Samantha James (11 page)

There was little rest to be found that night. Glenda tossed and turned. Though she tried to blot her mind of all that had happened, she could not. She wavered between shock and outrage, outrage that Egan had dared to presume she would wed him! The misty colors of dawn had begun to wash the eastern sky before she finally slept from sheer exhaustion.

She woke to the sweetly melodious sound of a songbird outside in the bailey. At almost the same time, the door creaked. Glenda opened her eyes as Jeannine peered into the room.

“My lady!” came her whisper. “Are you awake?”

Glenda pushed her hair away from her face and sat up. “Aye. Please, Jeannine, come in.” She’d been in no mood for company last eve. At supper she’d taken a tray in her room.

Yet she couldn’t hide away forever. Summoning a faint smile, she patted the coverlet. “Come sit.”

Jeannine did as she requested, carefully tucking the coverlet around the swaddling in her arm.

“Mistress, may I tell you something?”

“Of course you may.”

Jeannine raised shining eyes to hers. “We are happy for you, mistress, all of us here at Blackstone. Egan…he will make a good husband, and a fine lord.”

“Thank you, Jeannine. ’Tis good to know that all approve.”

“Mayhap I should not speak so freely, but we are so verra relieved it is not Simon whom you will wed, all of us here…when we heard that the earl would have you marry, we were so afraid Simon would be our new lord. I-I am not one to tell tales, but I…oh, but I dinna like him! He is not kind, as Egan is kind. One day afore Simon rode out, he struck Martin the stableboy for dropping his reins on the ground.”

The rogue! Somehow Glenda was not surprised.

“I pray that the two of you love each other the way Colin and I do.”

Glenda’s heart twisted. She had loved Niall. How could she ever love another? Yet Jeannine was so happy, she couldn’t bear to tell her otherwise.

It struck her then. Sometime during the night she had resigned herself to her fate. And if the people of Blackstone were satisfied with Egan as their lord, then so must she be satisfied as well. Though she would have preferred to live her life as she chose it, that could never be.

“He will make a good husband, I know. And a good father,” Jeannine said earnestly. The fingers of her free hand crept to the swaddling. A hint of shyness flitted across her face. “Mayhap within the year we will both have a babe in arms.”

Glenda blanched. Everything inside her seemed to
freeze. A babe. Her mind screamed.
No
, she thought.
No
!

Her mind raced. Her stomach clenched. Throughout the long night she had put the thought at bay, but now she could not. Would Egan demand she lay with him? It was a husband’s right. A wife’s duty.

A babe, she echoed in despair. The thought veered where it would and she could not withhold it…Another
dead
babe?

When she and Niall had married, they had fully expected a babe within the year, for most nights found them together, limbs entwined and hearts apounding. A part of her soul had been chipped away, little by little, when her monthly flux continued to appear. She’d tried potion after potion, convinced that she was barren; though Niall had often assured her it did not matter that she didn’t conceive, Glenda had sensed his disappointment. More than four years went by before she’d gotten with child.

Niall had been just as elated as she.

Yet now both father and son dwelled in the arms of the Lord.

There was a dull ache in the center of her breast. The prospect of a babe was too painful to perceive, and so Glenda did the only thing she could. To remember…was to hurt. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but throughout the next days, she put it from her mind. Put
him
from her mind…or tried to.

The day before the wedding, the earl sent over sacks of finely ground wheat, great bricks of cheese, fowl and fish from his estate for the wedding feast—a tacit sign of his approval, she realized. This wedding would take place, whether she willed it or
no…whether she wanted it or not. Wearily she directed the carts to the storeroom.

The next afternoon Jeannine and a group of twittering maids arrived to help her bathe and dress. Glenda’s lips parted. She would have dismissed them, preferring to see to the task alone, but Nessa gave a tiny shake of her head.

She stood quietly while they dressed her in a fine linen underdress. Her arms lifted to ease the way as a gown of scarlet was dropped over her head, finely embroidered about the rounded neckline and long, full sleeves. Her hair was brushed until it shone; it tumbled down her back, a cascade of gleaming chestnut.

Her heart caught painfully as a small, beribboned circlet of flowers was placed upon her head. She couldn’t help but remember another time when she had stood thus, poised on the precipice of marriage, certain she would spend the rest of her days with the man she was about to wed. Niall’s father Ronald and her own had known each other as youths and were great friends, so much so that they had pledged their firstborn son and daughter would marry. Glenda had not laid eyes on Niall until a sennight before they were wed. Niall had been dashing and laughing and gallant; as frightened as she was, she’d fallen in love with him just a wee bit that very first day…

At last she and Nessa were left alone. The old woman placed both gnarled hands on her staff and gazed at Glenda.

“There is not a sight more beauteous than you are now, child.”

Glenda tipped her head to the side. A faint, wistful
smile curled her lips. “You said the very same thing the day I wed—”

Parchment-dry fingertips came to rest against her lips. “Hush, lass, do not say it. I do not mean to be cruel, but that day is forever gone. That man is forever gone.”

Sudden, startling tears sprang to Glenda’s eyes, tears she couldn’t quite withhold. Her throat constricted. Nessa’s arms came about her; she held her clasped tight against her frail form.

Yet she was dry of eye when she made her way to the door of the kirk a short time later. As she approached, several people turned. Glenda recognized one as the earl. She was not sure if she was more indignant or startled. Had he come to see that the deed was done? Suddenly the earl was forgotten as she felt her gaze drawn inevitably forward, as if beneath the powerful lure of some ancient spell.

It was Egan. He awaited her, a tall, formidable figure dressed in a dove-brown tunic and kilt. Never had she seen him so handsomely clad! Aware of his unrelenting perusal, she made her way toward him, feeling as if her legs were made of wood. She could not look at him just now—she could not! Yet before she closed the meager distance that separated them, she found herself impelled by an urge she couldn’t overcome.

Their eyes collided. His features might have been etched from stone; they revealed naught of his thoughts, neither pleasure nor displeasure. His only reaction was the veriest lift of heavy black brows, a silent signal to face the priest. That last, final step brought her beside him. Glenda was careful not to
touch him. In some far distant part of her mind, she had the sensation that if she did, her composure would surely shatter. Perversely, that very same part of her couldn’t help but note his powerful ruggedness, the way her head scarcely reached the top of his shoulders.

Throughout the ceremony, she stood with her head held high, her spine straight and stiff as an arrow pointed skyward. Father Anselm’s voice droned on so endlessly, she longed to scream at him to end it. Yet she knew she could not, so she focused her mind elsewhere. She was only half-aware as Egan spoke his vows, his tone strong and steadfast.

Father Anselm cleared his throat. With a start, she realized the priest—indeed, all those present—waited expectantly. A fleeting panic engulfed her. She longed to dart from the church—from him!—for she was suddenly terrified of all that lay before her. Yet such an action would be futile…and the act of a coward.

Her throat was as dry as bone. Her voice seemed to come from some lofty, faraway place. Dimly she heard herself speak. “To you, Egan, I give thee my troth, to have and hold thee for my lawful husband”—only then did she falter—“to my life’s end.”

Father Anselm gave the final blessing, asking that their union be long and fruitful and blessed with many children.

It was over.

Glenda stood dumbly. Behind her, someone let out a whoop, and then a loud cheer seemed to rumble the very earth beneath her feet. What she would have done then, she would never know, for a rock-hard
arm locked tight about her waist, pulling her about. Her hands flew up, an attempt to maintain some distance between them—a pitiable effort, that!—for in the next instant she was caught tight against his chest.

His visage swam before her. Just before his head swooped low, there was an unmistakable flash in his eyes, something she could only discern as triumph.

Indeed, Egan couldn’t help the feeling of heady pride that surged high like a tide, flooding his being. The mistress of Blackstone Tower might not be glad of his presence, but its people were—he could hear it in their cheers. This was his, he thought in sheer amazement…all of it. Well beyond the surrounding walls and the adjacent forest. He was a man who had seldom planned beyond the next day—there was no reason to, for he had simply accepted what would come with no further thought.

Yet he did so now, for suddenly all was different. Only yesterday he had almost nothing—his weapons, his horse, a bit of coin. Now he had Blackstone. Oh, aye, he resolved, he would nurture this land and its people, that they would prosper and grow…as he would. He was all at once determined as never before, determined to see Blackstone flourish, anxious to see the crops grow tall and fertile, eager for the autumn’s bounty. For the first time, he truly understood what Glenda must feel…why she could not abandon her father’s heritage…what her father had surely felt, this boundless connection to the land and its people. The Lord had smiled upon him this day, and God willing, there would someday be children who would share in all this.

Even the mutinous light in Glenda’s eyes could not dampen his euphoria.

And indeed, Glenda could feel the fire, the rise of emotion inside him. Nor was this a mere brush of his lips on hers, a cursory acknowledgment of the vows between husband and wife. It was a raw, blistering kiss that spoke of possessive mastery.

Everything within her cried out starkly. Was this for the earl’s benefit, or his own? She resented him fiercely, both him and the earl, yet there was no stopping him. The shouts and whistles all around faded to nothingness. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she gasped. He pressed home his advantage; his tongue dove deep, a plundering journey that plumbed the depths of her mouth. He kissed her until her senses were reeling and she was certain the only thing that held her upright was the brace of his arms about her back.

When at last he released her, she felt herself sway. Egan had already turned; he raised their joined hands high. A roar broke out anew. Yet she could not begrudge these people, any of them. She caught a glimpse of Jeannine, beaming. And there was Bernard, grinning from ear to ear. No doubt it had been a long time since there had been occasion to celebrate. And thanks to the earl, there was plenty to eat and drink.

Before she knew it, they were in the great hall. A crush of well-wishers gathered around them. Nessa appeared before them, but it was Egan she addressed: “Ye best take care o’ her,” was all she said.

A jet brow climbed aloft. “Oh, I will try, Nessa, but methinks the lady would rather take care of herself.”

Glenda’s chin came up a notch. Would that she had been allowed to! The biting retort hovered on her lips, but she did not give voice to it. Nessa was aware of her feelings about this marriage, but she would not disgrace either of them by allowing someone else to know the truth.

Mayhap that was why he’d kissed her with such brazen thoroughness!

Determined not to allow him to needle her so, her lips curved upward. She turned to find the earl standing before her. Despite her vexation with his dictate, she sank into a curtsy.

“My lord,” she said breathlessly. “I must thank you for your generosity. The wedding feast will be bountiful indeed.”

When she rose, the earl startled her by kissing her on both cheeks. “’Twas no trouble, lass.” He shifted his attention to Egan, who had taken note of his presence as well.

“My lord, may I present my”—the weight of a stone seemed to strike the center of her chest—“my husband, Egan MacBain.”

“My lord, you honor us.” Egan gave a low bow.

“I had to see you for myself.” He winked at Egan. “Though I did make inquiries. I’d not have allowed this lovely lady to marry just anyone, you know.”

“I should hope not.”

Glenda stiffened. Did the faintest twinge of mockery taint his tone?

“However,” the earl went on, “’tis not an enviable situation you come to.”

“Nay, my lord.” Egan’s smile faded. All at once he
was very earnest. “I will see that Blackstone prospers once again. You have my word on it.”

The earl tipped his head. “I do believe you will,” he said. His gaze slid to Glenda. “You have chosen well, lass. He is a good man.”

Never had Glenda been so frustrated. It was not that she found fault with his statement. In her heart, she knew that Egan
was
a good man. Yet it somehow grated that everyone was singing his praises. If Blackstone prospered, it would be because of her own hard work as well as Egan’s! If all turned out well, the credit should be equally shared!

Gritting her teeth, she graciously inquired, “Will you join us in our wedding feast, my lord?”

“Aye, I do believe I will.”

The faces began to blur, until they all looked the same. Then all at once a tall figure stepped before her. Blond hair gleamed like a field of wheat. Glenda’s heart lurched, for it was Simon. She hadn’t realized that he was here!

“Simon! What do you here?”

“I missed your first wedding, Glenda. I could hardly miss the next, now could I?”

He did not kiss her hand, or her cheek, like so many of the others. Instead he placed both hands on the narrowness of her waist and kissed her full on the mouth.