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He put his hands on his saddle, ready to leap onto his stallion’s back, when another response besieged him. He wanted her. The perception of his desire was nearly as shocking as its magnitude.
But there could be no denying what he felt. What he had first experienced the moment he had brought her body into contact with his. There in the woods, with the scent of flowers about her, her hair loose and unkempt and her cheeks flushed, she seemed wild and untamed. Free. Passionately free. God’s teeth, if he could but turn a portion of that passion to himself...
“I must apologize again for my sister’s outrageous behavior,” Reginald said. Startled, Roger glanced at the gathered men and mounted his horse. “She is an independent creature, despite my father’s attempts to subdue her.”
“How did he attempt it?” Roger asked as they nudged their horses into a walk. “Did he try beating her?”
“Of course,” Reginald replied, obviously believing that Roger intended to use that method of correction himself. “But I am afraid it had little effect.”
“I suppose he starved her, too.”
“He thought fasting was good for the soul. Everybody had to, or so he said. Fortunately, my uncle took me to France and I escaped the old villain’s eccentricities.”
Obviously Mina had not escaped such severe eccentricities. The beatings would explain the scars. What kind of man could beat his own child so viciously?
“You...you aren’t planning on calling off the wedding, are you?” Reginald asked when the castle came into view.
“No,” Roger replied curtly, reflecting that it was a good thing Gaubert Chilcott was already dead, or he would be tempted to teach the fellow something about pain.
That night, Mina sat in the place of honor at Sir Roger’s right hand. She was trying to concentrate on the food, but she was all too aware of the man beside her. She could smell the scent of the crushed wildflowers that lingered about his clothing, an evocative reminder of their confrontation that day.
After what had happened, she had expected to see Reginald hurrying toward her with the news that Sir Roger had decided not to marry her. Instead, her betrothed was sitting beside her as if nothing at all untoward had taken place, and Dudley had already begun preparations for the wedding feast the next day. The ceremony would be at noon outside the chapel, presided over by Father Damien.
Nor was she the only one anxious in the hall, she realized. Everyone assembled seemed to take their cue from Sir Roger, and his silence was most unnerving. She had to remember that her actions might influence his mood and thus the tone of the gathering in the hall. It was not a responsibility to be taken lightly. Nevertheless, at this particular time, she could not bring herself to speak, especially when her gaze kept being drawn to Sir Roger’s right hand and the lean, sinewy fingers that had gripped her arm that morning, the slender fingers that tomorrow night would touch and perhaps caress her.
Unbidden, her gaze strayed to his handsome profile. The black-browed eyes. The straight nose. The full lips. The strong line of his jaw.
Suddenly Sir Roger turned to her. With a flushed face, she quickly looked away as he spoke, his inflection as placid as his countenance. “I have arranged to have an escort at your service whenever you wish to ride out again,” he said, his voice deep and low in her ear.
“That will not be necessary,” she answered, staring straight ahead.
“I am afraid I must insist.”
“I thank you for your kindness, Sir Roger, but I believe I will have too much to do to allow me the pleasure of a ride anytime soon.”
“I see.”
Was he disappointed? A strange and unfamiliar pleasure at the thought that she could make him feel any disappointment whatsoever made her heart miss a fraction of a beat. She hadn’t thought it possible this simple and quite honest refusal would have any effect on him at all. “I fear I am going to be too busy settling into my new duties and responsibilities,” she explained.
“Are there any other requests you would care to make?” he asked after a moment.
“None, Sir Roger,” she answered truthfully. Then she made a little smile. His lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to return her smile but wasn’t sure how—or perhaps how such a thing would be received.
For the first time since she had arrived, Mina felt that Sir Roger was not looking at her as if she were an article he had paid too high a price for, or a creature that filled him only with fury. She imagined ... hoped...he was looking at her the way he usually looked at a woman he was attracted to.
The notion excited her, a flame kindling in the region of her heart and spreading outward until her whole body felt warmed by its glow. She yearned to tell him how a favorable response from him would please her, yet she could not, with all the people in the hall.
Instead, she reached out and touched his hand lightly. Instantly he pulled it back, then grabbed his goblet. His action had more rebuke in it than anything he might have said. He had reacted as if her touch were leprous.
The burning heat of shame washed over her, and she quickly returned her attention to the food, to Reginald, to Sir Albert, or to anything other than Sir Roger.
After the last of the fruit was cleared away, a minstrel and small group of musicians appeared bearing a lute, tabor, fithele and harp. Sir Roger didn’t seem the type of man to find solace or enjoyment in music and, indeed, when the opening chords were struck, he appeared quite bored. She was in no mood for entertainment, either, but she gave the men her attention as if enthralled.
The minstrel was a very thin young man with a pockmarked face and straggly blond hair. Every other minstrel Mina had ever seen had been as vain as Reginald. She could only assume that this minstrel’s voice would supply the beauty his visage lacked.
She discovered that she had surmised correctly about the minstrel’s voice. It was deep and rich, and he infused the appropriate emotion into every word. Nevertheless, her interest flagged considerably when he began a long lay about a woeful knight trying to win the heart of his lady. The knight sounded like a dolt for persisting where he was so obviously unwelcome, and the lady seemed a vain, dishonorable creature for believing the fellow’s flattery and finally giving in to his constant pleas, thereby committing adultery. If that was love, she could certainly do without it.
“My lord!” Dudley whispered, appearing at Sir Roger’s elbow. “The Baron DeGuerre has arrived.”
Sir Roger stood at once, mercifully cutting short the minstrel’s verses, which seemed composed entirely of the knight’s exclamations of his lady’s perfections. “Is his chamber prepared?” he asked, with the merest hint of anxiety as he hurried to greet his overlord.
Mina looked at the table, hiding her satisfied expression as excited murmurs raced through the hall. So, even the great Sir Roger de Montmorency could be intimidated.
When the baron entered the hall and received the kiss of greeting from his host, Mina could see why he would be. The two men looked quite capable of defending Montmorency, or any castle, singlehandedly.
The baron was a formidable man, with piercing, icy blue eyes, a powerful build and brown hair that, like Roger’s, fell to his shoulders. He wore a long tunic of unrelieved black, with no ornamentation of any kind. Suddenly everyone in the hall looked vastly overdressed, except for Roger. Even the little bits of embroidery around the neck of her own gown seemed ostentatious.
She also noted that whatever anxiety Roger had felt before, it disappeared—or was very well hidden—when he was in the baron’s presence. They seemed much more like two good friends, perhaps even brothers, than overlord and underling. The other wedding guests rose and bowed as they passed by.
Mina stood as the men approached the high table, wondering if this new gown were quite fine enough. It was the nicest one she possessed, apart from the dress she was to wear to her wedding, yet she found herself wishing she had more jewels, blond hair and no freckles, especially when the baron ran his eyes over her as if she were a mare brought to market.
She straightened her shoulders. She was not a horse, and her father’s family was of higher rank and greater antiquity than the baron’s. She knew exactly how the baron had risen in the world, so she would not allow herself to be dismayed by him, either.
Reginald hurried around the table and made a deep, obsequious bow. “Baron DeGuerre, I am honored to meet you at last!” he exclaimed, acting as if the baron were the king instead of an upstart born in obscurity who had fought and married his way to a higher station. “Allow me to present my sister, Lady Mina Chilcott.”
The baron nodded at Reginald and stopped in front of the table. Mina made her obeisance, not once taking her eyes from the baron’s face.
“Lady Mina,” the baron said, his voice low and mild. There was a very shrewd look in his blue eyes, though, and she guessed the mildness was a deception.
“I am honored,” she replied softly, darting a glance at Roger, whose mien was annoyingly inscrutable.
Roger continued to introduce the baron to the wedding guests, starting with Sir Albert, who had evidently met the baron before. As they made their way through the hall, Mina sighed and sat down, still watching them. So, that was the great Baron DeGuerre. He was certainly an impressive man, and one, she guessed, like Roger—used to unquestioning obedience.
Nevertheless, there was something rather sad about his eyes that for a fleeting moment had made her sense he was one of the most unhappy men she had ever seen.
However, the baron’s troubles were of considerably less importance to her than her own, and when the men returned to the high table, she soon felt out of place and very lonely. She didn’t know the people they spoke of, or the places they had been, so she rose and excused herself.
Sir Roger didn’t seem to notice.
Roger was not quite drunk, even though he had consumed several goblets of wine, and he wanted to be. Usually he was quite proud of his ability to drink without getting stupid or sleepy, but tonight he wanted to drink himself to oblivion even if that meant embarrassing himself in front of the baron.
He had to do something to drive Mina Chilcott out of his thoughts. He should be listening to the baron and his news of the doings of the court and other nobles, but her one light touch had nearly driven him mad with desire.
He should not be remembering how lovely she had looked in the woods, or how much he had wanted her. He should not be envisioning Mina naked beneath her coverings, or trying to decide what he should do first on his wedding night. He should not be thinking of her unyielding pride as she had stood before the baron, unwavering. Unafraid. Worthy in every way to be a nobleman’s wife.
At least Reginald, that fawning, embarrassing dolt, had finally stumbled off to his chamber, one arm draped around the ever-helpful Hilda. Where had Hilda been during the evening meal? Not that he had noticed her absence particularly, until she had suddenly appeared after Mina had retired. Was she afraid of Mina? By God, she should be. Mina Chilcott jealous would probably be a sight to see.
Would she ever care enough about him to get jealous?
“Falkes de Brеautе’s mercenaries continue to behave like untamed beasts,” the baron continued. “I think the king will have to get rid of the man somehow, although—Roger?”
“Baron?”
“Forgive me, Roger,” the baron said indulgently. His eyes, however, blazed with irritation, which got Roger’s undivided attention immediately. “I was forgetting this was the night before your wedding. Perhaps I should stop telling you the news and allow you to retire.”
“My apologies, Baron,” Roger said, instantly and truly contrite. “I was listening.”
The baron nodded, and his vexation seemed to evaporate. “Be that as it may, your wedding is tomorrow, and I have kept you here far too long. This news can keep.” The baron moved conspiratorially closer. “She is quite different from Reginald, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“God’s blood,” the baron said, shifting and leaning comfortably against the back of the chair, “I’m glad of it. Reginald’s a harmless enough fellow, but I couldn’t imagine living with him. She is a shapely wench, isn’t she? I must confess that red hair took me by surprise. I can only surmise she has a temper to match.”
“I believe so, my lord,” Roger acknowledged.
“Well,” the baron said, rising and stretching his muscular arms over his head, “if anyone can handle a tempestuous woman, Roger, it would be you.” He looked shrewdly at the younger man. “If you don’t want her, you have only to tell me. I have discovered that the Chilcotts’ property is not what I had been led to believe.”
It occurred to Roger that the baron’s second wife, who had been some years older than the baron, had recently died. Although Roger admired Baron DeGuerre, he knew the man was a clever schemer who might have some unknown reason for wanting Mina Chilcott for himself.
That idea did not please Roger at all. “I have made an agreement with Reginald,” he said. “I intend to keep it.”
The baron smiled, a truly warm expression of satisfaction he rarely bestowed. “Good. I believed you to be a man of your word, and now I know it is so. A long and happy life to you!”
“Thank you, baron,” Roger said with great politeness. Inside, he was seething with rage. The baron had no need to test his honor, not after the years Roger had spent in his service, and after he had agreed to tie himself to a useless fool like Chilcott with a marriage that the baron had proposed. Baron DeGuerre should know that for Sir Roger de Montmorency, disloyalty was more terrible than any of the mortal sins, and worthy of the most ghastly hell imaginable.
“I did not mean to offend you, Roger,” the baron said sincerely. He looked down at his own powerful hands, which had fought so many times and killed so many men. “I was thinking of your happiness. If you would rather not marry Mina Chilcott, I will not take it amiss.”
“Are you interested...?” Roger let his deliberately tranquil voice trail off suggestively.
“Gracious God, no! I have no wish to marry again,” the baron responded with unquestionable sincerity.
“I have no complaint to make about the arrangements,” Roger said, his suspicions allayed, though he was somewhat unhappy for his overlord. Baron DeGuerre’s two marriages had given him wealth and status, but perhaps, Roger thought, perhaps that was all.
What was wrong with that? What other reasons could a man have for marrying? “I do have one cause for some trepidation,” Roger said in a more jovial tone. “I fear that on my wedding night, my bride may be harder to pierce than my shield.”
The baron chuckled. “I do not doubt your ability to kindle passion in even the coldest maiden.”
Roger raised his goblet in acknowledgement, and the two men shared a companionable laugh.
They did not see Mina, standing on the stairs in the shadows, a deep frown on her face.
Unable to sleep, Mina had waited for the noise in the hall to cease. The cacophony had died down, but she had not heard Reginald and wondered what was happening to keep him below. Then she thought she heard Hilda’s giggle. She had tried to tell herself it didn’t matter what Sir Roger was doing, or with whom. They were not married yet. Even then, many men had dalliances with women other than their wives.
She had looked out the door anyway, to see Hilda supporting an obviously drunk Reginald and helping him into his room. Mina tarried a little longer and soon saw Hilda leave Reginald’s chamber and go below. Perhaps looking for Sir Roger?
Again Mina tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, and again she didn’t quite succeed. She crept down the steps, listening carefully. When she drew near the hall, she realized that most of the guests had also retired for the night. Hilda was nowhere to be seen, nor the ubiquitous Dudley. Only Sir Roger and the baron were awake and talking together at the high table.
She had turned, prepared to go back to her chamber, when she caught mention of her name. Slipping into the shadows, she stayed and heard them talking about her as if she were no more than any common wench. To Mina, they seemed like grotesquely leering jesters making sport at her expense.
What a silly little fool she had been for even starting to think that Roger de Montmorency might be any different from every man she had ever known. She had been a dolt to feel anything for him. He was like all the others.
She began to walk back to her chamber, recalling what she had overheard. The idea that Sir Roger could make her swoon with ecstasy without even trying was enough to make her grind her teeth in anger. The boastful, vain, pompous creature! No doubt all the women he had made love with so far had been like Hilda, serving wenches or peasants who believed there was something special about a nobleman, or who wanted something in return, like money or advancement.
Well, she knew better. Noblemen were men first, and seldom noble. If her betrothed thought he could just crook his finger and find Mina Chilcott waiting patiently in the nuptial bed, he would soon learn otherwise.
Chapter Four
Sir Roger de Montmorency’s wedding day dawned gray and unseasonably cool, with a heavy drizzle and chill breezes that made it seem as if an October day had somehow found its way to July by mistake.
“What are you going to do?” Albert asked the groom, who stood at the door of the hall staring gloomily out into the inner ward. “You could have the blessing in the chapel rather than outside the doors, I suppose.”
“I suppose,” Roger answered. “But the chapel is too small. All the guests won’t be able to go inside, and those who do not fit will probably feel insulted.” He sighed deeply as Dudley bustled about the hall behind him, admonishing the servants or mumbling to himself. “God’s wounds,” Roger snarled, “this wedding is too much trouble. And it’s costing a fortune, too.”
“Chilcott’s paying for most of it,” Albert reminded him. “And the baron’s pleased.”
“He should be,” Roger muttered.
“She’s not as bad as all that.”
Roger didn’t respond except to close the door and turn around just as Hilda sauntered by. She gave him a tentative smile. “Has Lord Chilcott managed to crawl out of his bed?” he asked the maidservant, mindful of the goblets of wine the young man had ingested, and grateful that he wasn’t the one paying for it.
“Aye, my lord,” Hilda answered with a throaty chuckle. “But the poor fellow looks like a corpse.”
“And his sister?”
“She’s not come out of her chamber, and I don’t think she intends to until the wedding. The door’s locked and she’s not letting anybody in. Says she wants to be alone. To pray. I, um, didn’t think I should wait.”
Roger had no idea what Lady Mina was doing, and he was in no humor to try to decipher her mood. “See that Lord Chilcott is well cared for. I don’t want him too sick to attend the ceremony.”
“Aye, my lord.” Another less cautious smile, and Hilda was gone.
“If he can’t drink well, he shouldn’t drink at all,” Roger remarked grimly.
“Not everyone has your capacity, Roger.”
“Then he should have gone to bed, like you.”
“What do you suppose the bride is doing?”
“What does it matter, as long as she’s at the blessing on time.”
Albert cleared his throat deferentially. “What are you going to do about Hilda? It’s well known that you two have been rather intimate.”
“So what of that?”
“So you’re getting married today. I don’t think your bride will appreciate the knowledge.”
“I don’t care what she thinks. Besides, it’s finished.”
