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 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 groveling 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 disheveled 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 Scotland’s senior magnate rules as Regent. David’s other grandson, William, younger yet, is Earl of Northumberland. I suspect the new regent 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 embarked on a tour of 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 when word was brought.”
His mother eyed him suspiciously. “We wondered where the three of you had gone.”
A weight lifted from Rodrick’s heart. “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 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 face. 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.”
Rodrick reassured her. “I’m sure my father has it in hand.”
Meeting her Montbryce cousins had filled Swan with apprehension, yet they seemed genuinely concerned for her. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for my freedom. I can assure you I have a long list of things I want to accomplish I thought I never would.”
She had hoped to bring a smile to his face now they had a chance to enjoy her freedom together, but he frowned. “It was none of my doing.”
Never one to keep her thoughts to herself, she was about to ask if he had spoken to his father when his sister entered the chamber.
“I heard a commotion,” Grace said, unable to take her eyes off the broad smile that lit Bronson’s face. He must have learned of King David’s death and realized its implications for his sister. The weight of his duty to deliver her to the convent had indeed been heavy if the frowning scowl she’d been used to was any indication.
His hair had come loose from its braid, probably du
ring the ride. It was easily as long as her own. She itched to sift her fingers through the thick copper glory that cloaked his shoulders. His normally pursed lips were full, his green eyes wide.
She wished she hadn’t left her chamber clad only in her nightgown and bed-robe.
“Swan is free,” he exclaimed. “She can accompany me to Shelfhoc.”
This news must have lightened her brother’s heart yet he seemed unsure, unusual for the decisive Rodrick. Dragging her eyes away from Bronson, she embraced Swan. “I am relieved for you, cousin. I know what it is to live in a place you hate. Welcome back to your life.”
“Thank you, Grace,” Swan replied quietly.
Something was amiss. What had happened to her cousin’s exuberance?
Bronson swallowed the lump constricting his throat when Grace entered the chamber. Her auburn hair flowed over her shoulders. He wanted to bury his nose in it and inhale her scent. What was this alchemy she seemed to have over him?
Her face reddened when his gaze fell on her. Did she feel something between them, or was she dismayed to have come upon two men while dressed in her night attire?
He didn’t welcome the insistent tug in his balls. He’d be glad to leave for Shelfhoc, forget her, and concentrate on settling into his new home.
He deliberately wiped his happiness for Swan from his face, thinking to turn his attention back to his sister, thus demonstrating his lack of interest. His resolve deserted him at the sight of Grace’s crestfallen face. “Perhaps you might accompany us when we depart.”
The Difficulties Ahead
“Did you speak to your father?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Most men wouldn’t appreciate Swan’s forthright insistence, but Rodrick supposed years of tit for tat with his twin who never gave an inch in any argument had prepared him. He actually thought it endearing. Better a woman with spirit. A pleasant tingling in the nether regions followed this notion. “He foresees problems.”
“But he didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand?”
“Idea?” he teased.
Swan folded her arms. “You know what I mean.”
“No. He suggests I consult the priest.”
Swan blinked rapidly which did nothing to dissuade the interest of his couilles. “When can we go?”
“Not we. Papa and I will go.”
“He agreed to accompany you?”
“It was his suggestion.”
She pouted. He groaned inwardly at the prospect of those full lips on his shaft. He dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. “It’s late. Get some sleep. On the morrow we’ll discuss what happens next. The important thing is you don’t have to go to the convent.”
Bronson pecked a kiss on Swan’s cheek. “Until the morrow, sister, I must escort our cousin back to her chamber.” He sauntered out the door, Grace on his arm.
Rodrick was alone with Swan for the first time.
She stared at him provocatively, the corners of her mouth edging up. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight?”
He moved to stand in front of her, but left a space between them. “If I kiss you, Swan, I won’t want to stop there.”
She frowned slightly. “Are you certain this is what you want, Rodrick?”
He admired her spirit. Women were expected to acquiesce to a man’s wishes and wait for him to take the lead. He put his hands on her waist. “If I pressed my body to yours you would see hard evidence this is what I want. You’ve bewitched me.”
She stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss on his lips, teasing him with her tongue. He gasped when she thrust her hips forward, sending liquid fire flooding through his veins. He cupped her face, deepening the kiss, wanting to savor the warmth of her sweet mouth. Their tongues dueled, parry and thrust, parry and thrust, until it came to him their hips were imitating the movement and she was whimpering. Any more of this and—
He broke them apart.
“I see what you mean,” she said with a sly smile.
“You want me as much as I want you,” he rasped.
“Mayhap more,” she replied in a sultry voice that would echo in his head all night long.
Swan doubted she would get much sleep. Rodrick was gone, but her body still hummed with the pleasant tingling sensations he’d caused with his kisses.
Her mind buzzed too. Life now held promise. Despair had turned to hope for a future filled with love and laughter. She was relieved for Bronson too. She’d seen the anguish on his face when they met the Superior at Whitchurch. He seemed taken with Grace, and she with him. What a coincidence—two redheads! She hoped her cousin wouldn’t get too interested in Bronson. He would never marry again after the double tragedies he’d suffered. Her heart ached for her brother. He was a man who doted on children. It seemed unfair. Their brothers Symon and Ingram had both spawned large, boisterous families.
Perhaps Bronson was destined to be alone, like Edwin who had deeded Shelfhoc to him. Edwin had probably deduced their two older brothers would never leave Northumbria, but Bronson was a third son with no ties.
If it wasn’t for her feelings for Rodrick, she would have happily been the lady of Shelfhoc, following in the footsteps of her great grandmother. She chided herself. There was no guarantee Rodrick would remain steadfast to his professed sentiments. Perhaps if it became too difficult to secure permission to wed, he’d lose interest.
But the memory of his kisses had her praying fervently such a thing didn’t happen.
Bronson could hold his own in an intelligent discussion about weighty matters, but had never been good at small talk. Grief had made things worse. He liked the feel of Grace’s arm resting lightly on his, but his preoccupation with the abrupt turn of events concerning his sister muddled his thoughts. Grace was probably as gobsmacked about her brother’s declaration of love for Swan as he was.
It was unlikely two people who didn’t like each other on first meeting could fall in love so quickly, although the growing attraction he felt for Grace was beyond his comprehension.
He wished for a glib tongue to explain away these notions, but words refused to form. Grace kept her gaze fixed on the stone floor, apparently also reluctant to speak.
They walked the short distance to her chamber in silence. At the door, he withdrew his arm, instantly missing her warmth.
Cousins were permitted to kiss each other goodnight, but the mere thought of touching his lips to hers had him sweating. Besides which, he still smelled of horse and leather.
So, he mumbled a hasty Sleep well, and retreated to his own chamber, feeling like the biggest fool in Christendom.
Happiness Denied
On the morrow, after the departure of their guests, Rodrick and his father strolled to the church built by Ram de Montbryce. They paused for a few moments to watch men at work on the tower. They had sent word of their coming, alerting the priest to be prepared to see them. Brilliant afternoon sunshine warmed their faces. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. “The day augurs well,” he remarked.
His father turned to him. “I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but our priest is an old man, not renowned for his modern thinking. He’s lived a celibate life. Who knows if he’s ever had feelings for a woman? It’s unlikely he’ll be sympathetic.”
Rodrick clenched his fists. He had indeed been a babe in arms when Père Rigord had arrived at Ellesmere. “This is ridiculous. He will refuse to marry us because we share a great grandfather?”
His father squinted into the sun. “I agree. Years ago it was common for cousins to marry, particularly in noble families. But intermarriage resulted in problems, so the church went to the other extreme and demanded at least four generations of separation. Some still cling to the rigid rule.”
“If I have to crawl on my knees to the Pope, I will marry Swan.”
His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be discouraged. If you truly love this woman, I’ll not be the one to keep you apart. I spent too much time trying to deny my feeli
ngs for your mother. I admire your determination to marry the woman you want.”
Rodrick was aware of his father’s disastrous first marriage, but it was rare for him to reveal such personal details.
“I don’t have much experience of love, Papa, except what you and Maman have shared openly, but part of me will cease to exist if I lose Swan.”
His father chuckled. “Then you’re definitely in love. Let’s waste no more time. If we don’t get satisfaction from Père Rigord, we’ll decide on our next course of action. My concern is that you are my heir. We don’t want things to come to a point where your right to inherit might be jeopardized. Much as I love William and Stephen, you’re the one who’ll make the better earl.”
Rodrick had set out on this mission with high hopes. Now his heart was in his boots. He had never imagined pursuit of his happiness with Swan might put his inheritance in doubt.
Never one to sit and wait patiently, Swan paced back and forth in the gallery where she and Rodrick’s mother and sisters had gathered to wait.
“Would you care to attempt some embroidery?” the countess asked. “It helps to pass the time when you’re waiting for news.”
Swan hated embroidery—always had, always would—but Rodrick’s mother was letting her know she understood.
“No, thank you. I’m not much good at it,” she replied.
The countess held out a hooped linen, complete with needle and threads. “I never was either. My sister, Fermentine, loved embroidery and she and I, well, let’s just say anything she liked, I didn’t. I’ve improved with practice. It’s taught me patience.”
Swan accepted the sampler, relieved when Rodrick and the earl came into the gallery. Their sullen faces indicated the interview hadn’t gone in their favor. She clutched the embroidery to her breast. “He said no.”
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