Strangclyf Secret

Champagne Books
Presents

Strangclyf Secret

By

Mary McCall

This is a work of fiction.
The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the
author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is
completely coincidental.

No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by
any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publisher.

Champagne
Books

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright
2014 by Mary McCall

ISBN
978-1-77155-174-8

March 2015

Cover Art by Ellie
Smith

Produced in
Canada

Champagne Book Group

19-3 Avenue
SE

High River, AB T1V
1G3

Canada

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Highland
Captive

Highland
Promise

For my brother, Robert
Duncan McCall II. You are one of my real-life heroes. Thanks for
always being there.

Caen, Normandy, July,
1066

Sometimes silence is just
too loud.

Bernon grunted and shifted
positions, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin
on his palm. He studied the game table trying to discern his next
move. The raging storm without pressed gloom throughout the hall
heightening the shadows about the hall and the heaviness of the air
dampened every swatch of cloth. How was he supposed to concentrate
on chess when his life of unwedded bliss would soon end?

To his relief, a bang
broke the silence. He glanced up from the game table near the
dormant hearth. Thank the Almighty his friend arrived before he was
trounced by William for not paying attention. If nothing else, Geno
could generally lighten Bernon’s mood. For now Geno shook his tawny
curls, sending a spray of droplets splattering down to the rushes
then tossed his dripping cloak over a bench.

“’
Tis about time you
arrived. I was beginning to fear for your life, making the crossing
in those winds,” William called from his seat across the game table
from Bernon. With ruddy cheeks and rusty hair, the massive
middle-aged warrior radiated a conquering spirit despite his casual
pose.

Geno approached the
contestants. Carrying a leather parcel under one arm, he halted,
bowed to his liege with a flourish, and grinned. “Greetings, Your
Grace. As you can see, my holy sire’s God has spared
me.”

“
I don’t suppose he spared
me as well.” Bernon drained the wine from his pewter goblet and
slammed the empty cup upon the table.

Geno raised a brow and
swept his gaze over his friend. “Santa Anna, your mood is as black
and dour as your garments. The Almighty has done more than spared
you. For some reason, He has given you a pearl beyond price. Mayhap
someday you will recognize her value.”

“
Leave it to you to find
perfection in every female who breathes.” Lifting a pitcher, Bernon
poured more wine and took a long draught.

William frowned at
Bernon’s churlishness and then cocked an inquiring brow at Geno.
“Lord Strangclyf accepted you as Bernon’s proxy then?”

“
Aye. Though he was not
pleased by Bernon’s absence, the vows have been pledged. When Lord
Strangclyf dies, the holding will pass to Bernon through his new
bride after a traditional ritual of transference prescribed by the
Strangclyf ancestors.” A devilish gleam flickered in Geno’s
light-blue eyes. “Lord Sidney wanted me to make a point of telling
you the holding does not pass on until the marriage is consummated,
Bernon. You cannot put off meeting your bride forever.”

William nodded and waved a
hand in a dismissive gesture as he studied the game, then moved a
rook. Nodding once at his prowess, he said, “He will take care of
that after England is mine.”

Bernon raised a brow. “Is
it not enough that you ordered the marriage? Do you intend to set
the date and the time of the consummation as well?”

“
I hope such an order will
not be necessary.” William scowled. “Strangclyf is a strategic
holding for England’s defense on the North Sea and possesses a
legion of trained warriors, who I would rather have fighting with
me than against me when we invade. There is rumor of a great secret
about the place, which makes it invincible. ‘Tis also a rich
holding that you should appreciate.”

Bernon flushed and raked
his fingers through his short locks. “I do appreciate it and an
order is not necessary. You know I will do whatever is required to
secure the holding.”

William nodded. “So, did
Bernon’s bride appreciate the gift he sent her?”

“
I sent no gift,” Bernon
said and banged his goblet on the table.

“
Bernon, quit banging the
goblet. Matilda still has not forgiven you for bending the others.”
William snatched the goblet from Bernon’s reach and handed it to
Geno. “Honestly, you’ve been sulking more like the nine-year-old I
caught stealing bread from me seventeen years ago rather than a
seasoned warlord.”

“
Nay, William. He simply
acts like the grumpy Black Bear his warriors have dubbed him.”
Straight pearly teeth flashed in Geno’s face as he accepted the
goblet for himself.

“
I am not sulking and I
would not be ill-tempered at all if not for the existence of my
unwanted bride. Who was it that came up with the offensive notion
of attaching land to women?”

Geno chuckled. “I believe
you refer to my holy sire’s God—about the time he put Eve in the
garden.”

“
Aye, and ‘twas because of
Eve that Adam was driven from Paradise,” Bernon
countered.

“’
Twas the serpent that
caused poor Eve’s woes and you have no need to complain, Bernon,”
Geno chided. “With a wife, all the little Bernons you make in the
years to come will be devoid the stigma of bastardy, which so
plagued you as a child. As to the gift, Your Grace, the lady said
she has never owned anything so fine and intends to fashion a gown
in honor of her husband.”

“
What did I send her?”
Bernon asked through gritted teeth. He had a right to be irritated.
He didn’t want some crafty, greedy female disrupting his life. He
had a sword and a horse. All he wanted now was land. Then his
portion would be complete...and totally satisfying if it didn’t
come with a wife.

“
A fine bolt of gold
chainsil and another of black,” William replied with a smile.
“Matilda picked them out so your bride may clothe herself in your
colors.”

Bernon tossed up his hands
in aggravated surrender. “Fie, now she will expect me to spend all
my coins to clothe and pamper her—and probably never consider I
face death to earn them.”

Geno crooked his lips in a
sardonic half-smile. “I do not think so, Bernon. ‘Tis my
understanding from the few moments we spoke that she believes her
main duty in life is to please you.” He tossed the bundle onto
Bernon’s lap and a mocking tenor crept into his voice. “A token
from your bride. She says she does not wear ribbons or scarves, so
she hopes you will accept her paltry offering, because ‘tis the
best she had to send.”

“
What kind of rich man’s
daughter wears no adornments?” William asked.

“
One with no vanity and who
deems herself unworthy of her husband,” Geno replied.

Bernon snorted. “No woman
deems herself unworthy of a bastard, Geno. You should know that by
now.” He turned over the bundle, testing its weight. Then he pulled
the string, unrolled the leather, and stared in amazement at the
wavy mane shimmering like liquid gold in the
candlelight.

Good God Almighty! She had
sent him her hair. No woman would do such a thing unless Geno was
right and she possessed no vanity. Long hair was not only the
fashion but also a status symbol. And honest to God, these strands
were glorious—a crowning glory with which no woman of his
acquaintance would part.

He lifted the end bound by
a frayed leather string and slid his fingers through the cool
silken strands. The enticing fragrance of lavender mixed with roses
wafted under his nostrils, intriguing his senses. The curly tresses
wrapped around his fingers like a lover’s embrace just as surely as
tension coiled and kicked in his gut.

Geno raised his goblet in
mock salute to his friend. “She said to tell you ‘tis the first
time she has cut it and no other man has ever held it. Your bride,
Bernon, thanks you for the honor
you
have done her, hopes she may
someday prove worthy of
you
, and eagerly awaits your
arrival, so she may welcome you
home
.”

“
And just what is this
paragon’s name, pray tell?” Bernon asked, less sarcasm in his tone,
as he gently replaced the rare gift on the leather and carefully
rolled the protective cover.

Amusement frolicked across
Geno’s face and he chuckled. “That, my friend, I have promised her
I would not tell.”

“
This woman does not wish
her husband to know her name?” William drew his brows
together.

“
She has her reasons.” Geno
shrugged. Then a rogue’s smile curved his mouth. “Bernon may
choose. I am sure she will be pleased and answer to any name he
picks. Right now she is having people call her Bernon’s
bride.”