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Eurice was not reassured. “I do not think it will be that simple, child. War rarely benefits the defeated.”
Alayna shook her head, releasing dark tendrils of hair from its loose knot. “We are not of the defeated. I was forced into this marriage, and now God has provided an end to it. I do not belong to Gastonbury, but once again to myself. As soon as I can get a message to Mother, she will send her men to see me home.”
“You are impetuous, child,” Eurice scolded. “You were Edgar’s bride, and his enemy shall not overlook that.”
“But I was not!” Alayna insisted. “I am a virgin, still, and so no widow in truth, for I was never a wife.” She narrowed her eyes as the faraway sound of hoofbeats began as a low, distant rumble. The victorious army was arriving. “And I will go home,” she vowed.
The gates had been flung wide to admit the invading forces. Despite her brave words, Alayna clutched Eurice’s arm and squinted in the glare of the late afternoon sun, surprised to note that her heart was racing and she was holding her breath as the soldiers appeared, seeming to be a solid mass silhouetted against the light. They moved forward as one, the sound of their approach rising to a steady thunder.
The amorphous form took on the shapes of individual men. Their leader rode on point ahead of the others, flanked by the mounted knights, then followed by footed soldiers who fanned out behind. They spilled into the courtyard, filling it and pressing the crowd back. When the last of the soldiers had come to a stop, the leader kicked his destrier forward so that he stood alone. All was silent as the people of Gastonbury and their conqueror regarded each other.
Alayna heard someone behind her hiss, “He looks like a devil!”
Indeed, his dark countenance and grim expression did put one to mind of a demon. He had a long mane of unruly black hair, matched by brows that hovered in a scowl over eyes of piercing black. They glowed like coals as he stared unwaveringly into the crowd. A close-cropped beard, cut so short it looked like only a few day’s growth, ran along his jawline and chin, connecting to a thin mustache. His nose was strong, his cheekbones sharply defined. Upon his left cheek, high up next to his temple, a jagged scar showed starkly against his sun-darkened skin. It did not detract from his looks, only enhanced the sinister attractiveness he wore with ease. He was large, broad shouldered and hard muscled in the manner of a man taught well in the arts of war.
Alayna felt something curl tightly in the pit of her stomach, something within that reacted to the power of him, the unaffected handsomeness, the commanding presence and arrogant air that would make the most stouthearted tremble. Even if he had not ridden in front as was his due, she would have recognized him as the leader from the effortless mantle of authority he wore.
“I am Lucien de Montregnier,” he announced without inflection.
There was a reaction to that name. A few people gasped and a low murmur echoed among the throng, but it died quickly. Alayna looked about, curious.
“Lord Edgar is dead,” he said. “His defeat gives me this castle and all holdings tied to it.” His voice held neither apology nor brag, merely stated fact. “As the victor in this challenge, I declare that I am your new lord until the justice of these events can be determined by a representative of King Henry, which is what the law commands.”
Alayna watched his eyes scan the crowd, then settle on her. There was something there in that dark gaze that held her captive, even while she did not comprehend it. He frightened her in a different way than Edgar had. Of Edgar, she had feared his brute strength and unbridled cruelty, both of which she had sampled during their brief acquaintance. Yet, there was something far more dangerous in this man’s look. She was unable to turn away.
“I will require an oath from each of you to be sworn to me, one by one. Those of you who will not do this will be held until the king’s justiciar arrives. If justice does find me rightful lord of this burh, you will be given another opportunity at that time to make your choice but you will be fined. If you still do not wish to serve me, your properties will be assigned to one who will.
“However, if the king’s man should disavow my claim and declare that I have no right to these lands, I will personally recompense any man who was unjustly imprisoned.”
A chorus of incredulous murmurs rippled through the crowd. Lucien held up his hand to quiet them. “I do this to assure you that while I will tolerate no disloyalty, I will deal fairly with you. But I will not allow dissension to reign free, so I counsel you to think carefully before making your choice.”
This said, he swung down from his saddle and moved through the crowd with a long stride. The populace hurriedly parted a path for him. Heading straight for the keep, he bounded up the steps, flung open the tall studded door and disappeared into the hall.
One of the other men, a handsome knight with shining blond hair, outfitted splendidly in a vest of well-kept chain mail and silver armor, called from his seat on his horse, “Your new baron awaits each of you in yonder hall.” He grinned. His good looks were incongruous with the stained weapons he bore and the gore smeared over the fine silver plate.
From behind the knight who had just spoken, a large man loped into view. His long hair, of a shade so light it was almost white, fell past his massive shoulders. A Viking, that was plain to see by both his size and his coloring, but even that race of giants must take notice of this one.
“Agravar!” the other man called, laughing. “Lord Lucien will be most displeased if you frighten half of his new villeins to death!”
The Viking tossed his head in wordless response before he disappeared into the castle. The fair-haired knight cast a conspiratorial look to one of his fellows, apparently pleased with his jest.
“Dear Lord,” Eurice breathed in Alayna’s ear. “They look evil. That fair one has the handsome face of an angel, but ’tis Lucifer I am thinking he resembles! And what in the name of all that is holy does he find so funny? He mocks us, I think.”
“Who among you is the Lady of Gastonbury?” that same knight called.
Faces turned toward Alayna. Stunned, she answered in a small voice, “I am.”
The man dismounted. As he strode toward her, he smiled. “I am Sir Will, a mercenary of Lord Lucien’s. He has asked me to bring you to him.”
“Why me?” Alayna asked, casting an anxious look about her as if someone would step forward and protect her from this dreadful duty.
Sir Will shrugged. “You are the lady of the castle, are you not? You are to be the first to make your pledge to him.”
Alayna wanted to refuse, feeling a strange premonition. How odd. She usually teased Eurice unmercifully for all of that one’s belief in such notions. Yet, there it was—a fear inside her. She did not wish to confront this dark warrior all by herself. Looking to Eurice, the old nurse just shook her head.
Premonition or not, Alayna had no choice but to nod her acquiescence.
Chapter Two (#ulink_57cd55b8-135c-5dcc-a8c3-e4d2cb631a68)
Inside the keep, Alayna had to blink to adjust to the dimness of the hall. Other than the man pacing at the far wall, the vaulted chamber was empty. Being the social focal point of every castle, Alayna had never seen a hall without at least a dozen people about, engaged in various activities. It gave her an eerie feeling, this vast, barren place.
Or perhaps it was the way this Lucien de Montregnier moved, with a leonine grace that reminded Alayna of a caged animal, or a prowling beast searching for prey.
He stopped when he saw her, swinging around to arch an expectant brow. When she hesitated, he called, “Hurry up, then, come forward!”
She jumped at the sound of his voice echoing among the pointed cornices and hastened forward before she even realized she had obeyed. Catching herself, she slowed her steps, squared her shoulders and told herself to, above all, remain calm.
“Lady Alayna of Gastonbury,” he said. His gaze flickered over her, and Alayna was at once taken aback at his bold, assessing glance.
Up close, he was more forbidding than he had been on horseback. And more handsome. Even with the offensive proof of his day’s chores staining the black chain mail—or because of it—he was an awe-inspiring sight. The chiseled features she had first noticed in the bailey were more appealing upon closer inspection—the straight, proud nose, the planes of his face, the firm set of his broad, sensuous mouth. Blood and grime streaked his face, and his hair was matted in some places, wild in others, giving him an untamed, almost feral look.
His face was unreadable, dark and scowling, while his eyes seemed to bore into her with black regard. It was perfectly reasonable, she told herself, that her knees seemed to suddenly go weak. After all, he was the warrior victorious, and she stood before him awaiting his pleasure. Anyone would be daunted in these circumstances, yet it was not like her. Even against Edgar she had stood in contempt, but this man…it gave her some disquiet to acknowledge he affected her like no other.
Seized with a sudden self-consciousness, she smoothed a stray lock into place, an unsuccessful venture as the tendril promptly sprang back into its original position. She forced her hand to her side, not wanting him to see her discomfort.
“Aye, I am,” she answered, annoyed that her voice sounded meek. It took every ounce of courage to stand unflinching under the steady glare.
“As Edgar du Berg’s widow, I will hear your pledge of fealty first.”
A wild hope leaped to life. Was that all he wished? “Sir,” she began, her voice stronger now, “I will gladly recognize any claim you make to this castle and its lands, or call you by any title you covet. It is nothing to me.” She hesitated, gauging his reaction. He still regarded her with that uncanny calm. “I care nothing for Gastonbury, it is not my home.”
“You are mistress of the castle,” he said evenly. “How can you say that you do not belong here?”
Alayna swallowed hard. Her sharp eyes caught the whitening around the scar on his cheek, the only visible sign of his annoyance. “I was wed only two days, and I have been at Gastonbury for little over a month. My home is in London, where my mother is one of Eleanor’s ladies.”
He studied her for a moment. “And?” he rumbled.
“Since Edgar—my husband—is dead, then I wish to return to my family.” He was so hard. Did he do it apurpose, she wondered, leveling that murderous glare to make her quake?
“You are not going anywhere,” he said with finality. Again the easy mien of command took over as his irritation receded.
“But—” she began, hardly knowing what it was she would have said in objection. But his hand stayed her.
“It is not that I do not sympathize with your wish, my lady.” A sardonic smile twisted his mouth, making him appear the scoundrel for a moment. “I do, in fact, understand the wish for freedom, perhaps more than you know. It simply does not serve my purpose to let you return to your former life, not just yet. You will indulge me in this, I trust, and when matters have been settled here to my satisfaction, we shall see about you.”
He leaned against the hearth, striking an insolent pose that matched his manner. Pinned by his hard stare, she found herself wishing incongruously that she had taken the time to freshen her appearance.
Shaking off the thought, she ventured, “What matters?”
“I am most anxious that my work today has not been in vain,” he explained. A faraway look came to his eye that was chilling. “I have been waiting a long time for this day, and have come far to see it through. Defeating du Berg is only the beginning. I will take everything of his as my own.”
Though unsaid, the implication that she was to be counted among his booty made Alayna stiffen her spine. She certainly had no quarrel with the man desiring revenge against Edgar du Berg. No doubt Edgar was deserving of it. But to include her was not fair.
“I do not understand,” she said. “What does any of that have to do with me?”
“Are you unaware of your position, or merely think me daft?”
He was growing irate again, and the thought of his wrath directed at her nearly made her retreat. But Alayna was not without a temper of her own, and it rose now in her defense. “I have not called you daft. I only wish to leave.”
“And go to Henry and plead your rights as widow of this burh? No doubt you are much put out by the loss of your husband. It would be advantageous for you if you could manage to win back what you have lost.”
“I have no intentions of doing anything of the sort!” she objected. “I want nothing to do with this place. And make no mistake, my lord, I do not mourn any of my losses, least of all my husband!” With everything she had endured at Edgar’s hands, this suggestion stung most. “I hated him, perhaps more than you did, de Montregnier. He tricked me into coming here and forced marriage upon me.”
An insolent look lifted his brow in vague interest. “Trickery was du Berg’s specialty. How is it you were duped?”
Taking a deep breath, Alayna steadied herself. She would have to explain it. “He sent a message telling my mother that he was a cousin of my father’s and inviting us for a visit. My mother was anxious to get me away from court, for the intrigue and debauchery there troubled her, so she accepted. My father is dead these six years, you see, so she did not suspect Edgar’s claim to be a relation was a lie. Once here, he set a trap with that vile creature who has the audacity to call himself a bishop, claiming my reputation had been compromised.” She drew a breath, noting that he had the grace not to look bored with her explanation. “My choices were marriage or the stake.”
“Now, is that not a bit dramatic?” he asked.
“Yes, I thought so, but the suggestion was bandied about just the same. You know, they can burn an adulteress. Edgar would have done it.”
“Why did your family not intervene?”
“I was forbidden to write to my mother. She never knew.”
His eyes narrowed to slits of black. “And what was the late Lord of Gastonbury’s motivation for this great scheme?”
“My lands, you dolt!” she snapped, then immediately regretted it. This man was not someone to goad. He was not, however, perturbed by her insult; he didn’t flinch. She continued in a calmer vein. “He sought me out because I was an heiress.”
“A terrible tale,” de Montregnier tsked insincerely, “but quite irrelevant, even if it is true. You will remain. At least until I can see what is to be done.”
“You cannot do this!”
He smiled with audacious smugness, spreading his hands out before him. “Demoiselle, I have just killed your husband and defeated his army. I assure you I can do anything I wish.”
When she opened her mouth to protest again, he held up his hand, forbidding her entreaty even before it was made. “My lady, I have allowed you much freedom in expressing your displeasure. But I warn you not to try me.” Again that superior grin appeared. “I have had a difficult day.”
A slow burn of rage claimed her, banishing her previous fear and propelling her headlong into open rebellion. “You have no right—”
“But I do, lady, for all of Edgar’s possessions revert to me.”
“I am not a possession!”
“A modern opinion, but not one shared by our law,” he drawled, watching her reaction through hooded eyes. “You were Edgar’s property, and now you are mine. And since you will be here, where I can watch you, you can spread no mischief for me.”
Alayna was speechless. So there it was. He thought her some kind of threat to him, to his hard-won prize. Hastening to reassure him, she said, “There is nothing I want here. I give you my word that I will do nothing to interfere with you.”
The twitch of his eyes warned her of his displeasure and of a depth of rage she dared not tap. “I have no use for a woman’s promises. They are not worth the breath required to speak them.”
Her mouth worked in mute indignation as she struggled to find her argument. Then, a thought struck her suddenly, and she relaxed, returning his bitter smile.
“You have no need to worry. I am not Edgar’s widow!”
Lucien gave a long sigh. “What nonsense is this now? I am in no mood for your games. Now, will you pledge fealty to me, or will it be the dungeons?”
“You would not dare!”
“You do not know what I would dare, demoiselle,” he threatened. He stood before her, legs spread, arms crossed before him with easy arrogance. He seemed to loom gigantic, impossibly immense and threatening. “And let me further warn you that I am not tolerant of the female sport of coyness and pointless intrigue. If you have something of import to say to me, speak it outright. My patience, what little I have for your sex, is wearing thin.”
“The marriage contract is invalid,” she stated, “for there was no consummation.”
His brows shot up. “What lie is this? You say Edgar did not take you?”
Blushing deeply, Alayna forced herself to meet his incredulous stare. “That is what I said.”
“I do not believe you,” he challenged.
“’Tis true,” she countered stubbornly.
Lucien raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Who knows of this?” he demanded, “Were not the linens displayed?”
“There was no time. Indeed, all assumed the marriage fulfilled, if they gave it any thought in the midst of being besieged.”
“I returned to Gastonbury for one purpose only—to possess all which belonged to Edgar du Berg as payment for his crimes against my family. I intend to do just that. You were his beloved wife, so too shall you belong to me.”
“But I told you, I am not the lady of the castle.”
He gave no answer, but made a swift move toward her. She cringed, thinking he meant to strike her. Instead, his hand shot out and long, steellike fingers closed around her wrist.
“Wh—?” she began, but the objection was cut off by the hard jerk he gave, bringing her full against him. Stunned, she stared up at him, his face only inches from hers. For some strange reason, her gaze fastened on the clean, pale line marring his cheek, just under the eye. Unable to move, she was dimly aware of some distant part of herself urging her to protest this rough treatment. “Let go,” she said softly, but it was without conviction.
His eyes flitted over her face for a moment before he turned away and pulled her behind without a word.
“Let go!” she said, this time more emphatically, when she saw which direction he was headed. Dragging her up the stairs, he was bringing her to the corridor that led only to the master’s bedchamber.
My God, she thought with alarm, the knave meant to bed her!
Chapter Three (#ulink_561a4b2f-d25c-5b5a-9752-c735fe61d4cd)
Lucien had no such intentions.
Hauling her along behind him, he went directly to Edgar’s chamber. His chamber now. He knew the way well. He had played in this castle in his youth. His mother and he had come here every year when his father’s service was due to his overlord.
It was here that he had made the tragic discovery, all that time ago.
Such an innocent mistake, his was. He had heard his mother’s laughter, an unaccustomed sound to his young ears, and had been unable to resist. She had always been so cool, so removed, so indifferent to him. Yet he had adored her, thinking her the most beautiful of women and he had hungered for her love.
That was why he had been drawn to the laughter. It was so rare to hear it. Curiosity it had been. Deadly curiosity.
