Once a Bride (36 page)
And all would be bright and good in her world if only Roland seemed happier. He’d been rather quiet during supper, accepting her father’s accolades with grace but not with triumph. Even now, with the food cleared away and the ale flowing, she had the disquieting feeling he didn’t consider himself a hero for having brought Brother Walter to the audience in time to aid her father.
Such modesty might be commendable, but Roland was
her
hero, and her husband, and she’d show him how much she appreciated and adored him later. In a room upstairs. Not only had her father treated everyone to supper, but rented several of the inn’s rooms so no one need brave the streets of London after nightfall.
Sweet mercy, she could hardly wait for Roland to lead her to the chamber, strip off her clothes, and press her onto the mattress. Eloise vowed to bring a genuine smile to her husband’s face if it took all night.
Her woman’s places warming, she leaned toward him, brushing against his arm. He glanced over and gave her a slight smile.
Good, but not good enough. She slid over until they touched thigh to thigh.
He arched an eyebrow, his eyes softening with humor. Not exactly the reaction she wanted, but better than the thoughtful, almost morose look he’d worn most of the eve.
She whispered, “Must I crawl onto your lap to gain more of your attention?”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Feeling neglected?”
“I have slept alone for four nights and not slept well at all.”
He glanced around at the others at the table, none of the company as boisterous as earlier. Timothy was already asleep, his head down on his crossed arms, where he’d likely spend the night.
“If you wish to retire, my lady, then so be it.”
Finally! After a round of good nights, Eloise led the way up the stairs. Once in the room, she crossed to the clothing pegs while removing her circlet and veil. When she turned, she saw Roland standing by the door, staring at her with an intensity that both scared and thrilled her.
She wanted to tear off his clothes, arouse him into a frenzy so complete he’d have trouble remembering his name. ’Twas obvious he wanted the same—but something held him back.
“What troubles you, Roland?”
“Circumstances have … changed.”
“Indeed they have, for the better. Everyone enjoyed tonight’s celebration except you. And possibly Brother Walter. Does his plight weigh on your mind?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Nay, the monk will be fine once we get him back to Evesham Abbey.”
The tone of his voice gave her pause and set her feet to crossing the floor. She looked up into his beloved face.
“My father is free. The king is not upset about our marriage.” Thank all the saints. She’d worried over Edward’s reaction, but he’d not scolded Roland. He had even indicated there would be more riches coming his way. After all, the king now had the properties of an earl-dom with which to reward those who’d brought Kenworth to justice. “All has turned out for the best, a cause for rejoicing. Why, my dear husband, are you not celebrating by ravishing your wife?”
With gentle fingertips he brushed back her hair. “We need to talk first.”
Now?
Eloise took a deep breath and reined in her impatience, trying to remember that a good wife should yield to her husband’s wishes. Some of them, anyway.
“About what?”
“Our marriage.”
Her heart sank. ’Twas as she’d feared, that Roland would come to regret his hasty, rash agreement to Geoffrey’s pressure, even though the marriage had seemed wise at the time.
She put a hand to his chest. “Did we not agree to make the best marriage we could? I know I am not perfect, Roland, but I do vow to try to be a good wife to you, less strong-willed.” She sighed. “And I have broken that vow already tonight by suggesting we come upstairs, practically demanding you make love to me. I beg pardon. Do you wish to go back downstairs?”
He smiled at that. “There is nowhere I would rather be than in bed with you. Anytime you want me, you have only to crook a finger and I will come straightaway.”
Completely confused, Eloise tightened her hold on his tunic. “Then you must make your meaning more clear.”
“You agreed to this marriage to save your dowry, because if events had gone sour for your father, men of your station would have shied away. That is not true anymore. Verily, Eloise, you could now have most any man in the kingdom you desired. I fear you will come to regret settling for less than you deserve.”
Silly man. Didn’t he know she’d obtained exactly what she wanted? Nay, he did not, because she’d been too afraid to expose her heart.
Eloise wrapped her arms around Roland’s neck and clung to the man who held her heart and happiness in his hands, who she trusted to keep safe her life and love.
“Dearest Roland, you are right. I did not receive what I deserved. Instead of a lord, I married a knight. A man of courage and honor who I will love and adore and admire until my last breath. I love you, Roland. I am
most
content with our marriage.”
His embrace came fast and hard and encompassing.
“I scarce believe I hear you aright.”
’Twasn’t like Roland to seek reassurance, but whatever he needed she’d give. Now. Tonight. Forever.
“I love you, Roland St. Marten, with my whole heart, my entire being. I meant the words of our vows. I will love and honor and cherish and occasionally obey you all the days of our lives.”
He chuckled at that. “Then there is something I want you to see, my dear.”
My dear.
Not the declaration of his undying love she yearned for, but a lovely endearment. A beginning.
Reluctantly, she let him go. He pulled a scroll from the folds of his tunic, which Eloise recognized as their betrothal bargain.
“I know what the bargain contains.”
“Not all of it. Not the part where it states that I do not come to you barefoot in my short pants.”
An enticing image. If he’d made the comment with humor, she’d comment, but Eloise knew he’d always felt awkward about obtaining a vast sum and giving nothing in return, so she refrained.
“I do not need to see a listing of your horses and armor and equipage. Sweet mercy, Roland, I care nothing for—”
“I know, but I did.” He tapped the scroll on his palm. “As I walked to the Tower to request your father’s approval, I agonized over the disparity. I obtained wealth beyond my wildest dreams, and had nothing to give you as a bride price. That sat ill.”
Wounded pride she understood. “Does it still?”
“A bit, but not as much.” He untied the ribbon binding the scroll. “I rectified the situation as best I knew how, by giving you the only thing I possessed which seemed fitting.”
“I need nothing but you.”
He cupped the side of her face, his palm warm, speeding up her heartbeat. His eyes held such tenderness she nearly melted.
“If you truly mean that, then this is the moment I have saved this for.” He handed her the scroll. “Read and believe.”
Eloise opened the scroll and skimmed down through the listing she’d provided Geoffrey. Toward the end, above the myriad signatures, a clause had been added in unfamiliar writing.
As bride price, Sir Roland St. Marten, knight in service to King Edward of England, vows to hold safe and protect Eloise Hamelin of Lelleford. Possessing nothing of material value with which to gift her, he bestows upon her all that he may, being his oath to love and cherish her all of his days and beyond, no matter what life may impose upon them both.
Love and cherish.
Her throat closed up. Tears welled up and blurred her vision, preventing her from again reading those precious words.
“Oh, Roland.” She collapsed against him and cried out her joy, held upright by strong arms and his balance.
“I love you, Eloise. As I told your father, my love for you was the only reason I considered the marriage. ’Twas my fondest wish that someday you might find it in your heart to return my affection.”
“Why—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why did you not simply tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to believe.” He brushed a palm across her cheek, coming away wet. “Do you remember telling me that gallant utterances from a suitor were not to be believed, that professions of adoration were all chivalrous nonsense?”
She remembered saying something similar on the day they’d passed by the village church, when they’d discussed Hugh’s death and his infatuation with his bride.
“I remember.”
“That is why I put my professions in writing, so that if you ever doubt that I mean it when I tell you I love you, you have only to look at the bargain which cannot be broken or set aside.”
With irrefutable proof of Roland’s love in hand, Eloise pulled him down for a long, heartfelt kiss. He’d given her all he had to give, his heart.
She’d keep it safe, guard it well. Beginning now.
Eloise set the scroll on the table and reached for the laces of Roland’s tunic. “Now are you ready to celebrate?”
A wide grin spread across Roland’s face—and lasted most of the night.
S
HARI
A
NTON’S
secretarial career ended when she took a creative writing class and found she possessed some talent for writing fiction. The author of several highly acclaimed historical novels, she now works in her home office where she can take unlimited coffee breaks. Shari and her husband live in southeastern Wisconsin, where they have two grown children and do their best to spoil their two adorable little grandsons. You can write to her at P.O. Box 510611, New Berlin, WI, 53151-0611, or visit her Web site at
www.sharianton.com
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Chapter One
England 1350
I
VY SCREAMED as only a little girl can—loud and shrill. Within Lynwood Manor’s great hall, Lady Joanna’s hands shook, nearly dropping the pestle with which she ground herbs for the stew bubbling in the hearth.
The children were playing on the village green, chasing a ball and each other. Their mingled squeals of delight and groans of disappointment told the parents how the game progressed without them having to watch. Joanna’s seven-year-old daughter was, as usual, among the loudest of the children.
Surely, Joanna thought, there was a hint of hurt or a taste of fear in Ivy’s last screech?
Then Ivy screamed again. Piercing. Frightened, yet angry. Heart pounding, Joanna dropped the pestle and ran out the hall door, joining two other mothers in their dash across the dusty yard between the manor house and the timber palisade. She burst through the gate and froze at the sight of three men on horseback, the riders bent forward and low, thundering up the middle of the green, coming straight at her. One had speared a goose, the poor thing hanging limp and bloodied, a repulsive banner on the lance’s tip.
The outlaws.
Joanna’s fury flared hot and bright. The outlaws had again raided the village, as they had several times before. However, unlike former raids, this time they had come during daylight and frightened Ivy and the other children.
She desperately longed to search for Ivy, but as lady of Lyn-wood she stood her ground, studying the men’s faces as they came closer, hoping she might recognize one, or find some clue to their identities to aid in their capture. To her disappointment, she didn’t know them. However, she now knew their faces and could be sure she punished the right men when they were brought before her for judgment.
The leader, who bore a scar on his forehead, wore a satisfied smirk. The
beast
!
Joanna waved a fist and shouted, “Whoreson! Leave us be! Do you hear me? Leave us be!”
If he heard her command, he gave no sign, merely veered right, leading his men around the palisade to escape into the woodland beyond.
Joanna no more than thought to order pursuit when she heard the captain of the guard shout the command for his men to mount up.
Praying this time the soldiers would find and capture the bastards, Joanna anxiously glanced about for Ivy.
In the middle of the green, near the well, mothers picked up and soothed their little ones, adding outraged shouts to the children’s cries. Joanna went cold at what she heard. The outlaws had purposely
terrorized
the children with no regard for whether or not the little ones came to harm.
Fighting panic, Joanna shouted her daughter’s name. “Here, milady!” answered the booming voice of the blacksmith, one of the few males not out in the fields attending to the spring planting.
Donald strode toward her with Ivy, looking small and fragile, cradled in his meaty arms. Glistening tears flowed from her pain-filled blue eyes, streaking her dirty cheeks. Bright red blood oozed from a gash in her forearm, staining her short gray tunic.
Joanna nearly swooned. She’d never dealt well with blood, nor sickness, which she’d seen too much of during the past year.
“The h-horse stepped on m-me, Mama!” Ivy stammered through her sobs. “My arm h-hurts! It bleeds!”
Joanna’s hand shook as she pushed strands of golden hair from Ivy’s forehead, struggling to banish the vision of Ivy tumbling on the ground beneath a horse’s hooves.
“I know, dearest.” She hoped her voice didn’t reveal the extent of her horror. “Be brave a few moments longer. Donald will take you inside while I find Greta.” She looked up at Donald. “Have Maud bind the wound to stop the bleeding.”
The blacksmith nodded and bore Ivy away.
Frustrated that she couldn’t take away the pain or spare Ivy the ordeal to come, Joanna fetched Greta, the midwife, now the only healer in the village with experience in stitching skin. On the way back to the manor, she sent a dairymaid out to the fields to inform the village reeve of the raid, ordering him to attend her along with Harold Long upon the captain’s return.
Several moments later, she was seated on the edge of the bed in her Lynwood Manor chamber, with Ivy draped across her lap. Joanna struggled to remain calm.
