“It seems like an odd name, I must say.”
Dastan picked up his cup. “Scottish,” he said. “Lord Garreth told me that his wife was the only child of a Scottish earl. Cairngorm, I think. His name was Gregor, and she was named for him.”
Dane nodded his head. “Interesting,” he said. “I suppose any bit of information helps where it pertains to Lady de Russe. I know very little about her except for the fact that she has been kept at a convent for the past fourteen years and, in that time, she has known great hardship and poverty. Do you know why she became ill last night? Because she has been starving. She said that those at St. Idloes have been existing on oat gruel for quite some time. When the beef was presented last night, she stuffed herself and then promptly vomited it all up again. Dastan, I have to believe that Garreth did not know the hardships she had suffered but, in the same breath, I cannot believe that he did not. I cannot believe that he would ignore his flesh and blood so.”
Dastan understood a great deal in that rather intense statement. “As I said, I think he stayed away because she reminded him of his dead wife,” he said quietly. “From what Lord Garreth said, his daughter looks just like his wife. I believe he stayed away because of the memories, not because he harbored some resentment towards her.”
Dane shook his head. “Then that is just as bad,” he said. “That poor woman was starving. She has absolutely nothing to her name, living in poverty like the lowliest serf. How can you not call that neglect?”
Dastan didn’t have an answer. “I cannot, Dane.”
Dane was verging on disparaging Garreth, but he stopped himself. He knew that Dastan had adored the old man. In fact, all of his men had, so he wasn’t going to speak ill of the dead. But what he had seen from the lady did not sit well with him. Taking a deep breath, he returned to his cup and drained it.
“Well,” he said, wiping his mouth again. “That is in the past. What matters now is the future, and the lady will be well-tended. I would like to think that would make Garreth happy.”
“It would,” Dastan agreed. “My wife is prepared to help Lady de Russe settle in to her new role at Shrewsbury, so at least she will have a woman for a companion. That should help her a great deal.”
Dane looked at him, suddenly remembering the man’s wife. Lady Charlisa du Reims was a vivacious blond who had her husband completely enamored. In the brief time that Dane had been at Shrewsbury Castle, he had seen it for himself. It never even occurred to him that Lady du Reims would become his wife’s companion, but it was the truth. He felt better knowing she would have some guidance.
“I’d nearly forgotten,” he admitted. “I do believe your wife shall be a great comfort to Lady de Russe simply because the convent taught her nothing of daily life in a castle. She admitted that to me and she is quite distressed about it. Dastan, it is as if that woman has been living in a cave somewhere, shut off from the world for all of those years. She is going to depend on all of us to teach her what she needs to know.”
“It will be a pleasure.”
Dane opened his mouth to reply when Dastan suddenly caught sight of something behind him. Dane turned to see what had Dastan’s attention, only to see Grier emerging from the corridor that led to the rear courtyard, where their chamber had been.
What he saw astonished him.
It was as if he wasn’t looking at the same woman.
As the gray-haired serving woman stood behind Grier and beamed, Dane rose to his feet. He swore that an angel had just walked into his midst because he’d never seen anything finer. She was wearing the yellow damask, which clung to her curvy figure and dragged out behind her in a sweeping train. Her hair had been braided and pinned, with a hair net he’d purchased held it in place, and the wedding brooch was back on her chest, shined and cleaned. She was brushed and scrubbed, looking for all the world like a duchess.
Dane could hardly believe it.
“My God,” he said as he approached her. “You are a glorious creature. I see that I was correct; the gown fits you.”
Grier’s cheeks flushed pink. She was in a whole new world, completely out of her element, but the expression on Dane’s face told her how pleased he was. Truth be told, she was self-conscious about how the dress fit her, being that it was a snug fit and showing off her figure lines, but if Dane liked it, then she would force herself to become accustomed to it. She so wanted to please him.
“It does,” she agreed. “It is a bit long, as you suspected, but it seems to fit me.”
Dane shook his head in awe. “You are beautiful,” he said. “Do you like it?”
She gave him a half-smile, an embarrassed one, and looked down at herself. “It is very soft,” she said. “Softer and more beautiful than anything I have ever worn.”
He couldn’t help but notice she mostly avoided his question. “But you do not like it?”
Her cheeks turned a shade of red as she looked down at herself, the way her breasts were embraced by the dress, the way the swell of her bosom was exposed. She smoothed at the garment.
“I… I do like it,” she said, keeping her head down.
Dane bent over her, his head very close to hers. “But… what? You are not thrilled with it?”
Grier was terribly embarrassed to admit the truth. “I… well, there is a good deal of flesh showing and…”
She trailed off and he grinned. “And you do not look chaste enough,” he finished quietly. “Not to worry; I purchased scarves for you. Cover up your shoulders and neck if it pleases you.”
She grinned at him, timidly, the first real smile he’d ever seen from her, and it was enchanting. “You do not mind?”
He scowled at her, but it was lightly done. “Not at all,” he said. “You must do what you feel comfortable with, but know that you look absolutely stunning. I have never seen a more beautiful woman.”
Grier’s smile grew, now a flattered one. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the old serving woman, and she stepped aside, indicating the woman to Dane.
“This is Euphemia,” she said. “She has helped me since I have been here, both last night and this morning. I know it is asking quite a bit, but do you think she can come with me to Shrewsbury? She has been so very helpful and I should like to have her with me.”
Dane looked at the old woman, the same one who had helped him bring clothing to Grier last night. She looked like she had a gray-colored haystack on her head, and she was a little rough around the edges, but she had, indeed, been quite helpful and he didn’t want to deny Grier her first real request of him. He nodded.
“If it pleases you,” he said. “In fact, the first thing she has to do is ensure your baggage is packed and bring it to the escort. I will send Dastan to secure a mount for her.”
Grier turned to Euphemia, smiling that the old woman would be accompanying her, and the servant woman fled to do Dane’s bidding.
But Dane wasn’t watching her; he was watching Grier as Grier watched the old woman. He still couldn’t believe that the timid little oblate was now this lovely woman before him. The curiosity he’d always had towards her, since the moment he laid eyes on her, was now turning to something else.
It was turning into interest.
“Come,” he told her. “While Euphemia is gathering your things, come and sit. I will have gruel and bread brought to you.”
Grier nodded, taking a step as he took her elbow and promptly stepping on the hem of her dress. She would have tripped had Dane not grabbed her, and she smiled up at him with that embarrassed little smile he was coming to recognize.
“How clumsy of me,” she said, gathering her skirt and holding it up so she could walk. “I fear that wearing fine clothing is going to take some practice.”
Dane smiled in return, holding tight to her elbow. “Not to worry,” he said. “You’ll catch on.”
“Do you think so?”
He simply nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. It was a gesture that sent Grier’s smile blooming. As
he carefully led her over to the table where Dastan greeted her politely, he couldn’t help but think that if all went well and according to plan, that he would have a magnificent wife on his hands when all was said and done.
For the first time since he was told of the betrothal to Lady Grier de Lara, he was actually happy about it. He wasn’t going to have to kill his father, after all, for getting him into this situation.
But he prayed, quite seriously, that the happiness wasn’t fleeting.
He rather liked the feeling he got when he looked at Grier.
CHAPTER FIVE
St. Idloes
Eolande was heading for the common area next to the chapel, the one that was outside the cloister and away from the dorter where the nuns slept. She was moving swiftly, and with a purpose, as Mother Mary Moria had just come to her as she worked in the chamber where the oblates sewed their lace shawls.
Your brother is here, Mother Mary Moria had told her. See to him at once.
It was later in the day, the same day that Grier had been taken away, as Eolande made her way through the damp cloister, through the lay gate that led to the yard behind the chapel. It was an open area where male visitors were kept, one that her brother always used when he came to visit her. It was the same place they used for travelers, permitting them to camp in the area, so it was a well-used space. As Eolande came through the great iron gate, she immediately spied Davies standing near the chapel.
Dressed in a heavy tunic to his knees, breeches, and boots, and with a dark green cloak resting upon his shoulders, Davies ap Madoc turned to see his sister coming towards him across the muddy yard. A tall man, sinewy, with black hair and black eyes, he quickly made his way towards her.
“Is it true?” he demanded.
Eolande’s movements slowed. She knew exactly what he meant and her heart sank. “Is what true?”
“About Grier. Is she gone?”
“Who told you?”
Davies reached her. “It does not matter who told me,” he said. “Is it true?”
When he reached out to grab her, she yanked her arm away. “It matters, Davies,” she said, suspicious and unhappy. “You always know what is happening here. You are paying someone to send you information. Well? Who is it? If you do not tell me, I’ll not tell you anything at all.”
Davies stood his ground, but he knew that butting heads with Eolande would come to no good. It never had. She was stubborn, his little sister, so he eased his stance. If he wanted the information he’d come for, then arguing with her wasn’t going to help.
He had to treat her carefully.
“I pay local men to watch the comings and goings of the abbey, and relay to me any information of note,” he said. “There is nothing wrong with that. I would be foolish not to know what was happening in my own lands.”
It was more than that, and they both knew it. “Then if you already know what has happened, why are you asking me?”
She was being annoying about it and Davies struggled to keep his temper in check.
“I was told that early this morning, a large contingent from Shrewsbury came and took Grier away,” he said. “Well? Why did her father take her away?”
So he doesn’t know all of it, Eolande thought with surprise. He only knows that Grier was removed, but not why. Even so, there was no use in keeping any of it from him, because he’d find out eventually. Davies was the nosy sort and he always had been. As he’d said, he paid men to watch the abbey for him. He had men all over the area watching roads, or towns, and reporting back to him. And as he’d reminded her, these were his lands. At some point, he’d probably try to find out why Grier was taken back to Shrewsbury simply because he’d been obsessed with Shrewsbury’s heiress since nearly the first time he’d met her.
Therefore, for her brother’s sake, Eolande knew she had to tell him the truth.
“It was not her father who came to take her away, Davies,” she said, reining in her snappish manner. “It was the new duke. Her husband.”
Davies’ eyes widened in an instant. “Her husband?” he sputtered. “She married?”
Eolande nodded. “Her father died last month,” she said. “He betrothed her to a man of his choosing, although I do not know who he is. All I know is that he came to St. Idloes and married Grier this morning. Then, he took her away.”
Davies stared at her, clearly stunned. For several long seconds, he simply looked at her as if unable to comprehend what he’d been told. But in that shocked expression were hints of grief and anger. The woman he wanted for his own had been taken by another.
He could hardly believe it.
“Married,” he muttered again. “She is married.”
Eolande nodded, knowing her brother was shaken by the news. She could see it in his eyes; the light that was often there, that light of spirit and vibrancy, was dulled. In spite of Grier’s father refusing Davies’ proposal of marriage, she knew he still held out hope that he would have her someday. But that hope was now ended.
She felt pity for him.
“She is,” she said, more gently. “Davies, you must forget about Grier. She was never meant for you. Now that she is married, you must forget her. You must find another wife, someone worthy of the Lords of Godor.”
He looked at her, but it was a look of displeasure. “You think I can forget about her so easily?” he asked. “I have tried, Landy. Why do you think I stopped coming to visit you? It was because I could no longer bear to see Grier. God knows I tried to forget about her, but I cannot.”
It was starting to mist now, a faint sheen of water coming out of the sky and blanketing the land. Wearing her woolen garments, Eolande wrapped her arms around her slender body, trying to stay warm as she faced her devastated brother.
“You must,” she insisted softly. “Whoever Grier is married to now is the Duke of Shrewsbury and commands a bigger army than anything Godor can muster. He will not take kindly to a man pining over his wife, and would you truly shame the woman so by challenging her marriage? Papa would not let you do that.”
That was true. Madoc ap Iowerth was the Lord of Godor, a powerful Welsh warlord, but a man who had grown soft in his old age. It was Davies who kept their vassals in line, or who made decisions that would affect them all. Davies had grown up admiring his father but since that fateful day when he went to Shrewsbury to plead for Grier’s hand, all Davies could feel was disappointment in the man. When Davies had needed him most, he’d failed him.
It was something he’d not forgotten.
“If you are referring to that weak man who fathered us, then he has no say in what I do,” he said grimly. “All he does is sit before the fire these days and complain that his bones are cold. Beyond that, he does nothing that would bring honor to the lordship of Godor.”
“And you do?” Eolande fired back softly. “Do you think challenging the Duke of Shrewsbury for his wife is honorable? He will destroy you, Davies, and rightly so.”
Davies wiped the water out his eyes. “Who said anything about challenging her marriage?” he said. “But I will go to Shrewsbury to see who she has wed. If she did not wed me, then I must satisfy my curiosity that she married a worthy man.”
But Eolande shook her head. “It is a terrible intention,” she said. “Nothing good can come of it. Why would you torture yourself? It will only hurt you.”
Davies could hear the concern in her voice. Little Eolande, his beloved sister. It was that concern that caused him to second guess his intentions, but his obsession with Grier would not be sated. It had long surpassed attraction; obsession was exactly what it was these days. Grier consumed him and had for a long time. He looked at his sister.
“Dear Eolande,” he said, the twinkle of vitality back in his dark eyes as he looked at her. “You have always been concerned for me.”
She nodded eagerly. “Of course I am.”
He smiled sadly, putting a hand to the side of her head. “As I am concerned for you,” he said. “Even these days as St.
Idloes knows only poverty, there is not much I can do for you, although I wish there was. Everyone is suffering from famine in these lands. So many crops have been blighted, and even Papa and our men suffer from hunger. It is as if we are all cursed these days.”
Eolande shrugged. “At least we have grains,” she said. “We are able to eat, but our bellies are not full because there are many mouths to feed. And you? How are you faring, Davies? I have not seen you in some time.”
Davies dropped his hand from her head. “I am well enough,” he said, his gaze moving across the gray landscape. “But there is a restlessness among the men. They are tired of being hungry. The want food and they want to fill the bellies of their families. There has been talk of raiding villages on the Saesneg side of the Marches, and I know for a fact that some have already tried. Our people are hungry, Eolande.”
She could sense something in his words, something ominous. “What are you saying?” she asked. “The Marches have been mostly quiet for one hundred years, Davies. Will starvation motivate our people to go to war against the Saesneg again?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Possibly,” he said. “We have little money; how are we to buy food? I fear we must take what we can for our own survival, and Shrewsbury is the largest town this far north. They have a market center and trading.”
Eolande frowned. “It is also where Grier is.”
“A coincidence.”
Her frown grew. “Is it? You sound as if you have already decided to raid Shrewsbury. Mayhap to punish them for taking Grier away from you?”
Davies looked at her. “I do not know for certain that we shall raid Shrewsbury,” he said honestly, “but I do know that Grier is there. For my own sake, I must see this man she has married. I must see who took the woman I wanted. Mayhap that is my only business in Shrewsbury, but mayhap not. That is for me to decide.”
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 8
