Chapter Five
As Burgundy stood in the chapel on Sunday morning, she fervently hoped that Anthony Russell was wrong. She clung to the hope that there was indeed such a thing as honor. Why had she changed her mind at the last minute? Was it because of the book, because of the letter? Both those things and more. It was as if someone were guiding her to choose this path.
Beside her, the Earl of Devon silently overwhelmed her with his powerful presence. His dark eyes had searched her face with an intense look as she came to stand with him at the altar. Apprehension curled inside her belly.
Queen Elizabeth, garbed in silver and white, failed to detract from the exquisite bride. The queen wore a self-satisfied look that plainly said, without her fine hand at the rudder, this perfect union would never have been launched.
A dropped pin could have been heard upon the frosty air as the priest asked, "Do you, Burgundy, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"
"Yes, I do, yes," Burgundy replied quickly before she could change her mind. The rest was a blur-- the ring, the kiss, the congratulations, the rice. The thing was done quickly and irrevocably. Wed as long as we both shall live! Burgundy realized with a sense of impending doom.
Her groom spoke urgently with Elizabeth, then came striding toward her. "I'm sorry. There is a need for haste. We leave on the next tide. Did my man pick up your trunks?"
"Yes. Excuse me. I too must speak with the queen."
Nan never left her mistress's side. "I am pleased you have done your duty, child," she whispered as Burgundy approached the queen.
"Your Majesty, I want to thank you."
Elizabeth bent toward her intimately. "Lord Mountjoy is a fine prize. The name says it all!"
"Nay," Burgundy said, her cheeks as rosy as the dawn had been. "He would have been my last choice! I came to thank you for all you have done for me. The education you gave me was a priceless gift."
"How could I have done otherwise, child, with your mother's spirit hovering to make sure I did my duty? Devon awaits you, and patience isn't one of his virtues."
Aboard ship, Nicholas took her belowdecks. He assigned Nan a small cabin, then took Burgundy into a larger one, next to Nan's. "This is ours. It's rather spartan, and not very conducive to romance, but with any luck and a strong wind, you"ll only have to spend one night aboard. We should reach Devon before midnight tomorrow."
Burgundy's throat ached with unshed tears. She had done this thing so that she wouldn't feel guilt over acting without honor, but now she felt a crushing guilt for what she had done to Anthony Russell. How would she endure Mountjoy's dominant presence in this small cabin? They would be caged together like two wild beasts.
When he left, her legs felt like water. She sank to the bunk, wondering how she would get through the rest of the day, let alone the night and all day tomorrow. Then that thought was replaced by a bleaker one. How would she get through the rest of her life?"
She thought of all the women in the book, all the women who had gone before her, and drew strength from them. She decided to go up on deck. She had only sailed on the Thames; this should be an adventure. She stood at the rail until the vessel reached the open sea. The bitter cold wind penetrated through her clothes.
Suddenly, Nicholas was beside her, wrapping her in a sable cloak with a hood of soft gray fox. "My wedding gift."
She was angry that he was giving her something so costly. "Think you it will thaw an ice queen?" she challenged.
His dark eyes held hers. "One way or another, I will make you hot for me, Burgundy."
She wanted to fling the fur into the sea, but the bitter wind made her cling to it possessively. She turned her face from him, but already he was walking away.
The moment the ship headed south into the Strait of Dover, nausea swept over her like one of the waves beneath her in the pewter sea. "Some bloody adventure," she muttered through tightly clenched teeth. She went back to her cabin, where she found Nan in a similar state.
"Oh, my lamb, I hope you don't feel as poorly as I do."
"Go and lie down, Nan, and I'll do the same. What can't be cured must be endured. Isn't that what you've always told me?"
"All we can do is pray," Nan advised, going to her own cabin.
Burgundy wrapped her arms about her churning belly. "Pray for death,"she muttered irreverently.
All afternoon and evening she rolled about the bunk in the living nightmare that was mal de mer. Finally, unable to bear the heaving cabin longer, she staggered up on deck. The seas were high; Burgundy lost her footing as she was thrown against the ropes.
A curse dropped from Mountjoy's lips as he saw her floundering. He turned the wheel over to his captain and sprinted to his wife's side. "What in hellfire are you doing up here? It isn't safe!"
"I'm sick... dying... I needed fresh air..."
He grabbed her up into his arms before she was swept overboard, and carried her down to their cabin. He tossed aside her sable, set her down upon the bunk, and began to unbutton her wedding gown. She clutched the dress to her bosom, moaning. He forcefully loosened her fingers from the fabric. "Your misplaced modesty is ridiculous. I've undressed a woman before."
He was too forceful, like a tempest, sweeping her clothes from her, tossing them aside, flinging a nightgown over her nakedness. He propped her against the pillows while he poured her wine.
"Drink this. It will settle the queasiness. God's wounds, wench, are you sure you're descended from a long line of seafarers?"
For answer she vomited most indelicately into his lap. "My wedding present," she gasped.
His eyes glazed black fury; then his sense of humor came to his rescue. "Touché, Burgundy, I swear you did it a-purpose."
She shook her head, feeling slightly better. "No, but I wish I'd thought of it. I enjoyed spewing on you!"
Mountjoy made himself scarce the rest of the voyage. Meals were sent to her at regular intervals, but food was the last thing either she or Nan needed. They nursed each other as best they could, and by the evening of the second day, finally got their sea legs. Even so, they were grateful to set foot on terra firma two hours earlier than Mountjoy had predicted.
Dunster must have had a watch out for their ship, for before they dropped anchor in the bay, the lights in the castle atop the cliff were blazing in welcome.
They were met at the entrance by a man of middle years with a square build and an air of calm competence.
"This is Mr. Burke, my steward. He will take care of any problem you may have, no matter how difficult," Nicholas said warmly. "This is my countess, Mr. Burke. I was married at Court."
The steward's eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the news.
Nicholas watched his face intently. "Her name is Burgundy... Burgundy Bedford... Burgundy Lynton Bedford."
She saw the light dawn upon Mr. Burke's countenance. She was relieved to see that he was neither shocked nor disapproving. Actually, he seemed pleased.
"Welcome to Dunster, Lady Mountjoy."
"Thank you, Mr. Burke. This is Nan Greenwood, who has been with me all my life. She's had a rough voyage and should go straight to bed."
"Welcome to Dunster, Mrs. Greenwood." He smiled at Burgundy. "Come, my lady. Let me show you to your chamber."
Burgundy didn't even glance at Nicholas for his approval; she simply followed Mr. Burke, instinctively knowing she was in very capable hands.
The master bedchamber was huge. A fireplace was built into one of the granite walls, and the other three were hung with tapestries. A deep-piled carpet covered the floor, and the bed was hung with emerald velvet curtains.
In no time at all, Mr. Burke set the servants to building a fire, hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, and carrying in a bath for her.
"Thank you, Mr. Burke. Could you see that Nan is provided with a bath? Seasickness leaves a horrid miasma."
"I have already seen to it, my lady. The master has asked that supper be served up here. He asks permission to join you."
/> The corners of Burgundy's mouth twitched with amusement as she studied him. "Mountjoy doesn't ask permission for aught. Those are your own words, Mr. Burke."
He neither confirmed nor denied. "I wish you joy on your fist night in Dunster, my lady."
After her bath, Burgundy put on a nightgown, then added a lavender-colored bed-robe for good measure. She was brushing her hair when Nicholas came in without knocking. A sharp rebuke was on her lips, but before the sparks flew, two servants brought in supper trays.
The food was delicious, far better prepared than the meals at Court. Burgundy ate sparingly, however, not wanting to repeat her indelicate performance.
Mountjoy's dark eyes roamed over her, missing no detail. She'd be damned if she'd avert her eyes and play the shy maiden. Instead, she boldly surveyed her new husband. His velvet bed-robe was black and gold. She guessed he wore nothing beneath it; even his feet were bare.
"I hope you like Dunster, Burgundy."
"I imagine daylight will confirm my suspicions that it's a forbidding fortress on a windswept coast. I warrant the only way I'll survive the winter is in front of a roaring fire."
"The winters are somewhat cold," he acknowledged, "but Devon's waters and climate are generally mild. Spring arrives early, and then Devon becomes incredibly beautiful."
"When do you leave for Ireland, my lord?"
"Tomorrow." He rose from the table and held out his hand. "We only have till dawn."
Burgundy was vastly relieved. All she had to do was get through the next few hours.
Nicholas moved straight to the bed and turned back the fur covers. Burgundy was agitated; the gesture set her teeth on edge. When Mountjoy removed his robe, she was annoyed with herself to find she averted her eyes and played the shy maiden after all.
She had no choice but to remove her own bed-robe. She did so quickly and slipped between the sheets, shivering with apprehension at the ordeal awaiting her.
He found her breath-stoppingly lovely, but prickly as a bloody thistle. His hands were strong, firm and insistent as they reached for her.
Burgundy stiffened as she was implacably drawn to his hard body. When he tried to kiss her, she averted her face. When his hand roamed to intimate places, she recoiled.
Nicholas schooled himself to patience, but finally realized she was determined that he would not woo her into a giving mood. She left him no choice. He intended to consummate this union tonight, whether his bride was willing or no. He managed to perform the hymeneal right without her cooperation, yet without her actual refusal.
Burgundy lay absolutely still; her husband's harsh breathing was the only sound in the room. There had been pain, but the ordeal had not been as devastating as she had expected. The worst part was the guilt she felt over Tony.
When Mountjoy saw the tears upon her cheeks, he flung himself from the bed. Burgundy wiped away the tears, sighing heavily.
"If those sighs are for your lost love, madam, they are wasted."
Burgundy sat up quickly, her dark violet eyes liquid with tears.
Jealousy rode him relentlessly. "Anthony Russell took my bribe not to go through with the marriage."
She sprang from the bed like a tigress. "That's not true, you lying bastard! It was I who withdrew-- for honor's sake." She laughed and cried at the same time. "I sacrificed myself for honor's sake, if you can credit such naiveté!"
"Sacrifice?" he thundered, his black eyes glittering with suppressed violence. "The penniless Mistress Bedford sacrificed herself to become the wealthy Countess of Devon!"
"I hate you! Get out!"
Nicholas Mountjoy bowed with arrogant contempt. "I am thankful I am on my way to Ireland."
"I hope you never return from the barbarous, ill-fated place!" she flung at him as he departed, crashing the door upon its trembling hinges.
Letter Of Love Page 5
