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So Hume would wax poetic, Edouard mused. He listened tongue in cheek as the proud uncle continued, “I recall that shining mane rippling to her waist the day she wed. Exquisite eyes with a wee tilt to them. Both lasses carry the look of my mother, who remained lovely well past her prime. In temperament, Anne has proved far more tractable than my Honor, however. She did her duty as she was bidden, and will again.”
Edouard wondered what kind of persuasion had been required to compel a sixteen-year-old girl to wed a man more than thrice her age. But Hume seemed confident of the woman’s acceptance should Edouard choose to offer for her.
On the off chance that he might do so, Edouard decided to send Sir Armand with a letter to his factor in Paris. He would order the man to collect and forward all the portable goods from the French properties to Scotland.
The bulk of his ready coin and jewels, Edouard carried with him now, in the event his royal cousin leaned toward confiscation of the estates. The profits of his investments in the low countries could easily be directed to Scotland, as well.
Even if nothing came of the meeting with Hume’s niece, Edouard could build or purchase a place and live quite comfortably near Edinburgh.
The more he thought on it, the more he welcomed this necessary change from his former life. Yes, why not begin anew in Scotland, free of the intrigue and machinations necessary to retain his niche in the royal circles of France? That would suit him admirably, whether he wed this Scotswoman or not.
Until now, he had never seriously considered how weary he was of it all, or how detrimental life at court might be proving to Henri’s character.
Fate might very well be at work here.
Hume shifted impatiently in his saddle. “Well, what say you, my lord?”
“Very well. I will meet this niece of yours. Then we shall see. But I warn you now, I would have no unwilling woman to wife. Should I decide to offer for the Lady Anne, there will be no coercion on your part as there was with your daughter, Hume. Is that clear?” He pinned the man with a warning glare. “None at all.”
The baron answered with a beatific smile. “Oh, none will be necessary, my lord. My niece will delight in you, I am certain.”
Two weeks later, Lady Anne stood in the hall of Baincroft’s Keep, aghast at her uncle’s dreadful suggestion. Another marriage? She could not accept this, would not.
She cursed the wretch who notified him that her husband had died. Though she realized that news from Scotland must reach the French court with some regularity, Anne had hoped that the death of a minor Scots nobleman would prove too mundane to report. Apparently, it had not.
“The comte de Trouville delayed to inspect your dower lands and will be arriving directly. I came ahead to prepare you and to assure you that he is perfect! Just think, my dear, his title equals that of earl, and you shall be a cormtesse, a countess!”
He reached for her hands, but she jerked them away. Then, mindful of his absolute control over her, she softened the hasty act with a forced smile. Nothing would be achieved by rebellion.
True, she had met her uncle only twice before in her life including this visit, but clearly, he took their kinship quite seriously.
“I know what his tide equates to, Uncle. But I swear to you, Robert and I can manage Baincroft quite well on our own. He gained the age of reason three years ago. His people love him and are eager to serve him as lord, despite his youth. I truly have no wish to wed again. Kindly humor me in this, I beseech you.”
She saw at once how his choler rose, and that she could not reason with him, no matter how sweetly she spoke.
“Humor you?” He spat angrily into the rushes and then leveled her with a furious look. He shook a finger in her face. “You heed me, Anne, for I have no time to bring you round nicely or whip you into submission. Trouville is cousin to the French king. I need this connection and I’ll brook no reluctance on your part. You utter one word, offer a single look of denial to this man’s proposal, and that son of yours will be on his way to France with me on the next ship.”
Anne could not stifle her cry of protest.
He nodded and smiled evilly when he heard it. “Aye, you did strike me as a mother hen when you spoke of your one and only chick. You will not see your precious Robert again if you refuse me this. I have the right to his fostering, you know! Eight long years, Anne. Think on that.”
Anne closed her eyes and fought the fury exploding inside her. First, her father had forced her to marry MacBain, a man much older, wealthier, and more hateful than her sire had been. Eleven years, she had spent in hell here. Eleven years of enduring constant calumny, sometimes outright cruelty. And nearly nine years of hiding from his sight the son MacBain grew to hate.
Now her uncle would throw her right back into the pit of despair she had just escaped by the grace of MacBain’s death.
Though it galled her to submit to yet another marriage, keeping Robert by her must be her first concern. Even had he the ability to survive fostering with another, she could never allow him into her uncle’s keeping. He would not last the day.
She could tell her uncle the truth, of course, and he would not wish to foster Rob. But if Dairmid Hume ever discovered Robert’s one weakness, he would never allow her son to keep Baincroft. Her uncle would apply to the king to give the lands to him as next male kin to Rob.
He would demand to know how a lad who could not hear or properly speak could ever hope to rule or hold what he had inherited. All would be lost. No one in authority would uphold Rob’s rights or stand for him in the matter. The courts would agree with Lord Hume.
This she knew, because not one year past, Gile Mac-Guinn’s castle and his title had passed to his younger son when the elder, not yet eighteen years of age, had been blinded in an accident. The former heir now lived upon his brother’s charity. The precedent seemed all too clear to Anne.
She alone could save her son’s birthright.
Thank God, Robert’s problem proved invisible. Even so, deafness was not an easy thing to conceal. She had counted upon MacBain’s reluctance to admit publicly that he had fathered such a child, and on his hope for another son not so afflicted. Now that the old man was dead, she depended upon the love of those who served Rob to assist her in hiding his disability.
As it was, if their secret remained secret, she could hold Baincroft in her son’s name until he came of age. By that time, she would have surrounded him with so much support, no one could oust from him his rightful heritage. And she would have proved to his liege, Robert Bruce, that her son’s demesne had run smoothly and profitably for years under Rob’s care, despite his deafness.
Her marriage would remove the immediate threat of her uncle, right enough, but would only supplant it with another. This comte he had brought to wed her could just as well usurp Rob’s lands and, using his influence with the French king, attain King Robert Bruce’s blessing on the theft.
The best she could hope for was that this French noble only wanted her adjoining property and the income from it. She needed to find out how things stood now. “You mentioned his royal affiliation. Will the comte be returning to France soon, then?”
Hume spoke more calmly, obviously assured of her obedience. “Oh, definitely he will. Trouville’s a very important man and King Philip will have need of him. Aside from his role as advisor, Trouville always participates in the tournaments as the king’s champion. Aye, I’m certain he must return there soon.”
She nodded. “I see. I suppose he merely wishes to establish an estate here for the added income it will bring him. Is that not right?”
“Of course. What other reason would he have? It is not as though he desires your person 1” He smiled at her then, as if he had not just resorted to threats to gain his way. ”Though he will want you once he sees you, my dear. If you serve him well as wife, he might even ask you to accompany him to court. Every woman’s dearest dream, of course. You will love it there.”
Well, she would see to it he left her here. Here, so that she and her son might go on as they had since MacBain’s death. She would keep Rob’s secret from both of these men, at all costs, even though she would have to concede in the matter of this marriage.
This comte could hardly be worse than MacBain had been, and she could bear anything for the duration of his time here. Anything, to regain a measure of the peace and freedom she had found, and safety for her son. If she refused this man, her uncle would only find her another, one who might remain at Baincroft forever. And, in the meantime, he would take Rob away. God forbid that should happen.
Anne nodded once. “Very well, if you vow to leave my Robert to me, I will do this for you.”
“Gladly promised.” He nodded, all affability. “I knew you would see the wisdom of it.”
She quickly ordered one of the maids to go above and clear the master chamber for guests, and have an additional room readied for her uncle. There was no time to do more.
The door to the hall swung open. A stalwart young lad wearing rather costly-looking raiment marched through it as though he owned the keep.
Two knights entered behind him, their spurs scraping the floor beneath the thin layer of rushes. Shining basinet helms, jingling mail aventails still attached, rested in the crooks of their left arms. Massive swords hung in scabbards at their waists. A formidable sight, these two. Anne resisted the urge to step back.
The boy halted a short distance in front of them, bowed formally to her and her uncle and announced, “The comte de Trouville, my lady, Lord Hume.”
Anne had no trouble discerning which knight bore the tide. He would be the dark one. If his air of absolute supremacy had not proclaimed it, then his exemplary attire would have done. He wore a knee-length surcote of deep madder lake—near the color of ripened plums—emblazoned with a black-and-silver device. His sword bore several magnificent jewels in the hilt, and Anne marked not a dot of rust marring the links of his mail. Travel dust would never have dared settle on such a one.
His companion paled rather literally by comparison. Fair-haired, garbed in sky blue trimmed with white, the other stood a hand width shorter and not so broad. Even were he as richly turned out, Anne would never have mistaken him for his lord. He lacked the commanding presence and assuredness of the other.
Still, they both appeared so grandly dressed to impress, she felt like asking where the tournament was.
Her uncle gave her a little shove from behind. “My lord comte, may I present my niece, the Lady Anne.”
The comte extended his right gauntlet to the boy who promptly tugged it off. Then, gracefully, he bowed and Anne automatically extended her hand. He raised it to his lips and barely brushed the back of her knuckles. He would have missed the contact altogether had she not shuddered at his touch.
“Welcome to Baincroft, my lord,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. Many men had visited her father and her husband, but never in all her days had she laid gaze upon one such as this.
Dark as sin, he was. Midnight hair hung to the edge of the curved steel gorget that protected his neck. Long-lashed eyes the color of polished walnut regarded her with frank curiosity and not a little admiration.
Anne felt her face redden under his scrutiny. She wore one of her older gowns, a russet linen, and no headrail at all. MacBain had required her to don those old-fashioned wimples, since discarded, and she owned no other head coverings. No matter. So much the better if Trouville thought her unfashionable. He would leave her in Scotland where she belonged.
For a man coming off a tedious journey, he arrived remarkably groomed, clean-shaven, combed and exuding no unpleasant odors. Did he never sweat?
His features, while refined, held none of the soft comeliness she would have expected on a courtier. Nor did his form. He appeared battle hardened and muscled by frequent exercise, judging by his carriage, the width of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist and hips. Devastatingly handsome and self-confident described him well. Frightening described him better. Dealing with this one would take some doing.
He straightened and finally released her hand. “My lady, may I make known to you Sir Guillaume Perrer, knight in service to me.” He waited until the man made his bow. “And our herald this day, my son and heir, Henri Charles Gillet, Esquire.”
Anne regarded the serious young face that mirrored the father’s. Young for a squire, she thought. He looked hardly more than thirteen. His manners seemed as impeccable as his sire’s.
“Henri? See that fellow there beside the stair? He will show you to the chamber where you and your father will bide.”
As an afterthought, knowing well the constant hunger of growing lads, she added with a smile, “We sup in one hour. I trust you like sweets?” He rewarded her with a sudden grin that changed his whole appearance.
When she returned her gaze to the father, she noted an expression of relief, almost as transforming as the grin on his son. “Will you sit and take wine, my lord? You and Sir Guillaume must be weary.” She gestured toward the dais.
“My thanks, but I would go above with my son and disarm.” He turned to his knight. “Find the barracks, Gui, and join us here for the evening meal.”
Anne hurriedly took herself to the kitchens to give orders for extra food. Then she sent Simm, her steward, to locate her son quickly and send him to her chambers.
During supper, the comte held the seat of honor, her uncle on his left and she, at his right. Young Henri served his father and stood behind his chair. His man and her uncle’s attendants sat at the lower tables with her priest, just above the steward, and others of the household.
Never once did the noble lord comment on the meager fare dished out to her unexpected guests. Neither did he remark upon the state of the keep itself. While scrupulously clean, Baincroft boasted none of the frivolous amenities he must be accustomed to in his own. Surely he would have no wish to remain here for long, she thought with satisfaction.
Best of all, he made no mention of her missing son. Robert, by all rights, should have joined them at table, or in lieu of that, served as page.
Anne noted that, unlike Sir Guillaume, Trouville did not cast disparaging looks toward either the hall itself or her people. If he thought himself consigned to a large hovel full of backward peasants, his lordship hid it well and appeared quite content to be exactly where he was. Quite polite of him, she decided.
She accepted the offerings the comte held out from their shared trencher. He spoke of the weather during the crossing and the vicissitudes of their travel overland with a touch of wry and unexpected humor. Anne made certain that her soft laugh greeted his words in all the correct places.
Everything considered—and despite his fearsome appearance—the comte seemed a pleasant enough man. But Anne dared not deceive herself. His wittiness surprised her, but deception she would expect. He did, after all, want her hand and her property. Why would he not act charming at the outset? MacBain had done the same at their first acquaintance. It had not lasted long.
After the meal concluded, the comte asked to speak with her privately. Girding herself for the imminent and unavoidable proposal, she calmly invited him to share a cup of wine in her private solar just off the hall.
“All will be quite proper, my lord, for it is not my bedchamber,” she assured him as they entered. “I find it convenient to conduct business in the solar during the day, due to the better lighting. We also sew and spin there, for it is warmer and better lighted than the hall itself. I have rooms on the floor above this for my private use.”
He offered his arm. “I would never question the seemliness of it, Lady Anne, for I see that you are a model of propriety.”
Her face warmed at his ready compliment. “You are very gallant, my lord, seeing as how you hardly know me.”
His free hand covered hers which rested on his sleeve. “A condition I hope to remedy in short order.”
The moment they settled in the high-backed chairs beside her fire, he said, “I know that your uncle spoke of me before I arrived. Are you agreeable to a match between us, my lady?”
Welladay, this one obviously did not believe in dallying about once he made his decision.
“Aye,” she said after only a moment’s hesitation. She met his gaze directly and, she hoped, without expression of any kind. “I am agreed.” Damned if she would thank him for the honor, however.
He downed the contents of his simple chalice and set it on the floor. Then he reached for her hands, set her own cup aside, and drew her up to stand before him.
Without warning, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, putting a seal to their understanding.
Anne remained motionless, shocked by the warmth of his mouth on her own and the tingling pleasure it evoked. He released her and stepped away. They touched no part of each other now, but she could feel him still.
His compelling gaze held a measure of such satisfaction, he must know how easily, and how deeply, he had stirred her feelings with what should have been a formal gesture.
This would not do. She blinked her eyes to break the trance and shook her head to clear it. If the man could disable her thoughts with but a clasp of hands and a kiss of peace, what mischief might he wreak when it came time for real intimacy?
Nay, this would not do at all. Now she must beware herself, as well as him.
Thank goodness he would not remain here long.
Chapter Two
“Your uncle has the contracts already prepared, I do not doubt,” Trouville said. He inclined his head and quirked his mouth to one side in a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve watched him scribbling away like a maddened clerk every night for the past week.”
“He does seem most anxious to promote this union,” Anne returned, wondering whether the comte knew why. If so, did he object to being used to advance her uncle’s ambitions? Trouville did not strike her as a man to be used unless he thought he would gain more than he gave. Well, he certainly would do that in the event of her marriage to him.
“Need we wait for banns?” the comte asked. “Have you a priest who will accept our word there is no impediment? Hume could vouch for us on that.”
Anne wished they could have done with it immediately, but she knew better. “My uncle will likely want as many to witness this as he can gather.”
The comte’s dark brows drew together in a frown. “I must return to the coast in three days to meet a ship, and I would have it done ere I leave. There is no need to make a May Day of this. It is, after all, your second marriage and my third.”
Then he seemed to think better of the abrupt announcement. “Unless, of course, you wish to make some great event of it.”
Anne quickly shook her head as she struggled to hide her relief that he would go so soon. “Oh, nay, I prefer not to do so.”
Her ready concession earned her a smile that made her heart skip. “Do you feel need of a longer time to prepare your son? I failed to consider that Did he avoid our presence apurpose this evening?”
“Oh, nay, my lord. He knows nothing of this as yet How could he, when nothing was settled between us until now? Robert will give you no problem. That I promise.”
“Fine. We need not wait longer, then,” he said firmly.
“As you wish,” she agreed. “I shall speak to Father Michael tomorrow morn. He can perform the ceremony the day after, if that suits you.”
He raised a brow and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his weight on one foot. Anne thought the pose a practiced one, but she did not mind his preening. He was extremely good to look upon and seemed to know it. “You have no reservations, my lady, to wedding a stranger of unknown means? Would you not care to know what I bring to the bargain?”
Anne knew well the power of flattery, though she had found precious little chance to employ it these past years. With a shy duck of her head, she employed it now. Staying in his good graces could only benefit her cause. “You are extremely well-favored, my lord, and courageous. Obviously, you are not destitute, and you have traveled far to honor me with your suit. I married a stranger before for no cause other than to alter my single state and because my father arranged it. How could I do less now when I have more good reason than I ever dreamed?”
“How sweetly said!” he remarked as he raked her full-length with a warm and suggestive appraisal. “I begin to think this troth of ours heaven-sent.”
Or hell-bound, Anne thought. “Indeed,” she replied with a small tilt of her head.
Anne could swear the man’s chest expanded as she flattered him. Most likely his head did, as well, she thought wryly.
“Ah, lady, how you humble me,” he remarked. He sounded incredibly sincere, but Anne doubted anyone had ever humbled this fellow. He wore his arrogance well, however.
Even as he reveled in her compliments, he gave as good as he got. “I do pray your son proves as agreeable to the match as does his winsome dam. If so, I envision this event as a high point in my life with not a thing to detract from it.”
