Bride of the Beast
Read Bride of the Beast Online
Authors: Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Sue-Ellen Welfonder
In loving memory of my father-in-law,
Gottfried Welfonder,
a man who bore a scar of his own and,
like Sir Marmaduke, carried it with dignity
and grace,
overcoming formidable odds to always stand tall.
He was a true gallant. A fine gentleman of the
old school, a hobby gardener and lover of books
who would have been so proud of me.
He lives on in my heart.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Those who know me well are aware of my great love and passion for
Scotland
's hero king, Robert the Bruce. A great-hearted man who stood head and shoulders above other men, his bravery, valor, and compassion inspired love and devotion in those who followed him and grudging respect amongst those who did not. His flame burned so brightly its brilliance echoes through the centuries and still holds the power to enflame and capture the hearts of those who love
Scotland
. He certainly holds mine, and it is from one of his most shining moments, his great victory against the English at
Bannockburn
, that I took the inspiration for Sir Marmaduke Strongbow.
A true historical figure, Sir Marmaduke Tweng, was a notable English knight of the times, and known to be a man of honor. Unseated in the battle, he sought the Bruce, refusing to surrender his sword to any other. In respect and honor of Sir Marmaduke's chivalry, Robert Bruce invited him to his royal tent, entertaining him at his own table.
The real Sir Marmaduke was then released without ransom and allowed to return in peace to
England
. When I knew I wanted
Duncan
in
Devil in a
Kilt
to have a valiant English knight as his best friend, I remembered Robert Bruce and Sir Marmaduke. No other name for this character would do ... and I hope both men would smile if they knew.
I want to t
hank
the readers on my mailing list who fell in love with Sir Marmaduke in
Devil in a Kilt.
Their many requests for this special character to
get
a happy ending of his own is the reason this story came to be. This book is theirs as is my deep appreciation.
Heartfelt t
hank
s go, too, to my wonderful agent and friend, Pattie Steele-Perkins, who loved Sir Marmaduke from the very beginning, and to my much-appreciated editor,
Karen
Kosztolnyik, for her great skill in helping me give him the best book I could. I am indebted to you both.
And, as always, to my handsome husband, Manfred, my own dragon slayer, for putting up with my late nights and harried dinners, and for making it possible for me to follow my dreams.
Dunlaidir Castle The Eastern Coast of
Scotland
,
133C
what
you
need,
my lady, is a champion." Lady Caterine Keith stiffened her shoulders against he companion's well-meant counsel and continued to star through the arch-topped windows of her tower bedchamber. Far below, the
North Sea
tossed and churned, its slate-gray; swells capped with foamy white, its roiling surface a perfect reflection of her own inner turmoil.
A heavy curtain of silence fell between the two women until the crackle of the hearth fire and the hollow whistling of the brisk autumn wind reached almost deafening proportions.
Rain-laden gusts lashed at Dunlaidir's thick stone walls rattling the window shutters with such fervor Caterine wouldn't have been surprised to see them ripped away and hurled into the sea.
A niggling sense of foreboding crept up her spine, its portent unsettling. A cloying premonition as cold and relentless as the dark waves battering the cliffs upon which
Still, she said naught.
Her companion's suggestion didn't merit comment.
Undaunted by Caterine's silence, Lady Rhona gushed on. "I can see him before me: a mighty warrior who swings a heavy sword, a belted knight of chivalric fame," she enthused, her young voice breathy with excitement.
Filled with flimsy fancies Caterine no longer believed in.
Mayhap had ne'er believed in.
Ne'er been
allowed
to believe in, much as her young heart had once sought to cling to such foolish dreams.
"My lady,"
Rhona implored, her tone striving to capture Caterine's ear. "Think of it! A battleworthy knight able to vanquish your foes with a mere glance. A brave man willing to hew them to bits should you but ask. A great champi—
"I do not want a champion." Caterine swung around to face her friend. "I desire naught but to be left alone."
"And I vow it is desire you need," the ever-romantic Rhona blurted, then clapped a hand over her lips as a pink tinge crept onto her cheeks.
Slipping behind Caterine, she yanked the shutters into place, soundly closing out the rain and wind but plunging the chamber into semi-darkness. "Of a mercy!" Rhona fretted, hurrying to light a brace of tallow candles. "I meant no disrespect. Tis only you've never kno—"
"I know fair well what you meant," Caterine stated before the younger woman could babble on and embarrass them both. Careful to keep her back straight, she sank onto the cushioned seat built into the window embrasure.
It mattered scarce little that the slanting rain had dampened the finely embroidered pillows. She had more serious issues to contend with than catching the ague.
"Your concern is appreciated but ill-placed." She leveled a sidelong glance at Rhona. "I know much of men. Think you having outlived two husbands has left me an innocent?"
"Of a certainty, nay, my lady." Rhona busied herself lighting the remaining two candles. "No one is more aware of your plight than I. Did I have aught but your best interests at heart, I would not urge you to send for a champion."
Caterine made an impatient gesture. "You speak of de sire. I need a solution to my problems, to
Dunlaidir's
problems, not a man to warm my bed."
Leaning down, she scooped her tiny golden-brown dog, Leo, onto her lap. "I will not seek another man's attentions regardless for what purpose. Leo is the only male welcome in this chamber ... as you are full aware."
"Leo cannot protect you from a man as powerful as Sir Hugh. The man is a dastard craven capable of great and vile knavery. Your only recourse is to ask your sister to send help."
"Think you one
Highland
warrior will deter a Sassunach earl with a garrison of mounted knights at his disposal?" Caterine drew Leo closer, taking comfort in the soft warmth of his little body. "Even a mighty MacKenzie would be hard-pressed to deter de la Hogue from gaining hold of Dunlaidir through marriage to me."
Rhona tilted her dark head to the side. "Then you must render such a union impossible by wedding your champion."
Indignation flared in Caterine's breast. "I do not
have
a champion. Nor will I impose on Linnet's good graces by asking her to send one. And were I so inclined, which I are not, binding myself to such a man is no more palatable that marriage to Sir Hugh."
"How do you know if you haven't met the man your sister will send?"
Caterine gave her friend a hard look. "I will not suffer third husband, champion or otherwise."
Rather than answer her, Rhona began pacing the chamber, tapping her chin with a forefinger as she went. Caterine braced herself for the absurd prattle soon to erupt from the younger woman's pursed lips.
After years of companionship, she knew her friend well Fingertapping always preceded outbursts of foolishness Nonsensical ramblings that made sense to none save Rhona herself.
"I have the answer!" Rhona cried then, clapping her hands together. A triumphant smile lit her pretty face. "Simply pretend to wed the man your sister sends."
Caterine's brows shot heavenward.
"Pretend!"
"Aye." Her friend beamed at her, obviously waiting for Caterine to comprehend the brilliance of such a scheme.
But Caterine comprehended naught.
Naught save her growing aggravation with Rhona's persistent beseeching.
Pushing to her feet, she carried Leo across the rush-strewn floor and set him upon his sheepskin bed near the hearth. "I fear you do not understand. I will not plead Linnet's aid nor will I enter into marriage again. Not even a false one," she said, meeting Rhona's exuberance with what she hoped sounded like firm resistance.
Firm and unbending.
Above all, unbending.
"But doing so is your best chance to rid yourself of Sir Hugh," Rhona wheedled. "Have you forgotten he vowed to obtain an order from his king forcing you to acquiesce lest you do not agree to the marriage by Michaelmas?" Rhona lifted her hands in supplication. "My lady, the feast of Michaelmas is long past."
"For truth?" Caterine plucked at an imagined speck of lint on her sleeve. "Since our stores have grown too meager to allow us to celebrate St. Michael's holy day, I hadn't noticed its passing. Nor do I care what Edward III declares 1 should do. Yet is this land held for young David of Scotland."
"Lady, please," Rhona entreated. "You have no other choice."
Stung to fury, Catherine clenched her hands to tight fists. Beyond the shuttered windows thunder sounded, the low rumblings echoing the churning bitterness deep inside her.
Rhona erred. She
did
have choices.
But, as so oft in her life, none appealed.
She'd e'er lived under a man's rule. Even now, newly widowed of an elderly but not unkind husband, a time when, at long last, she'd hoped to find some semblance of peace.
Peace and solitude.
Unbidden, Sir Hugh de la Hogue's thick-jowled face rose before her, his swinish eyes gleaming with satisfaction, the sound of his heavy breathing giving voice to his lecherous nature.
Caterine shuddered. The mere thought of the Sassunach's bejeweled fingers touching her made her skin crawl with distaste and sent bile rising thick in her throat.
"Lady, you've grown pale." Rhona's troubled voice shattered the loathsome image. "Shall I fetch the leech?"
"Nay, I am well," Catherine lied, flat-voiced.
Her dark eyes flooded with concern, Rhona rushed forward to grasp Caterine's hands. "Oh, lady, you must relent. The MacKenzie men are able and valiant. Your sister's husband is a fair man, he will send you the most stalwart warrior in his garrison."
Rhona released Caterine's hands and resumed her pacing. "Do you recall when he and your sister came for a visit some years ago? My faith, but the castle women were all aflutter did he but glance—"
"There is more to a man than the width of his shoulders and the charm of his smile," Caterine broke into her friend's prattle. "I will not deny my sister's husband is pleasing to the eye
and
possessed of a goodly character, but I warn you, Duncan MacKenzie is nowise a man by which to measure others. One such as he is a rare find. My sister is much blessed to have him."
