The Marriage Test (29 page)

“How dare you speak of Demoiselle Fleur so?”

“Take your hands off me.”

“Not until you give my Fleur an apology.”

Martin shoved against the outraged pig keeper’s grip, but the fellow was not as insubstantial as he seemed. A tussle ensued and in the scuffle, the sword Martin was taking pains to conceal hit the ground.

A trio of soldiers had paused on the way back to their barracks to watch the confrontation, mildly amused by the pig man’s indignation … until that sword fell. Peasants and workers didn’t carry swords, much less ones wrapped in finely wrought scabbards. And no man carried such a sword and wore such boots beneath such a cloak unless …

Martin saw them emptying their hands and rushing him, and he tried to bolt. They were on him in a heartbeat, ripping off his cloak, discovering his padded leather jerkin with its clear imprint of mail …

“Milord!” One of the squires came running into the hall just after supper. “Milord, come quick! We’ve caught a spy!”

Griffin was on his feet in a flash, striding for the door. Crossan, Axel, Greeve, and several of the other knights grabbed their swords and rushed out after him. In front of the barracks they found a crowd of men gathered around a pair of guardsmen holding a battered but struggling figure. Griffin paused to look him over before approaching. The man had a bruised jaw and a cut above one eye; he had obviously put up a fight.

“I am no spy,” the prisoner declared.

“Who are you and what are you doing here, within my walls?” he demanded, striding closer, taking in the man’s battle-worthy frame and examining the sword one of his men handed him. Something about the man seemed familiar. “You’re a knight, by the looks of you and your weapon. Who is your lord?” He stalked close enough to stare directly into the man’s eyes and roar: “Answer me!”

The knight ceased struggling and stood straight in his captors’ grip.

“I am Martin de Gies, First Knight of Bardot of Verdun and protector of Lady Sophie of Verdun.” He glanced up at the hall and braced himself to announce. “And I’ve come to take her home.”

“You’ve come to take her home?” Griffin choked back an involuntary laugh at his claiming of the thankless role of “protector” for a pigheaded young lady who clearly had her own ideas about how she should be protected and by whom. “I expected that sooner or later Verdun would find out where she was and would move to get her back”—by now, a messenger was probably on the way to Paris with news of Sophie’s “abduction,” and from court, it was sure to look like a blatant case of an-eye-for-an-eye—“but he sends one lone knight? Sneaking into my walls disguised as a beggar?”

He scowled, studying the tension in the knight’s face and recalling the name. “Martin de Gies. You’re the one … from Paris … the fair.”

“I know you have Lady Sophie within your walls … I followed her here. I ask that you turn her over to me immediately so that I may escort her home.”

“Do you hear that, Crossan,” Griffin said, turning to glance at the baron. “He
asks
that she be returned.”

“There’s a story here,” the baron observed. “No knight would undertake such a mission single-handed … not when he has an entire garrison at his disposal.”

“You’ve come here—alone—to demand Lady Sophie return with you to Verdun?” Griffin turned back to his captive. “You must be mad.”

“Far from it, Lord Griffin.” Martin of Gies stood his ground and raised his chin. “I may be your best hope for getting out of this without violence and bloodshed.”

“How so?” Griffin demanded, scrutinizing the handsome knight with grudging admiration. He had not an arrow in his quiver, but he still tried to negotiate.

“If you are indeed the man Julia of Childress said you are … you will first seek to settle a dispute without fighting and bloodshed. And that is what I offer you. You see, I know that you did not abduct Lady Sophie, that she came here on her own. And I know that it may be a misguided bit of friendship on Julia’s—”

“Lady Julia!” Griffin corrected.

“Lady
Julia’s part that she has taken Lady Sophie in. But surely you must see, Lord Griffin, that if she is not returned—and soon—that a peaceable solution will no longer be possible.”

Julia, Sophie, and Regine rushed down the slope to the garrison’s quarters shortly after one of the potboys brought word that a spy from Verdun had been caught near the barracks. But as they arrived, they were barred from making their way through the crowd by Axel and Greeve, who had spotted them and moved to intercept them. When they demanded to know who it was and what was happening, Axel said that Martin-of-Something had been caught inside the walls and was demanding Lady Sophie be returned to her home.

“Sir Martin?” Sophie grabbed Julia’s arm and squeezed. “Martin is here? He came for me!” She would have rushed to his side, but Axel and Greeve—along with Julia—held her back.

“Sophie, he hasn’t just come for you, he’s come to take you back to your father,” Julia said anxiously. Even though it was the truth, she regretted saying it when Sophie’s spirits plummeted. Then Griffin’s voice rumbled forth again and she looked to Axel’s sympathetic face. “We have to get closer to hear what they say.”

“So Verdun did not send you,” Griffin was saying.

“No. I followed Lady Sophie here and waited … hoping she would think better of her rashness and return home. When it became clear she would not, I hoped to meet with her secretly and persuade her to return before blood is shed.”

Griffin studied that for a moment. De Gies was as decent as he was bold. How did a cur like Bardot of Verdun ever manage to claim a knight of such foresight and principle?

“I am willing to escort her back to her father and to attempt to make him see that the entire venture was simply the result of Lady Sophie’s thoughtless whims leading her astray.”

Within the gate Sophie heard those words and gasped.

“Thoughtless?” She grabbed Julia’s hands in horror. “How can he say such things about me, when he knows the reason I fled was—”

“Was what?” Julia forced the girl’s chin up, feeling a little sick at the realization that there was more to the situation than Sophie had revealed. “Why did you flee? Don’t tell me there is no fat German prince …”

“Oh, there’s a prince all right, and he’s fat as a watered sow.” Sophie’s eyes rimmed with tears. “But I fled because I’m in love with Sir Martin and it’s impossible. He’s my father’s First Knight and champion … the prime defender of Verdun’s honor. But he won’t speak for me because he knows my father is greedy and because he has no prospect of a title or fortune.”

“But, Sophie—”

“He loves me, too, Julia.” Sophie’s tears were all too real this time. “He said so. And I can’t let my father send me off to wed some slavering beast. One of us has to fight for our— Help me, Julia.” Her lip quivered. “I helped you.”

Julia saw the events surrounding her vows in an entirely new light … Sophie’s questions about Griffin and his treatment of her … the dress Sophie sent for her to wear … Sophie’s assurance as she went out to the gate …

“It was you,” Julia said, more to herself than to her friend. “You told your father to make Lord Griffin marry me as the price of my—”

Caught in the grip of a sudden idea, Julia grabbed Sir Greeve and told him to carry an urgent message to Griffin.

As it happened, her message came at a good time. Griffin stated that he had promised Lady Sophie sanctuary and needed to confer with her before making any decision on her future. He turned aside to look at Julia, thinking that it was her infernal knack for making friends out of enemies that had gotten him into this disaster. A moment later as he emerged from the crowd he found himself facing the pair.

“Sophie is desperate to avoid marriage to the monster her father has in mind for her,” Julia said to him in private tones. “And the only way to both get her to go home and honor your agreement to protect her is … tell Sir Martin that if he wants to take her home,
he’ll have to wed her first.”

It was such an appalling idea that he tried to distance himself from both it and her. “Dear God—you’ve lost your—do you know what that would—you’re saying I should force some other poor wretch to marry the daughter of the man who forced me to marry you.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s monstrous!” He looked at her in horror.

“It is not. It’s justice … of a sort. And to make it even better, it’s Sophie’s idea.” She edged closer to him and lowered her voice. “Just as it was Sophie’s idea to make you wed me. Apparently
she
suggested it to her father.”

He looked at her in astonishment, then at Sophie, who was standing a few yards away, looking both innocent and cunning in the same moment. After what Sophie had said that morning about taking revenge on her own father, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

“And if I force him to do this … how does that benefit Grandaise?”

“Well, Sophie and Martin will go home and we will have allies in Verdun.” She brightened. “This could be the beginning of the end of the feud!”

He wavered, thinking of what the pair—if wedded—might face at the hands of his ruthless enemy. Julia added the
coup de grace
of persuasion.

“Milord, they’re in love. That’s why Sir Martin risked coming alone to retrieve her. That’s why he’ll marry her. He loves her. And she loves him. Perhaps a ‘forced marriage’ is the only way they can be together.”

She had him. Dammit. And she knew it. Why was it when women failed with rational and sensible arguments, they brought it all back to the personal and wiggled their way in through your emotions?

Because it worked, that’s why.

He looked into her warm, liquid emerald eyes and surrendered.

“Take Sophie back to the hall and keep her there,” he ordered.

Making his way back to the prisoner, he astonished Sir Martin, the Baron Crossan, and his gawking garrison by declaring his terms for returning her.

“I’ll allow you to take her back to Verdun with you on the condition that you speak marriage vows with her first.” He folded his arms with determination. “She will leave my protection a married woman, or she will not leave it at all.”

Sir Martin looked thunderstruck. He stammered and then got angry and then roared that Griffin had gone mad with a thirst for vengeance. But it was clear from Griffin’s calm, determined demeanor that he was anything but irrational or seething with hatred. Soon enough, Sir Martin realized that no amount of protest or posturing would alter that shocking requirement.

“Perhaps you would like to speak with Lady Sophie yourself,” Griffin suggested, motioning to the guards to release their captive.

As Sir Martin climbed the rise to the great hall, he spotted Sophie on the steps, silhouetted by the light coming through the doors. Griffin, striding along beside him, glimpsed the way the knight’s heart rose into his eyes at the sight of her. He ordered everyone out of the hall except the bride and groom, then exited to the front steps himself … where Crossan found him.

“You’re either blinding brilliant or screaming mad, Grandaise. And I haven’t a clue which,” the baron said, shaking his head.

Voices were raised between the couple in the hall. As everyone outside strained to not listen to what was going on, they managed to hear every word that was said.

“This whole thing is your doing!” Martin charged, seizing her by the shoulders. “You stubborn little—have you any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? Your father will be out for blood, Sophie, unless you come back to his house with me right now!”

“I will not.” She raised her chin. “I’ve decided to heed the advice of my host and protector … to return to Verdun only if you marry me.”

“Don’t be absurd—”

“Is it so absurd to try to find a way to marry and live with the man you love? Is it beyond thinking that our marriage may actually
help
to end the hatred and resentment that has bled these noble houses for three generations?” She seized the open edges of his jerkin in desperate fists. “Don’t you see, Martin … if I go home and my father sends me off to his German coin-purse … he will use the money he gains for more weapons and men, more fighting. But if you and I wed, and we can get him to accept our marriage—”

“He won’t, Sophie. Dear God, don’t you think I’ve gone over this a thousand times already? I’m just a knight—”

“His First Knight,” she protested, fiercely. “A man of honor and valor and of no little standing at Verdun. The men of the garrison respect you … support you … they’d
die
for you. If worse comes to worse, we can remind him of that.”

“Sophie,” he groaned, his misery evident, “don’t do this to me.”

“To
you?”
She straightened and shook his jerkin to make him look her in the eye. “You think I haven’t—” She released his garment and took a step back, still in his grasp. “Fine. I’ll go home. I’ll marry that barrel of pork fat.
If
you can honestly tell me that you don’t want me.” She crossed her arms and tried to blink back the tears beginning to form. “Go on—let me hear you say that you have no love or desire for me … that you have never lain awake at night imagining us sharing a bed and a life.”

Martin stared at both the prisms of tears growing in her eyes and the undimmed defiance of her chin. It wasn’t foolhardiness that brought her to such drastic action, he realized, it was the stubbornness of her loving heart.

“Tell me, Martin. Say that you don’t love me.” Her voice was a whisper and her eyes were brimming with love she was willing to risk everything for.

“I-I can’t do that, Sophie.” He could barely force the words past the lump in his throat, not knowing whether they would prove to be salvation or doom. “Because I do love you. You make me furious and you make me crazy and you make me defy both duty and common sense. But I do love you. And if you still want me tomorrow morning … I’ll marry you.”

“Oh, Martin!” She threw her arms around him and covered his face with kisses.

There was a long and potent silence before the couple came to the door, arm in arm, and Sir Martin announced that he would comply with Griffin’s requirement.

There was a flurry of congratulations as everyone poured back into the hall and Griffin called for his best wine and offered toasts to the bride and groom. Griffin sent word to Father Dominic to prepare to read marriage vows in the chapel the next morning, and Julia and Regine whisked Sophie off to her chamber to begin preparations for her wedding.

It was strange, Julia and Griffin thought separately the next morning, how the air of Grandaise warmed and brightened at the prospect of a wedding. The kitchens were bustling with preparation for a fine dinner … to which they now added a few special entremets … and the house women began freshening and decorating Sophie’s chamber for the bridal night … and there was much joking and teasing among the men about who should wed next and why. It was almost as if one of their own were being married.

When Sophie came downstairs to the hall, midmorning, there was a collective
ahhh
from men and women alike. Sophie had brought a fine sky-blue gown with her and the potboys managed to find enough flowers in the kitchen gardens to make a garland for her head. With her hair flowing around her shoulders and her eyes bright and cheeks glowing with pleasure, she was the very picture of the joyful bride. Sir Martin’s knightly reserve melted at the sight of her. It was plain to all present that part of him was eager to make her his own.