How to Marry Your Wife (2 page)

Chapter 2

Thomas’ good friend and commander, Sir Marcus Blackwell, Lord of the Green Meadows, sat in front of his hearth. He sharpened the edge of his sword, looking much like a bust of a Roman warrior, while his gypsy wife untangled a mass of knotted yarn in her lap. The double-arched doorway was open, letting in the late evening light. The spring air was cool and a small fire of peat warmed the area.

Wool tapestries depicting his friend’s exploits hung on the stone walls. Thomas smirked despite the seriousness of the situation. The scene of how Marcus had saved the life of King Edward was much exaggerated. That was no doubt the Lady Ann’s doing, for Thomas recalled no bright tunics and lofty knights; only miles of blood, death, and innards upon an endless battlefield.

Other light shining upon the upper walls originated from a remarkable block of milky glass, more rare than silk. Below his feet, the mosaic white floor seemed even brighter than he remembered from his last stay at the ancient keep. Apparently, Marcus had continued the practice of not throwing bones upon the floor.

Two lads, younger than the one in the bathhouse, scampered on their arses down the stone stairs. Chairs overturned, a hound barked, and a harried nurse dashed after the three. His two friends didn’t even twitch an eyebrow at the wild ruckus. Mayhap he’d died and this was to be his purgatory? He prayed that someone had enough coin to buy him into heaven, and soon.

Surely, all this was too much to believe. He sat in the carved chair next to the happy couple with disturbing thoughts. How in the devil could he have a five year old son? He’d not penetrated Merry. Not once.
All hell be damned
. It’d taken all his self-control at the time, but he’d spent himself between her legs. However, the next morning he
had
woke upon his pallet without remembering how he’d gotten there. At the time, he’d thought it mere exhaustion, but now . . .

As always, the thought of that night sent body fluids rushing into his pintle. Perhaps his seed had wet her too close and slipped into the wet lips between her legs? Perhaps he’d had too much to drink? No. There had to be more to this tale and he’d get the truth out of her. Damned if he could remember though.

Regardless of how it came to be, he couldn’t deny the boy. There was nary such a long Norman nose and dark features in all of England. If that wasn’t enough, the boy had the well-known D’Agostine trait; one eye tinted blue and the other brown. He groaned inwardly, remembering the insult he’d thrown at his only love in his shocked state.

The scrape of honing steel stopped and Marcus glared. “You’re to marry her without delay. You’ve caused her enough pain.”

The gravity of his sin weighed upon him heavily, but he wasn’t the only one who held blame. He scowled back. “Why didn’t you send word? I would’ve returned with haste.”

Marcus put the edge of his blade to his nose and squinted. “We sent pigeons and many a fast horse. When you couldn’t be found after several years, we assumed you were dead, my friend. While I’m pleased to see you, you can imagine our shock when Edward sent word you’d arrived safely back in England.”

No doubt Lady Ann had much more to say on the matter, but Marcus leaned over and put a finger to her lips. She scowled and poked mercilessly at the mass of tangled yarn in her lap.

Thomas stood and paced with hands in the air. “How was I expected to know you had want of me? Was it not
you
who trained me to go beyond boundaries known to this kingdom to fetch the rarest of items?”

“Calm yourself. Sit, sit. I’m just saying that you must marry quickly and quietly. More than once, Meredith was nearly stoned, despite being my ward. Finally, I sent Brother James with enough coin to London to purchase a sealed parchment, proving your marriage.”

Bowing his head, Thomas slipped off his chair. He knelt in front of Marcus with sword held high overhead. “I swear to you. I did not . . . I did not . . . Damn all the souls in hell. My lance did not breach her maidenhood. I was and still
am
a knight of honor. I’d never break my vow to you.”

Marcus cuffed him on the head. “Stand at ease. I do believe that is what
you
believe, even though the evidence is damning to the contrary. However, I’m not willing to admit that a second Christ is among us. No insult intended, but Merry is no mother of God and you are no Joseph.”

“I’m in your debt.” Thomas sat back down.

“Besides, you may not kneel to me in fealty. You’re now the master of your own estate equal to mine—a free man, as I’m sure Edward informed you.”

“What a farce. The bastard son inherits all. My father will no doubt haunt me from the depths of hell, but I warned him. Did I not? The Earl of Annandale is not a man to be trusted. From the castle Carlisle he plots to be king. Bah. I should mourn, but cannot. An evil lot, those that bore me, all of them.”

Marcus continued making long strokes with his sharpening stone upon the blade’s edge. Every so often he stopped and brought the steel closer to his eye. He handed the sword to Thomas, pointing to a nick. “Your home-coming is quite fortuitous.”

“So say you. A wife, a boy, and now land to keep safe from the Scots as well as the peasants? Why not shackle me, beat me, and lock me in the dungeon?” Thomas spit upon the metal, rubbed out the defect, and handed it back.

A woman’s tiny gasp sounded from above and a door slammed. A string of curses, worse than he’d heard on the boat that brought him home to England, echoed down the stairs.

Lady Ann stood with her hands upon her hips and the words she’d been holding back gushed out. “Well done, Sir Thomas. Now Lady Meredith knows exactly what you think of the situation. ’Tis more than enough. We’re going to have a wedding. She loves you. Well . . . I believe she did until you opened your ever-widening mouth. I might suggest you keep it closed for the remainder of your wedding day if you expect anything from under the blankets.”

Thomas turned to Marcus for rescue from his wife’s wrath. “This is worse than the day you married the Lady Ann to steal her lands.”

“Oh, no. You’ll not rain boiling oil down upon
me
. Ann was bestowed to me from Edward, and all the gold in England would not have been a finer gift.” He winked at Ann and she beamed back with adoration.

Thomas rolled his eyes and muttered, “Doth bleats the former Beast of Blackwell.”

With fire in her eyes, Ann took two steps across the front of the hearth. The bottom of her wool tunic swished against the tiles. She pushed at his chest with flat palms. “Just what did you say to Merry in the bathhouse?”

“It’s too horrible to speak aloud.” He closed his eyes, wishing to go back in time to repair that moment. The sting of the flat of a blade to his bicep brought him to the present.

He grabbed for the hilt of his sword. “Damnation. If you want to meet my mettle, meet it outside, not in front of your hearth.”

“You’re a horse’s arse.” Marcus stared with face carved of stone.

“Aye. So I’ve been told. Twice in fact, only today.” Thomas grinned and rubbed his throbbing arm.

The look faded on his friend’s face to one more pleasing. “Come, I’ll walk you over to the church. Ann, see if you can get Meredith to come agreeably. If not, call for help and I’ll see to it.”

Through the center of the dozen tables, they cleared a path. Once outside, the sweet grass of the great lawn met his nostrils and he was reminded of his short stay long ago when maid Merry was a gentle six and ten and sweeter than a kitten. Thirty paces brought them to the center of the green, halfway to the church.

Just beyond, Marcus’ village was even larger than the last time he’d visited. The fires of the pottery kiln poured smoke into the air and tallow from the candle maker wafted on the breeze. Clacking from the cloth house looms mixed with the sad song of the phoebe, lamenting the end of day.

Suddenly thirsty, Thomas dropped a bucket into the well and cranked. He offered the ladle first to his friend, no longer master. The change in status was an odd fitting tunic. “While I’m willing to give my son my good name, I don’t believe I wish that screaming knife-wielding harpy for a wife. Too much of Ann has fallen away and stuck to her.”

Marcus snickered. “You’ll do well with a strong woman.”

“You see, that’s just the problem. I wish to wed Merry, the maiden of sixteen years who waited on our tables. Whose eyes sparkled and whose cheeks glowed red. The girl who ran joyfully around your manor and sang frivolous songs like an angel.”

Setting the bucket upright into the metal bracket, Marcus sighed and gazed at the sky as if waiting for heavenly intervention. When none was forthcoming, he spoke. “Six years have passed. She’s now two and twenty. A woman. And a woman who was wronged by you.”

Thomas opened his mouth. “Bu—”

“Uh, uh, uh. Hold your tongue. I would’ve gutted you the instant I saw you if I didn’t know you better. I told you back then, the girl was under my protection and you were not to have her without marriage.”

“I swear by all the Gods I did not.” Thomas scraped mud from his boots on the first stone of the three steps that led into the small church and tried to remember that night. Like always, a disturbingly large portion of the evening remained hidden.

“Your seed was sown. Whatever miracle you both profess, her womb bore your son. Come, Brother John awaits and we must put this wrong to right. After, we’ve more missives from Edward to discuss.”

James, the elder of the two brothers in residence, came forth from behind a carved screen at the altar. He strode down the center of the church with his hand gripping the missing hilt of a sword he hadn’t worn for years.

Bobbing a tonsured head, he gave a happy greeting to Marcus, but his eyes shot arrows in Thomas’ direction. “God forgive me, but I’m not sure if I’m gladdened to see you.”

“Even you, James? Certainly as Meredith’s confessor, you know the truth.” Thomas stopped and waited in the center of the church.

“The truth is, Sir Thomas, that you shouldn’t have done any of the things you did that day.” Wide brown sleeves whipped as he pointed an accusing finger.

“I did hand-fast myself to her that night, forever, and God heard. Isn’t that all that matters?” Thomas shifted his eyes away, but ’twas no better. The fierce countenance of a bearded God-the-Father glared at him from a side mural.

James circled a fist around the thick gold cross at his neck and pointed toward the altar. “Move. I’ll hear your sins, you’ll say your contrition, and I’ll leave forgiveness in God’s hands.”

With a smirk, Thomas wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “If you wait for me to confess all, we may die of starvation.”

Marcus snickered and pushed him forward. “For heaven’s sake, man, try to abbreviate the more menial and clump the worst together. There’s much to do.”

The not-so-amused Brother James stepped forward and struck out a heel that hit just behind the knee. Thomas stumbled and the priest pushed him to the floor. From atop his back, James said, “Mayhap laying prostrate before the Lord will help speed you on your journey toward holiness.”

“Blast the saints. You’ve gained weight.” Thomas’ back screamed for mercy.

Stifling a snort of amusement, the younger Brother John entered the church and lit candles on the altar where a carved figure of Christ hung with suffering in his long face. Thomas concurred. Mayhap after he wedded, he’d take his son north, and leave Merry with Ann and Marcus. She seemed happy enough here.

The subject of his thoughts cleared her throat from the back of the church. Struggling onto his elbows, he turned his head and gasped with pounding heart. Backlit by the evening sun, a halo of lace blazed over her burnished locks. The golden chain around her waist pointed in a ‘V’ to where he’d soon hold the right to have her.

Her son . . . No, correct that.
Their
son was at her side, mimicking her jutted jaw and clenched fists. She raised her voice while disengaging from Ann’s clutch at her elbow. “Sir Marcus, I beseech you. I have a betrothed. I need not marry Thomas. He was dead yesterday and the day before. Why can’t he continue to be so today?”

Marcus strolled from the altar to where the rest stood. “I’ll work out an agreement with my brother. I’m certain he wouldn’t want to interfere in this miraculous reunion.”

Her voice quivered and she bowed her head. Gold-red curly locks tumbled forward to hide her tearful face. “But we’ve already agreed. You’ve been too kind. If you’d not lied for me, I would’ve been stoned to death years ago.”

Thomas wondered if braying like a donkey right about now was an appropriate response. He opened his mouth to speak, but grimaced when James put more weight upon his already aching back. Mayhap he’d best stay quiet if he wished to ever move again.

The evening light poured out of the stained glass window and lit particles of dust. When Marcus walked the three to the altar, long wings of rose and gold lit their backs. They all stepped over where he lay flat on the floor. The heavenly scene was ruined when they turned and glared.

At the front of the church, John stood with Bible in hand. Six years ago, the brown robe dragged on the ground and flopped over his hands. Now, it strained across a man’s chest. Sleeves that had almost reached his knees, now barely met wrists. His high tenor voice had squeaked and broken during Marcus’ wedding, but now came out lower than a camel’s growl. “Let’s begin.”

Toppling James, Thomas hoisted up off his elbows and stood. “My God, man, you’ve grown bulbous balls in my absence.”

Marcus spit out a hearty guffaw. Chortling, Ann hid her face behind a bunch of wildflowers and James brushed himself off with eyes of mirth. The only giggle Thomas craved, however, wasn’t forthcoming.