The Maiden Bride (18 page)

"What the devil kind of rumor has the power to send people on a pilgrimage to the ends of the earth?" He leveled a finger at her when she would have opened her mouth. "And don't tell me that Faulkhurst has suddenly become fashionable because you've offered a cottage to each man. Good God, woman, there are thousands of abandoned cottages in villages all over this kingdom.
Real
cottages, complete with roofs and working hearths, standing upright. Unlike the village here at Faulkhurst, which looks like it slid down a mountain and landed in a heap. What possible rumor did you spread about?"

"That's exactly the challenge I had to meet, Nicholas. The rumor had to be something splendid and bold—beyond the offer of a cottage, as you said. Or a guild craft. It had to be
…
simply astounding."

Dear God. He'd commanded the most dreaded soldiers in all of Europe, had overrun seemingly impregnable castles, razed cathedrals to their undercrofts, flattened villages and pirated merchant vessels under full sail. And yet the woman terrified him as thoroughly as his son had with his lopsided, toothy grin.

Because he'd loved them—would have died for them.

"Go on." Although he wasn't sure he wanted to hear another word.

"All of this idle talk had to be as utterly unbelievable to the timid as it was to the lordly, but tantalizingly possible to anyone with dreams enough. To Cora and Mullock and Fergus and Hannah. Do you see?"

Oh, he saw the lure of her quite well, felt it as the tide feels the shore. He'd once had dreams of his own—great, spinning ones that were clouding his head just now. Impossible ones, because now they were perfumed by this woman whose eyelashes were tipped in the same gold as the sun.

"You've told me exactly nothing, madam."

"Well, sir, as I traveled through towns and villages, I stopped in alehouses and inns." Blushing beautifully, she slanted her smile at him, and then tugged at the front of his tunic, drawing him close enough for him to feel her breath against his mouth. "And then I merely gossiped."

"About?"

"Most anything for a short while. And then I'd offer up something like this—" She rose up on her toes, and whispered into his ear. "I understand, Master Potter, that the Lady of Faulkhurst Castle… Do you know where that is, sir? The castle?"

"I do, milady." He found himself nodding, stealing a sniff at her nape, deeply jealous of every potter and innkeeper along the Great Northern road.

"The lady, I'm told," she continued in her private charade, whispering very close to his mouth, brushing his beard with her mad tales, "is paying a tithe to each of her tenants for the next five years."

"Is she indeed?" Nicholas was still nodding blithely, still marveling at her scent, close to kissing her, to driving her backward against the table, when he finally heard her words. "A tithe! Did you say a tithe, for God's sake?"

"'Yes, indeed, my good potter. I heard this from the butcher, and he from the reeve's nephew. It must be true. A tithe to her tenants, so they say, instead of the other way round.' And so I went on and on."

Nicholas lifted her chin sharply. "Tell me that you didn't."

"But I did—and to great success. Word spread so quickly that the rumors I lit as I came through a town's east gate met me in a bonfire as we were passing out the west."

"Why the hell wouldn't they? You're lining the streets of Faulkhurst with gold."

"And I'll wager that's why they're all com
ing.
Along with the cottage I'm
offering, and
the guild craft and the virgate of land."

"God save you, woman, are you completely mad? Tithing to your tenants?" Leaving chaff for Edward's coffers? He couldn't let it happen, had to keep her out of Edward's hellish dungeons.

I am your lord and husband, woman, and you will stop this madness.
It boiled like a fountain inside him, but he capped it tightly. Nay, logic would have to suit.

"You can't afford to keep that kind of promise, Lady Eleanor." He hoped he hadn't bellowed.

"I can't afford not to." Obviously angry, she stormed away from him, back to her noisy project. "If you haven't noticed, winter's on its way. I've a castle to run and a village to rebuild as soon as I can. You don't understand."

She whacked the peg into place, and he realized that she was putting a piece of furniture together.

"I understand that your tenants will fall to rebellion and throw you into the sea when you can't pay this tithe to them." He grabbed a handful of pegs and her mallet and had the rest of the holes filled a minute later.

"Thank you, Nicholas," she said from her knees. "I'll pay them as I promised."

"With what? Seashells? Tax money? If you haven't already noticed, Edward covets far more than his share, and he
must
be paid. If he discovers that you have succeeded in your commerce without giving him his due—and he will—you'll find yourself languishing in a dank and forgotten dungeon at Westminster, at the very least."

A bed. She was putting together a bed, dragging the foot rail across the room and into place now.

"Edward won't be looking to Faulkhurst for years, Nicholas."

He couldn't stay that long—only until the harvest came in. Damnation, he'd never met anyone so hell-bent upon her own destruction. He couldn't allow it.

"Edward will find you out, madam." She held the rail upright and poised to strike the top of it with the mallet, to better seat the joint that was as stubborn as she was. "Rumors travel even faster at court than they do along the snickleways of town. And their repercussions are far more costly."

"Dammit, Nicholas! Then how do I feed them all? How do I keep them from starving?" She gave the bed frame a whack. "I'll pay my taxes, my tithe to the church, and the same to my tenants."

"They're not
your
tenants, madam. Any more than if they were golden bangles and Dickon had stolen them off a lord's baggage train. You have enticed serfs from their masters, and that is patently illegal."

"You
can't have it both ways, steward. A few nights ago they were outlaws, skulking through the king's forests, planning to attack my home with cudgels. Today they are someone else's highly valued tenants."

"A few nights ago, I wasn't aware that you were planning to flout the king's authority so blatantly."

"I'm certain that Edward doesn't care a whit about the people who come to Faulkhurst."

"He bloody well does. You are breaching his Ordinance of Laborers."

She had a spectacular way of pouting when she was stymied, a lithe hip tilted toward him and a wildly raking eyebrow. "His what?"

She was finally listening. Here was hope that he could deter her without revealing too much of his identity. "'Tis an ordinance enacted by Edward and his barons three years ago—during the worst of the pestilence in the south—against asking for or paying excessive wages, willful idleness, and luring laborers away from their rightful lords."

She narrowed her eyes and their thick, feathery lashes, then made a harrumphing sound in her throat that seemed to dismiss dangerous kings and their conceits.

"Well, wouldn't he
just.
God help the common man who desires to be paid his worth when his labor is suddenly found to be extremely valuable."

Madwoman. "That isn't the point."

She went back to her malleting, squaring up the three-sided box she'd just made of the rails and the footboard. "Nevertheless, Nicholas, I will tithe to my tenants as I've promised them—in credits or in kind, if need be, and we will prosper together."

"By deliberately breaking the king's peace. I'd search closely through your husband's papers if I were you, madam. The edict will be among them somewhere. Read it with care and memorize it."

He'd make sure she did, even if he had to rifle his own office and put it in front of her obstinate nose.

She frowned. "It's probably hidden away somewhere with my husband's estate records."

Bloody hell, that's exactly where it was. But beside the point.

"In the end, madam, your tenants will be punished and you'll pay thrice the fine to their masters. Your castle will be forfeit, and you, my dear, will be jailed. And frankly, I don't want to be around to see that happen."

She blinked at him with those wide eyes of hers, as though he'd injured her to the quick and she hadn't expected him to have the power.

"Then I think it's best for you to leave, Nicholas."

His heart gave a single hollow thump and then stopped. Leave? Not while she courted danger with her deluded schemes. Not while he had breath. Though his heart was beating wildly, he lowered his gaze. Looking humbled would have to serve.

"Perhaps I spoke out of turn, madam."

"You did. And
I
am determined." He only imagined her stubborn foot stomping firmly on the plank floor.

"Yes,
my lady."

He risked a glance at her and found her eyes reddened, looking worried.

"I hope that means you'll stay."

Long enough to save you from yourself, wife. And from me.
"It does."

"Good." She caught her breath, then touched her lips. "Because, whether you believe it or not, I would miss you sorely."

And I—
But it wasn't safe for him to finish that sentiment. Simple regret would have to serve when he finally left her to her life; not emptiness or grieving. He couldn't afford to miss her—though he already felt tethered by her threads of silk, tugged tightly by the way she launched herself headfirst into every new thought.

Like this massive bed.

There was something sharply familiar about the intricate turning of the bedpost, about the finials and its floral profusion. He lifted the headboard and knew for certain.

"Where did you find this?"

She sat back on her heels and blew out a breath. "In the wardrobe. It was in pieces and covered with dust, but I finally realized it was a bed. I love the carving."

But of course, this wasn't just any bed.

It was their marriage bed. A wedding gift from a wine merchant in Calais. He'd had it sent home to Faulkhurst, expecting to someday consummate their marriage upon it.

And here she was—his stunning bride—struggling to put it together herself, stopping to run her finger along the trailing tendrils and smile at him.

"It's fine handiwork, isn't it, Nicholas?"

Cherry wood, burnished to nearly the same shade as her hair, though not as vibrant or lustrous.
Not nearly as silken.

It's our bed, wife.

He wanted to say that. More, he wanted to take her in it. "It is, madam."

"Will you help me finish it, Nicholas?"

"It would be the greatest pleasure of my life." His hands shaking badly, he took the mallet from her and drove the peg into the hole with one stroke.

When the frame was together, the rope strung and crosshatched, and the feather mattress and soft linens in place, she stood beside their marriage bed, looking nervous as a cat.

"Nicholas?"

"Yes." He unhitched his sword belt and tossed it onto his pallet, more, casually than he felt because he didn't trust her—or himself—when she took on that softness around her mouth, when she tracked his eyes with such care.

"Are you going to bed now?" She had a hank of her gown at her thigh and was twisting
it
up around her finger, measuring him with her wide eyes.

"I am. It's midnight. Well past it. You should be to bed as well."

"Yes, and, well … along those lines—" She bit at her lips, drawing a soft rosiness to them. "I was wondering if you would mind very much if we… I mean … if you—"

"What is it, my lady?" He'd never seen her like this. "Would I mind what?"

She cleared her throat, took a large, worried breath as if she would speak a long court defense, and started to pace, just out of his reach.

"It's just that I've been thinking about the other night—in the grotto. The night we…" The flush blossomed, spread down the front of her night shift, into that place he dreamed about. "The night … you remember."

"I'm not likely to forget." Not the night, nor the yearnings she roused in him; the taste of her, the feel of her skin in those sweet places he never should have explored.

"I haven't, either. Won't ever forget. So that brings me to the subject that we discussed that night."

He fumbled through his memory, not recalling much more than that she had tasted of sugared plums, and herself, and he'd nearly claimed her. "What subject was that?"

"That I'm still a virgin."

"Ah, that." Nicholas turned away, sure she could see his raging need for her through his breeches. It wouldn't do to frighten her. She was nervous enough as it was about the matter.

Since he wasn't looking at her when she spoke, her next statement made no more sense than a pack of chittering squirrels.

"Make love with me, Nicholas."

The woman had finally driven him out of his mind completely. He'd started to hear things. He turned back to her and watched her mouth this time, those plump, rosy lips that tasted too much of forever.