without his help, would she still be drawn to him, or had he been a means of escape? She might return to Northumbria, or mayhap settle at Shelfhoc with Bronson and marry anyone of her choosing without the issue of consanguinity hanging over them.
Laughing loudly, Bronson put his hands on his sister’s waist, picked her up and twirled her around. “This means you can accompany me to Shelfhoc.”
“Yes!” she replied, enjoying laughter for the first time in months. Seeing the home of the great grandmother whose name she bore had been one of her deepest desires, but she suddenly became aware of the pained expression on Rodrick’s face. She eased out of her brother’s grip and turned to the man who drew her like a lodestone. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m happy you’re free now. You can go where you please.”
His cool demeanor was perplexing. She had trusted him with her feelings but it was as if he’d become once again the aloof Rodrick of their first meeting. Perhaps his parents had dissuaded him from a relationship with her. “You don’t look happy.”
He shrugged. “You should go to Shelfhoc. I suppose I assumed you might stay here a few more days.”
Her spirits lifted. Maybe he did care for her. “We can, and then you could accompany us to Shelfhoc.” She turned to her brother. “If it’s agreeable to Bronson.”
“Of course. I am anxious to get to Ruyton and see my new home. I have a feeling Edwin may have let things go. He hadn’t been well for a year or two before he died.”
“You needn’t worry. Edwin and my father were friends. We’ve kept an eye on things there.”
Swan’s heart raced. “You’ve been to Shelfhoc?”
Rodrick smiled. “Many times.”
She clasped his hands. “I can’t wait to see it. But we must send word to my parents. They’ve probably been frantically worried I’ve already entered the convent.”
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