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The blue eyes were stricken. “Clearly he does not. I had thought that my love was great enough for two, yet…”
Meredyth closed her own lids, unable to bear the raw desolation in that gaze. If this were the way love made one behave, then better that she never have any part of it, she told herself. Not that that seemed likely ever to come about. Her position as chatelaine in her father’s household seemed assured for all time to come.
She pushed aside her own petty concerns to concentrate on her sister. “How could you love a man who does not love you?”
Celeste raised slender hands to her breast. “I only know that I do. Can’t you see that if I marry this man, this Roland St. Sebastian, there is no chance that we will ever be together. And I know that we could be, Meredyth. Giles could love me, if given enough time. He could come to see that there is no other way than for us to be together, that any other scheme is unthinkable.”
Meredyth stood, shaking her head in helpless confusion. Again Celeste’s choice of words seemed odd. Yet Meredyth would not be distracted from the problem at hand. “But you are promised to St. Sebastian.”
Celeste leaped up and leaned against the open sill, her expression wild with grief and determination. “I will throw myself from these heights, Meredyth. I will.”
Her heart thudding with fear, Meredyth whispered, “You cannot do that, Celeste.”
The elder girl’s raised chin showed a stubborn determination that surprised Meredyth. “I cannot marry him.”
“We…will simply have to think of something,” Meredyth said earnestly.
She grew somewhat relieved when Celeste leaned back from the open window, obviously less desperate now that she saw her sister was starting to take her seriously. Yet Meredyth could not stop herself from shaking her head, as she thought aloud. “But what? To not obey the king’s order—what would happen?”
“I do not care, Meredyth. I only know that I love Giles. You do not understand because you have never felt that way about someone. I watch him throughout the days. I burn for him in the darkness of night.”
Meredyth blushed. This talk was far beyond her experience, yet she could not ignore her sister’s distress. “You are correct in saying I have never felt that way but I do have some sympathy for your sorrow. If there was any way I could help you, Celeste, I would. Alas, what can I do?”
Celeste looked at her, some of her anguish seeming to have evaporated as she spoke with unmistakable optimism. “St. Sebastian does not care for me. He weds me only on the king’s decree, to settle the differences between our families.” She paused for a moment, biting her full lower lip thoughtfully as she studied her sister.
Meredyth felt a twinge of unrest as Celeste went on, her voice pleading. “Haps there is something you can do, Meredyth. You said yourself that you care for no one. I do not see why I have to be the one to wed this man. What is required is an alliance between our houses. Who the bride is matters not at all. I am certain King John only chose me because I am the eldest daughter. It is the usual custom for the eldest to marry first, but it is not law.”
Now both hands came up to cover her midriff as Meredyth gasped in shocked amazement “You want me to marry him in your stead? But I cannot do that. This man will not take me in your place. What reason would Father give for asking him to do so? That you love another is unlikely to bear any weight with him. He is Father’s enemy—thus our enemy. He and his men have wreaked havoc on our lands.”
Celeste hesitated for no more than a moment before her expression brightened. “Which is why we will not inform the Baron of Kirkland until it is too late. And we could not tell Father because we would not wish for him to be held responsible.”
Meredyth shook her head in confusion. “Not tell? What can you mean?” She made a sweeping gesture to indicate her own diminutive form. “You cannot imagine that I could be mistaken for you, Celeste. Even if it were not for the difference in our height, look at your own hair and mine.” Meredyth reached back and pulled the weight of her own fiery braid forward over her shoulder. “There can be no hope of succeeding in this.”
Celeste moved toward her, her eyes pleading again. “But we can do it. We must do it, Meredyth. I…I am no virgin, and St. Sebastian would as lief kill as forgive me when he found out. You said yourself that he is our enemy. Think you he would treat me with kindness?”
Meredyth gasped, her mind churning. “But you said…”
“I said he did not force me.” High color rode her creamy cheeks.
Heaven, but this changed all. Meredyth knew that what Celeste said was very likely true. St. Sebastian might well kill her if he learned she was not chaste. “I cannot sit by and allow you to come to such an end, but…this…” She put her hands to her head, trying to think past the shock of what she had just learned and her concern for her sister.
Celeste changed her tone to one of cajoling. “Meredyth, I have seen this man. Even though he is our family’s enemy I could not but see that he is not ill-favored. St. Sebastian is tall and strong and handsome in a fearsome way. I heard other maids at court speak of him with some longing. If I were not in love with another…” She did not meet Meredyth’s gaze.
Meredyth could only stare at her in amazement. “The man’s good appearance or lack of such is the least of my concerns in this matter.”
The elder girl flushed, then pressed on. “Please, you are my only hope.”
When Meredyth made no demur, simply raising tormented eyes to her sister’s face, the blond woman began to remove her wedding gown. She spoke matterof-factly now. “I have a veil that would cover you from head to waist. You shall wear my new cotehardie, and…”
“But we shall be found out. We are not of a height. There must be at least four inches difference between us.” Yet even as she replied Meredyth was unaccountably reminded of her sister’s account of Kirkland—“tall, strong, and fearsome.” Had Celeste really thought to reassure her with that description? And that other maids might find him appealing was of no consequence to her.
Celeste was clearly oblivious to her reaction and did not stop removing her garments as she motioned briefly toward the window. “It has nearly grown dark. In the light of the candles none will guess your identity if you wear my clothing. Men do not take note of such things. It is not in their nature. You know I have asked that none besides the priest, St. Sebastian and Father attend the ceremony. Father is so upset at the marriage that he will not realize. And the baron has only seen me once from across a crowded antechamber. You may be assured that he will not recall any detail of my appearance.”
Meredyth did not believe this for a moment. Any man who once set eyes upon Celeste would certainly remember her. But that knowledge was overridden by the hurtful realization that her father was indeed so distraught over Celeste’s marriage to this man that he might not take heed of what was going on around him.
Even as these thoughts ran through Meredyth’s mind, Celeste dropped the last of her outer garments on the floor. She stepped forward and put her hands to the shoulders of Meredyth’s burgundy damask cotehardie. “Let me help you to change. This is your wedding day.”
Her throat tight and dry with anxiety, Meredyth made her way to the chapel on shaking legs. Everyone she met along the way seemed only relieved to see her finally going there. No one, not even her father himself as she arrived in the entrance to the chapel, appeared to realize that she was Meredyth, not Celeste. He simply hurried down the aisle to urge her forward. It was only after taking a deep breath and forcing herself to recall that she might indeed be saving her sister’s life, that she was able to go on.
Her heart felt painfully large in her chest as she moved down the aisle toward the large shadowy figure of the man she had never even seen before. The man who would be her husband.
Meredyth nearly tripped over the hem of the ivory samite skirt. They had been forced to hike up the skirt with a girdle of gold lengths, and still it was long. Her knee-length hair they had twined around her head, then wrapped in ivory fabric to disguise the color. The carefully piled hair had also served to give her the appearance of more height. And finally, the heavy veil of gold sendal she wore covered her from head to waist, both back and front.
She looked neither right nor left, keeping her mind centered on simply putting one foot in front of the other. When she stopped at the front of the altar, Meredyth was too agitated to even look at the man who stood beside her. She had an impression of height, of immense strength and a simmering unrest
The priest spoke with obvious relief, drawing her gaze to him. “I will light the candles.”
Meredyth took a quick breath, and begged, “Please, do not.” She was almost glad that her throat was so tight, her voice so husky with anxiety that no one would recognize it. “I…”
The man beside her seemed to stiffen even more as he made a gesture of impatience, cutting her off. “Do not bother with the candles, priest. Let us see this done as quickly as possible.”
If she was relieved by his concordance with her own wishes, Meredyth was too far beyond reason to feel it.
Her fear of being discovered kept her from focusing on anything else as the priest led them through their vows. The deep sound of his voice seemed filtered through a dense fog, as did the voice of the man at her side, but she was not completely deaf to the impatience in his tone.
The sound of her pounding heart prevented her from hearing her own whispered replies. It seemed in fact so loud she feared more than once that the man at her side must surely hear it too.
Only when the priest fell silent did Meredyth realize it was over. She had married this man in her sister’s stead.
St. Sebastian reached down with a possessiveness that even she could recognize and took her hand in his warm one. A hot streak of surprise and another unexpected sensation that she could not quite name raced through her. Inexplicably that sensation made her pulse quicken all the more.
Meredyth tried to concentrate as he spoke to her, his deep voice husky with an oddly sensuous note now that the wedding was completed. “Might I not at least look upon my beautiful bride?”
A shiver of apprehension shot down her spine as Meredyth whispered. “Nay, my lord, please. I ask you to understand that I am shy of you…of this marriage.”
He leaned over her, so close that even through the heavy sendal of the veil she could feel his warm breath against her ear as he spoke. “There is no need to fear me, my little bride.”
Again Meredyth shivered but this time it was not totally due to apprehension. She forced herself to think, to ignore the tingling along her nape, and replied in a desperate whisper. “Nonetheless I am frightened.” He would never know what the admission cost her. Never in her life had Meredyth felt so terrified of anyone or anything. Nor would she have admitted it if she had been. Having spent her life with the realization that she would never be adored as was her sister, Meredyth had long ago learned to hide her emotions behind a wall of dignity.
She could not allow him to unmask her here and now. What would he do, this fierce warrior, if the fact that he had taken the wrong bride was made known in this public way?
She and Celeste had been addled to think they would ever succeed in this madness. Somehow she felt her only hope of rectifying the situation was to explain to St. Sebastian that they had made a foolish mistake before anyone else discovered the truth. That meant she must do her utmost to conceal her identity until she had an opportunity to be alone with him. Yet Meredyth knew she would not be alone with him until this very night after the bedding ceremony. The very thought made her nape prickle again.
Desperately she whispered, “Might I ask a boon of you, my lord?”
His breath stirred her veil as he replied, his voice noncommittal. “Aye, and what be that, damsel?”
Her tone softened more at her own temerity even as she realized this was her only hope. “I ask that you forgo the bedding ceremony, as I do not think…that I could go forward with…after everyone had looked at…”
There was a long silence. Then her father’s voice came, the regret in it clear to even her muddled ears. “Celeste, my daughter. I feel for your reticence but you have no right to ask this of your husband—”
St. Sebastian spoke, abruptly interrupting him. “Say no more, Penacre. The woman is now my concern. Methinks I will agree to this strange request. I have seen Celeste and believe I will find no fault with her. I would not have her too agitated to…well…” Meredyth knew he shrugged, though she still did not look up at him. “I would have my wedding night be one to remember.”
Her breath caught at his words. Dear heaven, dear heaven, she thought, fighting down panic and a strange stirring that she could not understand. St. Sebastian made his desire plain enough for even her inexperienced ears. And for some reason his words struck a heretofore long-buried chord within herself. Meredyth had barely allowed herself to think of the “wedding night” and what might occur during it, even in her most secret moments.
Without another word, Meredyth turned and ran. She had no care of what he or her father might think. She simply knew she had to get away, away from his too powerful presence, away from the huskiness of his sensuous voice and the things he had said, away from the things they made her feel.
But as she hurried toward not her own chamber but her sister’s, Meredyth told herself she was reacting like a child. She would not be bedding this man. It would not go so very far as that.
She rubbed damp palms on the skirt of her borrowed gown. In fact, Meredyth realized as she made her way to Celeste’s chamber, they need tell Kirkland nothing. Celeste would simply take the place she had been meant to. Meredyth had married the man using her sister’s name. No one need be the wiser.
As far as Celeste’s unchaste state was concerned…well…surely she must have some idea of what she might do to fool her husband into thinking she was a virgin. Meredyth had heard that such things were possible.
As she reached the door to her sister’s room, Meredyth threw it open in relief, knowing things would soon be set to rights. But she stopped on the threshold. Celeste was not there.
A prickling sense of unease made Meredyth search out her sister’s cloak where it usually lay in the top of her clothing chest. It was not there. She bit her lip, turning to survey the rest of the chamber. It was then that her eyes lit upon a small scrap of parchment on the table near the bed. Hurriedly Meredyth rushed to take it up, and read the words scrawled there in her sister’s childish hand:
I will return on the morrow, when all is done. I have told no one, not even Agnes, and neither must you. My thanks and love. Celeste.
Meredyth crumbled the scrap in her trembling fingers. She had been left to face St. Sebastian alone.
Whatever was she to say to him? “Forgive me, my lord, my sister is in love with another and I took her place.”
’Twas unlikely that any man would be satisfied with such a substitution. Celeste was an acclaimed beauty, known for her grace and lovely voice. Meredyth was, well, simply herself, small, scarlet haired, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was in no way a replacement for a woman like Celeste. Though she did not believe she was completely without charms of her own, no man had ever been able to see far enough beyond her sister to notice.
Just as that thought passed through her mind the door opened and Agnes appeared. She hesitated there, bearing a laden tray. Her gray eyes were filled with concern as she came inside. “I have brought food and wine, my lady.”
Meredyth felt her heart rise up in her throat as she clutched the crumpled note close against her midriff. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I have need of nothing.”
The maid scowled with worry. “But you must take something. You have not eaten all this long day.” She moved to place the tray upon the table. Agnes then swung around and pointed toward the nightdress that lay across the foot of the bed. “I will help my lady to disrobe.”
“Nay,” Meredyth cried, stepping backward.
The woman looked closely at her. “Is there something wrong with my lady’s voice? You sound…strange.”
Turning her back as panic gripped her, Meredyth spoke in that low husky tone again. “There is nothing wrong other than the obvious. I have just married Father’s enemy. Please leave me alone. I do not wish to see anyone right now. I will see to my own needs.”
“But…” Agnes started forward, her hand outstretched with sympathy.
Meredyth stopped the maid by swinging to face her with a determined shake of her veiled head. “Nay. I beg you to leave me some small amount of dignity. I will see to myself.”
The maid seemed less than content with this, as her eyes remained filled with concern. Then her shoulders slumped as she moved toward the door. Meredyth was sympathetic to the other’s sadness, knowing how the maid cared for her sister, but she could not relent.
Agnes opened the door then halted for a brief moment. “I will stay by, my lady, in case you have need of me.”
Meredyth nodded, but said nothing. She sighed with abject relief as the door closed behind her, her throat dry with anxiety at the possibility of being discovered. Immediately she went to the table and poured herself a glass of the wine. She drained it quickly. This whole day she had been too occupied to consume more than a cup of water and the wine soothed her tight throat.
That had been too close. She took another cup, this time sipping more slowly as she told herself to think clearly.
Meredyth realized she must pretend to be her sister until she had an opportunity to speak to Kirkland. It was her only hope of making sure that he was the first one to learn what had occurred.
Meredyth squared her shoulders with determination, as she took another long sip of wine. First things first, she told herself, as a feeling of relaxation began to ease her tense muscles. She could not chance another meeting with Agnes. Her gaze came to rest on the new gossamer-thin night rail that had been laid across the end of the bed. She would change into the gown, climb into the bed and wait for St. Sebastian to arrive. That way if Agnes came again she would see that her charge was already abed and she would leave. The discarded wedding clothes would be proof that she needed no assistance.
The idea seemed quite clever even if she did say so herself. Quickly Meredyth began to disrobe.
Chapter Two (#ulink_1b590db2-0309-5b4d-bf48-b1307b362ed9)
Roland turned to the serving woman, who had moved between himself and his new father by marriage to refill their cups. He reached out and took the full pitcher from her hands. Startled, she backed away as he placed it before himself at the high table. Penacre said nothing, but Roland could feel his disapproving gaze.
Ignoring him as well, he poured out for himself. Roland then raised his glass as he surveyed the occupants of the great hall with only half his attention. He was more fully occupied with asking himself why he had agreed to forgo the bedding ceremony. Surely it was because the girl had seemed much more terrified than willful. Her small hand had been like ice, the fingers trembling in his, her voice a hoarse anxious whisper.
He did not wish to acknowledge the strange ripple of sympathy he had felt as he held those tiny fingers in his own. Under no circumstances did he mean to begin allowing his wife her way with him. Firmly Roland told himself he had acquiesced simply because he did not want the woman frightened out of her wits this night.
His sudden concern for her had to do with his own, as yet unslaked, desire. It had been some weeks since he had last bedded Einid at Kirkland. Much longer than was his wont. Not that he felt he owed his former mistress any loyalty in that respect. Both of them had been quite aware that theirs was an arrangement of convenience for each. He enjoyed her beauty and body—she enjoyed his protection and the pleasure of their couplings.
Even now he felt a stirring at the thought of the bed sport he and Celeste Chalmers would enjoy this night. His instincts as a lover told him that with care she could be brought to respond to him. For this too he had sensed in her trembling form.
A sudden burst of harsh laughter drew his attention back to the room before him. The trestle tables groaned under the weight of the roast, breads, stews and other fare that had been prepared. Yet from what he could see Roland did not think that much of the food had been consumed. It was the free-flowing wine that was disappearing from the many flasks that had been set about the tables. If he did not miss his guess there was not one completely sober man in the room, himself included. The wine seemed only to have heightened the sullen atmosphere rather than lightening it.
He looked to his bride’s father. That man seemed even less inclined to revelry than his folk. His man, Sir Giles, looked the same. Sir Giles had been introduced to Roland as Penacre’s most trusted knight and even now sat at his other side.
Something about the fellow prodded at Roland, though he could not say what. The knight was a tall spare man, lean muscled and hard. His skin was dark and his cheeks sunken over a heavy black beard.
Then even as Roland made to turn away, Sir Giles raised his head and met his gaze with his own. Roland was surprised at the depth of animosity and ill will he saw there. It was a look of such malice that his hand found the well-known curve of his sword hilt. Immediately he withdrew his too hasty fingers. The knight had done nothing beyond look at him. This night, his wedding night, he would ignore the man’s ill will.
He had not expected to find friends here.
His eyes lit immediately on another face that glared back at him, that of young Orin, offspring to the Earl of Hampstead. No friends indeed.
The pale scar that traced the length of the lad’s cheek was obvious even across the room. Now, Roland was not surprised by this one’s attitude toward him. Neither was he completely unmoved by it.
His father had once been the boy’s foster father. Roland had been set the task of teaching him the ways of knighthood. But Orin had not taken well to instruction. Roland had done his best to teach the boy to use his sword properly, had taught him over and over again not to duck his head behind his sword arm when attacking. It had been Orin’s own fault that Roland’s sword had slid along the dangling length of his own, the blade grazing the lad’s cheek deeply.
Orin’s father had angrily fetched his son home. That had been when King Richard was still alive and Roland’s family was known to be favored by the king. Roland had always wondered as to the earl’s loyalty to Richard, having heard rumors that Hampstead had secretly supported John in his efforts to keep Richard from returning to England. His father had refused to listen to such speculation, had been angry with Roland over his suspicions and even more so after the incident in which Orin was disfigured. Until this day, Roland had not known that Orin was now receiving his training in the home of his enemy, who also was a staunch supporter of the recently crowned King John.
Roland corrected himself. “Former enemy.” The king’s decree of a marriage had ended the feuding between their families.
Since his father’s death the previous year Roland had been well occupied in running the varied estates that had fallen to him along with the title of Baron of Kirkland. Neither Albert St. Sebastian nor Roland had ever quite forgotten that Geoffrey was the son who should have been his heir. That it was their father’s own act of banishment that had changed that did not lessen the pain of the outcome.
Having had enough of these thoughts, Roland stood. He had a lovely, if somewhat reticent, bride waiting for him.
The noisy assemblage grew quiet, all eyes turning to study him. “I am for bed,” he said, being as deliberately casual as he could under the circumstances.
A shout of encouragement rang out from his men. Brian, his squire and the youngest, called out, “We’ll soon be hearing her cries of pleasure from here. No woman can resist you, Lord Roland.”
Roland shrugged and cast him an indulgent smile. Being more than slightly drunk, the boy was making no effort at subtlety.
The baron, Sir Giles and the rest of the company were conspicuously silent Sir Giles stared down at his gloved fists with those intense burning blue eyes of his and Penacre raised his cup to drain it.
