“I am Lady Abrielle, your new mistress,” she stated as she began to stroll in a wide circle around the fire. As she came closer to the serfs, she was surprised that Thurstan did not stay near her, but only waited, as if he didn’t care what happened to her desperate people.
As a whole, the serfs seemed utterly frightened of what lay in store for them. Nevertheless she progressed within the perimeter they had formed and, with a warm smile lighting her eyes, was wont to reach out a hand and, in a compassionate manner, lay it upon an elder’s arm, smooth a child’s tousled curls, or squeeze a young mother’s hand as she paused beside them. There were precious few who didn’t evidence an abject dread of Thurstan and were hesitant about peering upward even when she halted before them. Though she slipped a hand beneath the chins of several and compelled them to meet her gaze directly, it was always toward the steward they first glanced, in so doing displaying a kind of frenetic fear of the man.
Upon facing them again, Abrielle found many of them readily lending her their attention. “As you may be aware, I visited the keep fairly often while Lord de Marlé was alive. Yesterday, I exchanged wedding vows with his lordship’s brother, Desmond de Marlé. Early this morning, he was found dead. Henceforth, as the new mistress of this keep, I shall be setting forth some favorable changes, which you will likely welcome. You will be expected to learn skills to help support this keep and provide for new structures that will soon be built to house you.” She knew Thurstan was openly scowling, but she ignored him. “New skills will also be taught to enlist your services in other tasks that may well prove lucrative, such as the carding of wool shorn from sheep on these lands as well as in the use of spinning wheels and the making of furniture. You’ll start off by making your own clothing and tanning leather for your shoes and other items. Until you become proficient at such crafts, sufficient clothing will be provided to keep you warm and in good health through the approaching winter.”
A thin, barefoot toddler garbed in loose sacking waddled toward her on wobbly limbs, evoking a smile from her as she threaded her slender fingers through his matted hair. His mother rushed forward, anxiously pleading for her forgiveness and then, with a quick curtsy, whisked the babe up into her arms.
And suddenly Abrielle imagined herself as the poor girl, with no way to feed her child. She turned to Thurstan, so incensed that she could barely keep her voice from shaking with anger. “From what I am seeing here in this place, ’tis apparent these serfs have not been given adequate provisions since Lord Weldon’s death. That may well have been Squire Desmond’s mode of doing things, but he is now dead and buried. Thus, commencing this very day, whatever it takes to feed, clothe, and warmly house these serfs, it will be done or I shall know the reason why. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Thurstan? You and I will speak to the steward together so that he understands my intentions. I or someone I trust shall be inspecting this area on a regular basis. I will be expecting to see evidence of much progress being made.”
She suspected he was much in collusion with his uncle in causing the condition of these poor people, and she was appalled. She could not look upon him for another moment, so after giving a warm smile to the people she now considered her responsibility, she strode toward the bridge—and found Raven Seabern blocking her path.
Her response to his closeness was as unwanted as it was lightning quick. She felt a hot pull of attraction deep inside that could not lead to any good, for now, knowing the truth of Desmond’s death, he was more dangerous to her than ever.
She sidestepped him with a nod and kept walking, not the least bit surprised when he turned gracefully and fell into step beside her.
“Lady de Marlé, might I have a moment of your time?”
His use of her wedded name made Abrielle flinch.
“Of course,” she replied, then lowered her tone to a whisper to add, “Speak quickly, for it would not look well should we be seen together as we approach the castle.”
“And why not?” he asked, his expression quizzical.
“You know why,” she retorted.
“I know your husband is gone. And that I am hardly the first man ta speak with ye this day. I’d have been blind not ta see the many tokens of affection ye’ve already received from men who want your consideration.”
“Is that your purpose in waylaying me, sir? Do you seek to present me with your own token of affection?”
“I believe I already have,” he countered. “But if m’lady desires, I am more than willing to…”
Even if he hadn’t moved dangerously closer, she would have understood the “token” he had in mind and her cheeks heated. She stopped walking and faced him. “The lady most definitely does not desire anything of the sort.”
“Really?” He tilted his head and regarded her intently. “Because I’ve some small experience in the matter and it did seem to me that—”
“Enough,” she interrupted, and glanced around cautiously. “What exactly is your goal, sir?” she demanded, unable to banish her fears of discovery. “You have no reason to be here now and I believe it would be best for all that you leave. You are no longer in danger, and no longer is Desmond trying to prove himself the winner over you.”
“Then ye knew why he invited us.”
Abrielle shrugged and resumed walking. “’Twas not something I was told, but what I surmised.”
“Then surely ye must also be clever enough ta deduce why it is that I canna leave. Why I willna.” His voice had gone low and deep, almost hoarse. “Since the first moment I saw ye, I’ve yearned to have ye as my very own.”
She gasped, feeling hot and cold all at the same time, and looked about her in fear. They were at the bridge now and she leaned over the rail as if fascinated by the stream below. She wished she could stare him in the eyes, but knew she would be unable to control her heated emotions. How could he just lie to her so blithely, when the truth was that he had not even tried to court her when she was penniless?
“How dare you, sir!” she cried softly, feeling the pain of knowing that he had deemed her unworthy until now, when she was wealthy beyond most others. Raven Seabern was no different from any man lured by money. Her disappointment should not shock her, but somehow it did, and deeply. Again, she felt the pangs of a woman who did not know if any man could love her just for herself. “You did not vie for my hand before I was betrothed.” The full force of the emotions roiling within her now burst out, and she was full of pain and anger. “You are no different, sir, from any other man who ever claimed to want me, including Desmond de Marlé. Just stay away from me.”
Raven watched her go in silence, his warrior instincts stirred by the depth of his passion for her, his desire to possess her now stronger than ever. The battle to win Abrielle might well turn out to be the fiercest of his life, but win her he would, no matter the cost.
CHAPTER 10
During the midday meal, the mood in the hall was far more subdued and cordial after the burial of their late host, especially since the squire’s rather questionable cohorts had promptly taken their leave after the funeral, swigging down ale as they went.
Although many of the hunters had left prior to the wedding, those who had stayed over for the banquet and the nuptials had brought along their wives or other family members. Now that the squire was no longer there to vent his outrage, in particular upon the pair of Scotsmen and, to a lesser degree, upon the Saxons whom he loathed, the guests as a whole proved to be in far better spirits and lingered with members of their families to converse with the new mistress and her relatives. The Scotsmen still found themselves regarded suspiciously by the various lords and landowners in attendance, but all seemed to be following a truce of peace for the new widow. Upon making their departure, many of the guests extended their sympathies to the erstwhile bride and were wont to assure her surreptitiously that she would likely find a finer gentleman to marry in the months or years to come, one with whom she’d have more in common.
Cordelia approa
ched Abrielle as the latter left the trestle table where she had been sitting with her parents. “I’m afraid Papa’s not feeling very well,” she explained. “The food here has been difficult for him to tolerate. I suppose once we’re at home, it will be curds and whey for him or something just as tasteless until he’s feeling better. In any case, he is wanting to return home and retire to his own bedchamber, where he can lie abed during his misery.”
“Thank you for remaining as long as you have,” Abrielle replied, squeezing her friend’s fingers. “I couldn’t have borne these last few days if you hadn’t been here to listen to my complaints and allowed me to express my frustration so freely. You’ve always proven to be a dear, dear friend, especially when I’m in dire distress.”
“When I return, my visit will likely be for a much longer period of time,” Cordelia assured her. “Until then, my dearest friend, take special care of yourself. You will need to, especially after what has just come to pass.”
“I shall surely miss not living close to you and your family,” Abrielle assured her. “’Twould now be a goodly jaunt to reach your home, but what is that distance between close friends?”
“Unfortunately, I fear such a visit will have to be seriously delayed now that you’re lady of this keep,” Cordelia replied as she heaved a sigh of lament. “As mistress of those bone-thin serfs, you must remain here until you have set into motion your rules for governing this place. Only then will you be able to leave and feel confident of doing so.” Eyeing her companion, she continued, “I needn’t remind you that you’re no longer under the authority of your stepfather. You are capable of setting the problems aright and extending authority to those who will closely adhere to your directives. I shall be expecting great changes to occur during my absence…which, of course, doesn’t give you much time, considering I shall likely be visiting you ere you even think of leaving here.”
Abrielle laughed. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”
“I suffer no doubt that you have the fortitude to succeed in whatever task you undertake,” Cordelia stated confidently, and then heaved a sigh of lament. “I do wish Laird Cedric didn’t live so far away. ’Twould be nice if he lived close enough to visit us, too.”
“For shame, Cordelia,” Abrielle scolded in laughing amusement. “Why, the man is old enough to be your grandfather.”
The young woman raised her nose in the air and tossed her head, giving no heed to her friend’s reproof. “Me grandfather never looked half as handsome as himself. And there I be, talking like the man. Ta be sure, not even me own da looks as fit, fine, and trim as the old laird, Cedric Seabern.” In her normal voice, Cordelia continued softly, “And then there’s the son. He’s as handsome as his sire. ’Tis plain to see they both came from fine stock.”
Abrielle looked away in discomfort. “He is not a man I give much thought to.”
Cordelia frowned at her in surprise. “Nay? He does seem to be watching you rather closely.”
Abrielle could only shrug. “Far too many men are watching me closely today. He is just one of many. And he’s a Scotsman, too. Do you see how my kinsmen and neighbors regard him with suspicion? I’ve asked him to leave, and I hope he will do so soon.”
“Abrielle, I do not understand why you would do so, why you would act in a seemingly discourteous manner, for I have never seen you be other than kind and thoughtful,” Cordelia said slowly. “And if I but had time to question you…”
“There’s no reason for that,” Abrielle said, giving her friend a smile. “Do not worry for me. The life I thought of as bleak has surely taken a turn for the better.”
IN SPITE OF the necessity of being ensconced henceforth in her late bridegroom’s spacious chambers, Abrielle made a concerted effort to thrust aside the haunting memories of the previous night and find some genuine peace for her weary mind as she burrowed deep beneath the covers. She had no real reason to fear her future—except for her next marriage, for marry she must, and soon. It was obvious to her that men would be vying for her and her fortune, a strange twist of fate for a woman who was all but ignored at court only months ago. But Abrielle was determined that this time, she’d earned the right to control her own fate. But how would her stepfather react to such a thing? He would want to see her safely with a man of whom he approved. Now that she had most of Desmond’s wealth in her possession, Vachel would likely seek to find her a spouse with a lofty title. It was what most fathers wanted for their daughters. In his case, she could imagine that, if truly motivated in that direction, such a desire might have arisen from his own frustration after his requests for a title had been rejected.
Still, if Vachel’s ambitions could be realized by the very thing he had earlier been seeking for himself, that being a worthy title for his own exceptional achievements, then he would likely be content. Vachel was an honorable knight who had served valiantly during foreign campaigns and, for that reason, was rightfully deserving of recognition from his king. Lord de Marlé had been honored by Henry for his heroism after returning home. As a reward, he had been given the vast area of land upon which to build this very keep. So might Vachel be honored if she were to remind His Majesty of her stepfather’s bravery and daring feats during those years he had loyally served beneath the king’s banner. The king just needed to be reminded that there was still a knight whose daring feats had long been forgotten. And now that Vachel had wealth of his own again, the title was more important than taking more money from the treasury.
Abrielle’s heart began to sink as she realized she might offend Henry if she were to plead for a few moments of his time to suggest the possibility of bestowing a worthy title upon her stepfather. But perhaps her newfound wealth would bring her more royal notice.
Glumly she stared at the flickering flames dancing atop the stout candles nestled within the heavy sconces, wondering if she should attempt to approach any of the lesser lords with her request. No, with so difficult a task, she’d have to find an individual who was permitted fairly often within His Majesty’s presence…
Of a sudden, Abrielle gasped and sat upright in bed as the realization dawned on her. In spite of her needless fretting, she was well acquainted with one who could perform such a feat without evoking the king’s ire. He was none other than Raven Seabern! It would be a fairly simple matter for the Scotsman to carry her missive to Henry when he was once again called upon to deliver a message to His Majesty from his own King David.
And how better to rid her own keep of the Scotsman’s presence, for he would not dare to return after she’d made clear he was no longer required. All these churning emotions in her breast would depart with him, and she would be able to logically think of who would make the best husband.
Snuggling back into the downy pillows, Abrielle smiled in satisfaction as she folded her hands atop the coverlet and stared at the embroidered scene on the canopy above her head. On the morrow, she would begin the day by composing a letter to His Majesty. Truly, if Vachel were given a title and lands as a reward for his own notable achievements, perhaps he would then feel satisfied with what he had managed to accomplish during his lifetime rather than be wont to find a nobleman who’d be interested in taking his wealthy stepdaughter to wife.
AFTER MASS AND breaking her fast, Abrielle went to the lady’s solar, her own private chamber. A weaving loom stood in one corner, and a long trestle table was laid out with servants’ livery in various stages of being cut and sewn. She sent the maidservants away and waited for Nedda to bring Raven to her. She’d been over and over her little plan, searching for flaws, and found none. It was most clever, if she did say so herself, and she truly did not see how it could fail. She would rid herself of the Scot’s very disturbing presence and lessen her stepfather’s need for a noble son-in-law at one and the same time. So delighted was she that she was smiling when the maidservant announced Raven.
He stood just inside the door wearing what could only be a mask of composure, for which she could hardly blame him after thei
r last meeting. When Nedda curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind her, his surprise was obvious.
As Abrielle stood cool and composed, he nodded politely. “Ye sent for me, my lady?”
“I did, sir. I desire your help with a personal matter. ’Tis a delicate task I have in mind, one to which you are perfectly suited.”
“You need but tell me what it is, my lady,” he said, walking toward her, “and it is done.”
Abrielle held up her hand, hoping she hid the alarm she felt as he drew nearer. “You need come no closer.”
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