Boden snarled at William, who pointed a finger at him even as he backed away. “Another time, Boring Boden,” he taunted the man. “Another time!”
Boden’s eyes narrowed dangerously but he didn’t reply. The truth was that he and William adored each other for the most part, but there was a good deal of rivalry between them. They were both young and full of themselves, which put Dane in a bad position at times. Not that either man had failed him when it counted but, at times, it was like separating two rutting cats. As Dane tried to forget the tussling pair, another knight approached him.
“Should I keep Willie away from Boden, my lord?”
Dane turned to Sir Syler de Poyer, a knight who had served Shrewsbury but a knight he’d now inherited.
Syler was a cousin to Dastan’s wife, from the Norman-Welsh de Poyer family. He was stocky, muscular, with enormous hands and big, brown eyes, and as loyal as a favorite dog. Dane never had to repeat a command to Syler. Everything he said was instantly attended to. Syler was no-nonsense and infinitely patient, especially when it came to William and Boden, who were constantly trying to outdo each other. Therefore, it was a relief to have both Syler and Dastan to balance the foolery of the other two, but Dane shook his head to the man’s question.
“Just keep an eye on William,” he muttered. “I will take care of Boden. If you see the two of them starting to go at it again, you have my permission to bash skulls.”
“I will, my lord.”
Dane knew he would, too, which gave him some comfort. Now, he could focus on what he needed to do without worrying over William and Boden scrapping.
It was a wait that was soon to be over.
As the sun began to sink low in the western sky, Dastan finally emerged from the cloister with a small figure next to him. Dane knew it was a woman because he could see the curve of her figure, even beneath the unflattering woolen garments. In truth, he hadn’t honestly been nervous leading up to this day, he was merely resigned. But the moment he actually laid eyes upon the woman he was to marry, he could feel a twitching in his belly.
That twitching signified reluctance he’d kept buried.
Buried, indeed, because if he wanted the Shrewsbury titles, then he had to marry the heiress. That was a fact. He’d kept his displeasure hidden, focused instead on what he was set to inherit and pretending the means by which he would gain his new position didn’t bother him in the least.
But it had.
The moments leading up to this significant point in time had been many. As Dane watched Dastan lead the woman towards him, it was as if the entire past month flashed before his eyes. It started with the duke’s death and how he’d ridden with Dastan and Syler at the head of the Shrewsbury army to take Garreth home to be buried with his ancestors. Then he flashed forward to Shrewsbury’s majordomo, a man with a strong Teutonic accent, as he read the missives he’d been entrusted with, only to be opened upon the duke’s death.
When the missives were read, the majordomo left the castle to return to his home in Saxony, unwilling to serve the new duke. It was the general consensus among the knights that the old majordomo had maybe been expecting the dukedom for himself, or at least an abundance of riches that he did not get, so when he left, it was with Dane’s good riddance.
He had enough to worry about.
Still, even though Dane had known the contents of the missives based on what Garreth had told him, he had been surprised to hear that everything the duke owned – and he’d meant everything – had been left to him, with some money going to Dastan, Syler, and even Boden and William to a certain degree. The duke had given the men money from his vast fortune to thank them for their loyalty and friendship, but Dane received the bulk of a very rich estate.
Provided he married the heiress.
So here he was, carrying out an old man’s wishes, wondering if he shouldn’t do just what William had said – marry the woman and leave her at the abbey. Dane had plans of his own, plans that didn’t include a wife, but he was stuck. He would have been stupid to turn down the offer of Shrewsbury’s dukedom, not that he could have, but when he returned to see his father now, it would be as the man’s equal in station.
As he’d promised the old duke, he’d sent word to his father about the change in his status. Lord Blackmore was to become the Duke of Shrewsbury. That was a prideful thought, and one that had grown on him over the weeks. He couldn’t even imagine what his mother, Remington, would say. That her eldest son should be given such a prestigious gift was probably more than she could have ever hoped for him.
But between him and this vast and great gift was the little matter of a marriage mass.
The closer it came, the more turmoil he felt.
Am I doing the right thing?
As Dastan and the woman closed in on him, Dane snapped out of his thoughts. Somewhere over to his right, William had managed to bring the priest around, and now men were taking positions in front of the door to the church, the traditional place where a marriage ceremony would begin. He felt Syler tug on his arm, also pulling him over to the archway, just as Dastan brought up the lady.
Now, two strangers were about to be married.
It couldn’t have been more awkward.
Dane’s attention turned to the priest, whom he noticed had been drinking. The man reeked of alcohol and was weaving a little, even as William stood next to him and tried to steady him. That’s all we need is a drunken priest, Dane thought with annoyance. As if this situation wasn’t uncomfortable enough, now they had a sauced priest. But at least the bride wasn’t kicking or screaming, or giving in to fits of hysterics. That was something to be grateful for. But the truth was that even if she was so inclined, it would have been difficult with Dastan standing next to her, waiting to quell any such spells.
In truth, Dane felt a bit sorry for the girl. He didn’t even know her, but he felt sorry for her. He could only imagine what a shock all of this must have been, and Dane wasn’t heartless about it. Ambivalent, yes. Heartless, no. In fact, on their journey to St. Idloes, he’d even stopped in the Jewish section of Shrewsbury, at a goldsmith’s stall, and selected two pieces of jewelry for the woman as gifts on the event of their marriage. One was a simple gold band for the third finger of her right hand, her wedding finger, and the second was a marriage brooch. The brooch was actually quite beautiful, with precious jewels inlaid into the shape of a hawk and on the back were these words:
A modest wife knows a chaste bed
Dane didn’t think those words were particularly kind, or even pleasant, but it was the only thing the goldsmith had that was specifically designed for a marriage, so he bought it. With those two offerings tucked into the pocket of his tunic, he finally faced Garreth de Lara’s daughter before the entry to the church.
Let’s get this over with.
“My lord,” Dastan said. “Be introduced to the Lady Grier Ysabel de Lara. My lady, this is your husband to be, Sir Dane de Russe, Lord Blackmore. His father is the Duke of Warminster.”
With those words, Dane found himself looking at the woman, who finally decided to lift her face to him. Until this moment, she’d had her head down and a kerchief over her hair, obscuring most her features. But when she finally looked at him and he got a good look at her face, he was in for a surprise – a round face and rosebud lips. Skin like cream. Big, bottomless eyes that were the most amazing color he’d ever seen – browns and greens and yellows, all mixed up together. She looked up at him, her eyes fixing on him, and Dane had to fight off an astonished reaction. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Tendrils of chestnut-colored hair escaped her kerchief and he found himself staring at her – all of her.
This wasn’t what he’d expected.
She was… beautiful.
“My lady,” he finally greeted. “Your father was a dear friend. May I express my condolences on his passing?”
That didn’t draw much of a reaction from her other than a brief nod of the head, but she seemed to be inspe
cting him much in the same way he was inspecting her. Did he read astonishment on her face, too? He couldn’t tell. But one thing was for certain – William’s words, of marrying her and leaving her behind, were suddenly something he wasn’t inclined to consider. Not that he really had, but something told him he didn’t want to leave her behind at all.
It was just a feeling he had.
Curiosity had the better of him.
But that curiosity would have to wait. The drunken priest began to speak and Dane tore his eyes off his bride to look at the man, watching as William had to keep pushing on the priest’s shoulder to right him because he was tipping over. Time and time again, the man would start leaning and William was there to make sure he didn’t fall over.
The process at the entry door was usual; the priest questioned the bride and groom as to their willingness to marry, making sure there was an agreement on both sides. There was an agreement of sorts, but it was clear from the couple that there was no excitement about it. When the questions were over, William paid the priest an allotted amount of coins for the wedding as Dane placed the plain gold band on the lady’s finger and pinned the exquisite marriage brooch to her woolen garment. It looked terribly out of place. When that was finished, the group proceeded inside for the mass.
The chapel was very old, having been built centuries before, and it smelled like a tomb Cold, musty, and dusty. The priest began intoning the hastily-arranged marriage mass, joined by two small acolytes bearing candles, but there was little else by way of pomp and circumstance. It was all very simple, with heavily-armed knights surrounding one small and frightened oblate, who was now Lady de Russe, Duchess of Shrewsbury and Lady of the Trinity Castles.
And Dane was officially the duke.
It was the long-awaited title, but it didn’t come with crashes of thunder or great beams of light from the heaven. A few words and it was his. Dane thought he would feel differently when he finally held the title, but that didn’t happen. He felt no different. If anything, he felt the weight of the responsibility, something he’d never felt before and something quite unexpected. He glanced at his new wife once or twice, wondering if she felt the weight, too.
Wondering if she hated every minute of this, him included.
But her feelings didn’t matter. There had been a task to complete and they’d completed it. When the mass was finished, the men began to move out and Dane took hold of his new wife, guiding her towards the chapel entry and thinking that the entire circumstance had passed in a blur. It was nearing noon at this point and the plan was to head back to Shrewsbury immediately. Dane wasn’t entirely comfortable being so far into Wales without more of an army, so they planned to depart and make it to Welshpool before nightfall. There, they could spend the night and then continue on to Shrewsbury in the morning. If they traveled swiftly, they would make it by noon tomorrow.
Therefore, his thoughts weren’t on his new wife at the moment. They were on the return to England and making haste. Now that the marriage was completed, there was no reason to linger. The horses were brought around, including a palfrey they’d brought for the new wife, and Dane was all business. William, Boden, and Syler were ordering the escort mounted, all fifty men, as Dastan hung back with Dane and Lady de Russe in case something was needed.
The truth was that Dastan remained next to the new bride in case she decided to bolt now that everything was said and done. He knew how reluctant she was, given his initial conversation with her, but Dane didn’t, which was why Dastan thought it was a good idea to remain at her side until she was mounted and heading out of St. Idloes.
Nothing like a runaway bride to spoil everyone’s mood.
When the lady’s palfrey was presented, it was Dastan who lifted the lady into the soft saddle as Dane mounted his enormous war horse, a beast the color of storm clouds with a fat, dappled arse. Dastan handed the reins to the lady’s palfrey over to Dane because they certainly didn’t want her directing her own horse. It was symbolic in the sense that Dane, now her husband, also had control of her. It was better that the lady learn that now, at least as far as Dastan was concerned. He didn’t want her getting any bold ideas.
But Dastan was certain to remain close to her for the journey, just in case.
If Dane thought Dastan’s hovering presence was odd, he didn’t say so. He didn’t even so much as glance in the man’s direction. His men were moving, and he was moving, and that was all he seemed concerned with at the moment. Spurring the horses onward, the Shrewsbury men, complete with the new Duke and Duchess of Shrewsbury, headed north out of the small village of St. Idloes, away from the chapel and away from the convent.
There seemed to be an odd sense of urgency, leaving as quickly as they could, perhaps not giving the new duchess any time to linger over the life she was leaving, a life she had known for so many years and one that was so abruptly taken from her. Whatever the case, the wedding was completed and Dane had his dukedom. Heading off into the warm late-autumn day, the escort continued on for their destination of Welshpool.
What they did not see was Mother Mary Moria standing at the edge of the chapel, watching the Shrewsbury party as it headed off to the north. She’d watched the ceremony from the shadows, watching a young woman she’d raised being taken off by strangers. A father she never saw had dictated the terms of her young life, and there was something deeply unjust about that.
Unfair.
The Mother Abbess felt as if she’d lost a child, if she’d ever had one, as there was much the same grief in her heart. She knew that Grier didn’t want to marry the English stranger; she had read that in the young woman’s eyes. But she’d been powerless in the face of it and, perhaps, that was what grieved Mother Mary Moria most of all.
No choice had been given.
Returning to the chapel, she lit a candle for the new Duchess of Shrewsbury.
CHAPTER THREE
Welshpool
The Unicorn and The Griffin Inn
Fifty men taking over a fairly large tavern on the eastern side of the Welsh Marches was an impressive sight.
Dane had sent men ahead to secure rooms in this particular inn, which was known all along the Marches for its food and entertainment. There was always something happening at The Unicorn and The Griffin, and since it was less than a day’s ride from Shrewsbury, it was a popular destination for men with free time on their hands who wanted a good time.
William and Boden were a pair that knew the inn rather well, and it was that rambunctious duo that had ridden ahead to secure rooms. By the time Dane, Grier, Dastan, and Syler arrived, William and Boden had already polished off a pitcher of wine between them and were just tapping into another.
Dane knew this because he could hear them when they reined the horses to a halt just outside the inn. He could hear the music, and the singing, and he could hear William’s booming voice above the dull roar of the patrons inside. Even out on the street, now dark as the sunset, Dane knew William’s voice. He wasn’t actually singing more than he was simply shouting. Dane grunted unhappily as he dismounted his horse.
“Christ,” he muttered. “There he goes.”
Dastan heard him, too, as did Syler. While Dastan went to assist the lady, Syler went to Dane.
“Shall I take charge of him, my lord?” he asked.
Dane looked at Syler, a mixture of amusement and disbelief on his face. “Do you really think you can?” he asked, lifting a frustrated hand to the door. “Listen to them, Syler. When Willie and Boden reach that point, there is no taking charge of them and you know it. I remember my father repeatedly telling Boden and William and my youngest brother, Gage, to stay away from the taverns. He always told them that and I thought he was being too harsh with them, but this past year with that pair, now I know what my father knows about them.”
Syler was trying not to grin. “And what is that, my lord?”
Dane threw up his hands. “That they are idiots,” he said. Then, he flicked his wrist in the direction of the
inn. “Go inside and see that they do not get themselves killed. Find out how much they have had to drink so I know when to cut them off.”
Syler cleared his throat softly. “Forgive me, my lord, but the last time you cut them off, it did not end well.”
Dane rolled his eyes. He knew what the knight was referring to. “That time in Shelton?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Dane sighed heavily. “It is three against two this time,” he said. “If we have to subdue that pair, then we can. But let us hope it does not come to that.”
“The last time, if you recall, they broke furniture and threatened the barmaids.”
“I remember.”
“Do I have permission to bash heads, my lord?”
“If they do not bash yours first, aye.”
Syler simply nodded, taking a deep breath to summon his courage as he headed into the tavern. As he moved away, Dastan approached with the lady in hand, and Dane turned to face them.
“My lord,” Dastan said. “May I escort you and your lady wife to your chamber?”
Dane’s gaze moved from Dastan to his new wife. He was coming to realize for the first time that Dastan had appointed himself what seemed to be the lady’s protector. Dastan was a conscientious knight, no doubt, and he’d served the lady’s father for years, so Dane didn’t find it unusual that he should do such a thing. In fact, he was rather grateful for the man’s thoughtfulness. But to his question, he shook his head.
“Nay,” he said. “Go inside and help Syler with my brother and Willie. I can tend to the lady quite adequately.”
Dastan nodded, but he hesitated a moment before speaking. “If I may have a word with you, my lord?”
Dane nodded, understanding that Dastan meant privately. As he moved away, he whistled to two nearby soldiers, pointing to the lady and indicating for them to keep an eye on her. Only when the soldiers moved forward to take positions near Lady de Russe did Dane move aside with Dastan.
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