Honor & Roses (23 page)

“It’s not watered,” she explained, although she was certain Pierce knew that, since he’d watched it being poured.

Pierce moved swiftly, snatching the glass from her hand. He took a long swallow. “God’s wounds. You’re right.” Without looking, he hurled the glass out the window. A second later, the sound of shattering glass, and a startled yell, echoed up from the dark courtyard below.

Pierce looked at the servant who had handed him the wine, and said, “My lady prefers her wine watered. Prepare her another glass, and if it is not to her liking, you’ll receive one lash to drive the lesson home.”

“My lord,” Cecily began, standing up in protest.

But Pierce shook his head, smiling. “Indulge my whims, Cecily. If a servant cannot learn how to please his betters, what is the point of society?”

The boy brought another glass, casting a sidelong look at Cecily. There was fear in his face, but not of her. It was Pierce who ruled here.

“Try this, my lady,” Pierce said, holding out the second glass.

Cecily sipped the watered wine. “This will do.”

“Truly, my lady? Be honest. I can throw that glass out the window as well. Or the boy. We must not encourage poor service.”

She blinked. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?

“I am content with this wine, my lord,” Cecily said, treading carefully around this strange man. “If we have business, perhaps you should dismiss the servants so we can discuss it.”

“Indeed.” Pierce, however, gestured the maid closer.

“Girl, what’s your name?”

“Yvota, my lord,” she whispered.

“Yvota, you are to serve the lady Cecily from this day forward. In particular, should my lady have any requests about the wedding, you will make her least desire into a reality. If my lady is not joyous on her wedding day, I’ll be forced to punish you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Yvota curtseyed, as if this were all quite normal.

“Go, then, all of you. I will speak with my bride.”

Cecily waited until the servants left. Pierce looked out the window, perhaps to see where his shattered glass had landed. Or perhaps he’d completely forgotten about it. Either seemed equally possible.

She was at a loss for what to say to this man, then recalled something. “I brought a rose,” she said.

He turned back to look at her. “A what?”

“A rose. From my garden at Cleobury. I thought to plant it here, as a symbol. If you have a head gardener I may speak with, I’ll learn where it may best flourish—” she stopped, seeing Pierce staring at her over his wine glass.

“I hope that’s acceptable, my lord?” she ventured.

A very slow smile began to spread across his face, beginning at one corner of his mouth. Cecily hated to admit it, but in that moment, despite everything she had seen so far, she understood how he might be charming.

“A rose,” he repeated. “That’s…very…” he trailed off, watching her closely, and with a certain amount of approval. “I knew you were beautiful, of course. But you’re rather sweet, too. How did it come to pass that such a lovely face never came to grief? You’re still innocent, aren’t you.” He walked closer to her.

“Of course I am!” she said hotly. Did he doubt her? Would he refuse to honor the marriage contract if he thought she was ruined?
I should have told him I was ruined
, she thought, too late.

“How remarkable.” Pierce leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. Cecily stood rigid for a moment, not prepared for such a move. But Pierce was insistent, pulling her to him and making her gasp. He used her reaction to slip his tongue into her mouth.

His kiss was nothing like Alric’s. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but she hardly invited his attention. She was afraid to push him away, though. He was to be her husband and her lord, so she had to get used to him.

She didn’t protest when he covered one breast with his hand, or even when he pressed himself closer to her. But when he began to pluck at the fabric of her dress, she twisted away.

“You can’t get away from me, Cecily,” he said with a laugh. “Or do you find me so repulsive?”

“Such behavior is inappropriate until after the wedding.”

“Yet you let me kiss you just now, which is certainly before the wedding.”

“I didn’t let you, I simply didn’t stop you,” she protested. She felt horribly out of her depth. “I imagine you were curious.”

“Oh, that’s true enough. You’re nothing like my usual fare.”

Cecily flushed. “So I saw.”

But Pierce only pulled her back toward him. “Don’t be jealous of Myfanwy. I enjoy variety,” he said. “Understand, you’ll belong to me, Cecily. When I want you, I’ll have you.”

She looked away, not trusting herself to respond. Was this what her destiny would be? As a plaything of this man, until he got bored of her and went back to his mistress?

“No words of agreement from my soon to be wife?” he went on, amusement in his voice. He spun her around so that her back was against his chest.

He put his hands over her belly. “Or are you one of those women who think only of motherhood?” he asked. “Do you want children?”

“Yes, of course I do,” she replied.

But not his
, her inner voice protested. She wanted her children to have Alric’s kind brown eyes and warm smile, and to have him to look up to. Not Pierce.

But it was Pierce who held her now, and Pierce who bent to kiss her neck, making her shiver with a confusing mix of revulsion and desire.

“I’ll give you children,” he said between kisses. “Many of them. I want children to carry on my name. I have ambitions for my line, not just my sons but for generations after. And it will start with you, the lady Cecily de Vere.” He caressed her belly. “You’re going to be mother of kings.”

Startled, she turned her face toward his. “How do you know?”

He smiled at her, again showing a charm she couldn’t deny. “Strong men make their own legacies, Cecily. Mine will start in our bed, with our children. You’ll be a perfect mother,” he said. “I can see that. You’ll give everything to your children, won’t you?”

“Everything I can,” she said shakily, still nervous from his closeness.

“Good,” he said. “That’s what I want to hear from my perfect wife.” He slid his hand lower, between her legs. Cecily squirmed, but she couldn’t get away. Thankfully the voluminous folds of the skirt kept some barrier between her body and his hand.

He laughed. “You’ll learn to beg for my touch, Cecily. I’m looking forward to our wedding night.”

She hated the sound of dominance in his voice, but she dared say nothing.

Then Pierce released her. He stepped away, and picked up his wine glass. After drinking the contents in one swallow, he put it down and held her own glass out to her.

“Drink up,” he said, as if he hadn’t just been pawing at her in the most bestial way. “I’ll take you in to dinner myself. The whole castle is eager to see what their new lady looks like. I’m sure they’ll be as impressed as I am!”

Cecily took the glass, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the man. Pierce was a strange soul, and she had no idea what to make of him. The only thing she was certain of was that she did not want to marry him. Not ever.

“What color are the blossoms?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, utterly adrift.

“Of your rosebush.”

She gaped at him. How could he inquire about such a trivial detail after the previous subjects of sex and ambition?

“Ah…white, my lord.”

He laughed, seemingly delighted with her answer. “Of course they are. Cecily White. That’s what I’ll call their color. And I’ll summon the gardener to your chamber tomorrow morning. You shall have your rose, my lady. Wherever you like.”

Cecily followed him out the door, thinking that she would never understand this subtle, secret, volatile man.

The meal that evening was
grand, in recognition of Cecily de Vere’s arrival. The high table was draped in brightly colored cloth, and the other long tables were adorned with late summer flowers set among the many dishes. Lamps and tall candleholders added light to what the large fireplace gave off. Musicians played merry tunes in a corner, and the overall air was that of a festival.

Alric entered the hall and took a few moments to survey it. This was more what he expected. Perhaps Pierce had only been caught out earlier, and this was the welcome he meant to give his affianced bride.

Just then, he saw Rafe. The other knight was seated at one of the long tables on the righthand side of the hall. He raised his arm to catch Alric’s attention, and Alric moved to join him.

“More like it,” he muttered as he sat down.

“You mean in terms of welcome? That’s true! The ale is very welcome.” Rafe grinned, then took a swig from his mug.

A horn sounded, and everyone paused as Pierce entered with Cecily on his arm. She looked demurely at the floor, but gave everyone a chance to see her. She was no longer dusty from travel. She was gowned in pale blue, and coiffed perfectly. The veil she wore over her hair was virtually transparent, showing the gold hair beneath. She looked every inch a lady, and surely impressed the people in the hall, for a general cheer went up.

In response, she smiled shyly. Her gaze flickered around the room. She caught sight of Alric for a moment and her smile faltered. But then Pierce walked her down the main aisle kept clear for them, and seated her next to him at the high table.

Thankfully, the mistress he called Myfanwy was nowhere near. After a moment of searching, Alric spotted her distinctive form at a lower table on the opposite side of the hall. Behind her, he noticed, a guard stood. He saw two more near the door.

Alric leaned toward one of the castle’s guards he just met, a man named Giles.

“The last time I’ve seen this many armed guards,” he said, “it was in a castle expecting a siege. Does the lord Pierce have a feud with another lord around here? Or is he expecting trouble from the Welsh?”

Giles shook his head. “No, we fear no one in these parts, and Pierce speaks often with the Welsh across the border. My lord insists on this level of alertness as a practice. He feels that it instills readiness in the guards, and provides experience for the younger men.”

“What experience is there in watching sheep from the top of the wall?” Alric understood the basic impulse, but he doubted its effectiveness.

“Not for me to question,” Giles said with a shrug. “Is this not the way where you’re from?”

“In times of peace, the gates are open for trade and daily tasks,” Alric said. “We know who is passing through. There’s no need to interrogate the baker.”

“Well, Pierce makes us interrogate the baker…and search the bread cart.”

“What have you found?”

“Thus far? Only bread.” Giles laughed.

Alric joined him, and turned to other matters. But he kept Giles’ words in mind. Pierce sounded like a man expecting trouble, or one determined to see trouble where there was none.

On the other hand, one kind of trouble was all too imminent, and Pierce wasn’t doing a thing to stop it. Myfanwy had risen from her seat and was now dancing around the space in the center of the hall.

The musicians saw her and quickly changed tune to encourage her revelry, probably because her particular style of dance was intended to draw all men’s eyes to her. She spun around, smiling and offering teasing glances to the lucky.

But she ended her dance in front of Pierce himself, giving him a theatrical bow…and full view of her breasts. Next to Pierce, Cecily sat still as a statue.

“Do I please my lord?” Myfanwy asked, sounding breathy but still somehow loud enough for most to hear her.

“Come,” he told the Welshwoman, with a crook of his finger.

Myfanwy laughed low in her throat, then leaned over the table, so she was face to face with Pierce.

He fed her some morsel from his own plate, his gaze locked his mistress. Their behavior would make sense in a bedroom. In the great hall, with all eyes on them, it came off as a taunt.

He looked over at Cecily, who had all too close a view of the couple’s overt display of affection. Though she was deliberately looking off in another direction, her wide eyes revealed how shocked she was.

She’d never be any good at politics, he thought. She wore her heart on her sleeve. And her heart had already been hurt by this lord, after only a few hours’ acquaintance.

Alric wondered if he could goad the man into a duel.

“Keep your head, brother,” Rafe drawled under his breath. “He wants to offend.”

“Why?” Alric responded. “To what purpose?”

Rafe only shrugged, not seeming to care about the details.

“He gains nothing by treating Cecily this way,” Alric went on, still angry.

“Perhaps he is working not to lose something then…such as the Welsh wench. She obviously holds some sway here.” Rafe looked over at Cecily. Something flickered in his eyes—sympathy?—but then he returned to his meal. “At least she’ll not have illusions about her marriage. Years of living with Theobald should have taught her by now anyway. Only the strong get what they want.”

Alric didn’t speak his next thought out loud: Cecily was strong. She didn’t wield a sword, true. But she walked among lepers without flinching, and without fear for herself. Her strength came from her compassion and her belief that she had a duty to protect others, even those shunned by the rest of society. Alric couldn’t imagine Pierce daring to touch a leper. That man had no thought for anyone but himself.