Читать книгу The Lord's Forced Bride - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 6

Andrew, Earl of Gifford, heard the sounds of fierce fighting before he rode into the clearing that September morning. The clash of steel was unmistakable and he had drawn his sword before he came upon the violent scene. A young man was fighting for all he was worth, but he was heavily outnumbered. Surrounded by three burly men, who were clearly intent on taking his life, he had just managed to wound one in the arm when Andrew bore down on them. He swooped low in the saddle, lashing out at one attacker who was pressing the young man hard and wounding the rogue across the arm. Wheeling his horse about, Andrew rode back and slashed at the nearest villain, catching him a blow on the shoulder. At that moment, the young f man finished off the rogue he had been fighting and the other two fled in disorder. Dismounting, Andrew looked at the man he had helped, and saw that he was bleeding from his left arm.

‘Let me bind that for you,’ he said. ‘I have fresh linen and water in my saddlebags.’

‘You are very kind, sir,’ the man replied. ‘You have done me great service this day. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘I did only what I thought just,’ Andrew told him with a smile that lit his eyes. ‘The odds were unfair. I thought to make them a little more even.’

‘You do not know what you did. I am on important business for…well, I cannot say, sir, for my work is secret. I say only that I shall always be grateful for your help.’

‘Let me tend your wound,’ Andrew said. ‘Then you may be on your way.’

‘You are a true friend indeed,’ the man replied and smiled as Andrew tore his sleeve and began to minister to him, washing the arm before applying a salve and linen wrappings. ‘My name is Harry…may I know yours, sir?’

‘It is Andrew.’ He finished the binding. ‘I think those ruffians have fled for their lives, Harry—but take care, for if they seek something you carry they may not be the only ones to attempt your demise.’

‘You are right,’ Harry replied. ‘I must reach Oxford by this evening. There I shall meet with friends and from then on I shall be in good company.’ He hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Would you ride with me a part of the way?’

‘It is my way, too, for the moment,’ Andrew said and offered his hand, which Harry gladly took. ‘You spoke of a secret mission. I shall ask nothing of you. We are strangers and we shall travel as such, parting with no other knowledge of each other than a name…is that agreed?’

‘Yes, for I must retain my anonymity for the time being, sir, and it is only fair that you should retain yours.’

‘Then let us ride on,’ Andrew told him with a grin. ‘One day we may meet again, and then perhaps we shall learn the truth—but for now we are passing strangers travelling together for our mutual benefit.’

Catherine wandered from stall to stall, her lovely face alight with excitement as she examined the pedlars’ wares. It was a warm September day and the annual fair had come to the village of Melford Chase, which was a cause for celebration for all who lived here in the valleys that lay on the borders of Wales and England. Catherine and her younger sister, Anne, had been eagerly awaiting this day for some weeks, because their mother had promised that they would buy silks for new gowns and lace to trim them.

Anne and Lady Melford were still lingering at the silk merchant’s stall, examining his wares, but Catherine had known what she wanted immediately, choosing a deep emerald silk. Anne could not decide between a pretty blue and a paler green, so she had left them to choose while she walked on, because there was so much to see. One stall was selling holy relics, another beads and bangles that gleamed like gold, but would turn your skin black if you wore them too long. You could find anything here, Catherine thought as she looked at spangled scarves and embroidered slippers, for only one stall away a man was selling cooking pots made of iron. A little further into the meadow were stalls selling cheeses and pies, also cakes and sweetmeats, and the smell of roasting sucking pig permeated the air, making her feel hungry.

Besides the stalls selling merchandise there were others offering a chance to play games. You might guess how many dried beans there were in a pot or throw hoops over small prizes. You could throw balls at Aunt Sally or shoot arrows at a target, and if you wished you could visit the tooth drawer, though from the cries of pain that came from his wagon, Catherine thought that she would prefer the toothache. Two teams of men were having a tug of war, and others were engaging in various trials of strength.

As Catherine waked past the area where the sports were taking place, she heard a burst of cheering and she stopped to watch what was going on. Her gaze came to rest on two men; stripped to the waist, their bodies gleamed with sweat, as if they had been working hard. They were laughing and one slapped the other on the back, clearly pleased with himself.

‘They have each won two rounds and are well matched,’ a man standing next to Catherine said. ‘Neither of them can best the other and so they have agreed to one last bout, winner take all…or they will share the prize if neither wins.’

‘For what do they fight?’ Catherine asked. Her eyes were on one of the men. He was the same height as his opponent and of similar weight and build, but there was something different about him, though she did not know what it was until he suddenly turned her way. He was surely a gentleman! The other man was one of the villagers and known to her by sight, but this man was a stranger. For a moment their eyes met and then he grinned at her, the expression in his eyes sending little tingles down her spine.

‘For the sum of ten silver pieces,’ the informative man said next to her. ‘It is the best prize of the year.’

‘Oh, I see…’ It was a considerable sum, enough to feed a family for some months.

Catherine felt her cheeks grow warm, for the look the stranger was giving her was too forward, too bold. She dropped her eyes, determined to move on, and yet as she heard the murmur of approval from the crowd, she looked up and saw that the contest had begun once more.

It was immodest of her to stand and watch, as she knew that her mother would not approve, and yet something held her. She saw at once that the two men were clearly skilful at wrestling. She had caught sight of other wrestling matches on fair days, but never before had she been tempted to watch the outcome. Today she was fascinated, and knew that she wanted the man with the deep blue, intelligent eyes to win.

She caught her breath when the other man threw him to the ground, but he could not hold him, and in another second he was back on his feet and the situation was reversed. Again and again, the men threw each other, but neither could hold the other down long enough to be called the winner.

Catherine’s nails had turned into the palms of her hands, for she was tense with excitement, and only her natural modesty prevented her from calling out with the other spectators as the contest continued. Oh, who was going to win? She did hope it would be the handsome stranger…

Suddenly, the stranger stood back and held up his hands, a hush falling over the crowd as he spoke. ‘I give you my hand, friend. We shall share the prize. Come, take my hand and we’ll drink on it…the ale to be paid for with my share of the winnings…for all of you…’ His eyes embraced the crowd, inviting them to share his good fortune.

His opponent hesitated and then took his hand. They started laughing and the crowd joined in, everyone cheering them as, arms about one another’s shoulders, the wrestlers went off in the direction of the ale tent, followed by a score of others eager to take advantage of the stranger’s good nature.

‘I’ve never seen that done before,’ a man said behind Catherine. ‘Our Seth has bested every challenger to come against him.’

‘Well, he’s met his match at last,’ his companion said. ‘Do you know who the challenger is?’

‘He didn’t give his name. No one knows him, but he speaks like an Englishman.’

Catherine walked away, back towards the stalls where her mother and sister were now examining some pretty lace. Lady Melford turned to look at her daughter.

‘There you are, Catherine. I was beginning to wonder where you had gone. Come and look at this lace. I thought this would be pretty to trim the sleeves of your gown—do you like it?’

Catherine looked at the beautiful lace her mother had picked up and smiled. ‘It is lovely,’ she said. ‘But I think the heavy cream lace is perhaps more to my taste.’

‘Well, they are both pretty,’ Lady Melford said. ‘I think we shall take them both, for you may decide at your leisure which one suits you when your gown is made and lace of this quality is no ill store.’ She turned to her younger daughter. ‘Now, Anne, have you decided on what you would like?’

Catherine’s mind wandered as her sister and mother began a long discussion about the various pieces of lace and their merits. She glanced towards the ale tent, into which the wrestlers had disappeared, along with the small crowd of men and women who had been watching them.

Who was the stranger and why had he come here? Was it simply to take part in a wrestling match? They had few strangers here in her father’s village, except for the pedlars at fair time, and he certainly had not looked like a merchant. So what was he doing here?

‘I think we shall go home now.’ Lady Melford’s voice broke into Catherine’s thoughts. ‘What are you thinking about, Catherine? You do not seem very interested in your new gown. Are you not happy with the silks we have chosen?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, Mother,’ Catherine said. ‘Forgive me. I was just thinking that the smell of roasting pig is very good…’

‘You are hungry,’ Lady Melford said. ‘We shall go home and see if your father has returned from his business.’

Andrew came out of the ale tent, having drunk but one tankard himself. He had spent the five shillings he had won on buying drinks for the men who had watched the wrestling bout, accepting their praise and good wishes in the spirit of the day. He had been angry when he offered his challenge, but, finding himself matched against a worthy opponent, his anger had evaporated—and catching sight of a pretty girl in the crowd had lifted his mood still further.

He had come here to the Marches to try and settle the long-running dispute between his family and Lord Robert Melford, and to bring him news, but he had been turned away without a hearing. Lord Melford’s steward had told him that his master had been called away to Shrewsbury and was not expected back until later that day. He had apologised for the inconvenience, but Andrew was almost certain that it was merely an excuse, a way of avoiding him. It had made him angry, because the quarrel was none of his making, and, despite his mother’s wishes, he had wanted to settle the business without laying a complaint before the King. His mind went back to a recent conversation with his mother, her words still echoing in his mind despite his efforts to shut them out.

‘Listen to me when I tell you that we were robbed of our inheritance!’ Lady Gifford’s voice had been shrill, harsh with bitterness. ‘Robert of Melford took Gifford by force and we were driven from our home. The King must listen to you, Andrew. He must make reparation.’

Andrew Gifford had looked at his mother with barely concealed impatience. ‘Have I not told you a hundred times, Mother? My father betrayed his promise to give himself up to the King and it was his betrayal that led to his death. Our estate was forfeit and the King gave it to Lord Melford. He had the right to sell it as he pleased.’

‘So you say,’ Lady Gifford retorted, her eyes cold with hatred. ‘Why will you not make a plea to his Majesty? It is the custom to grant boons at times of celebration. They say the King’s eldest son is to marry later this year to the Princess of Aragon…you should use the opportunity to ask for some compensation for our loss.’

‘May I remind you that the loss was mine,’ Andrew said and for a moment his blue eyes had been as cold as ice. He had seen Harold of Meresham enter the room and it angered him that his mother kept the man here when she knew her son disliked him intensely. He would never understand why she had taken him in when he came to her as a fugitive, having escaped from custody by a fluke of the law, then married him, though insisting on keeping her former husband’s name. ‘Father’s lands should have passed to me. I have made my own way in the world and I am not poor. The King saw fit to bestow monies on me for services rendered, which I have put to good use.’

‘You have a small estate,’ his mother sneered, though it was in truth larger than her own. ‘But Robert of Melford is rich beyond compare. You should demand what belongs to you!’

‘Enough!’ Andrew’s face tightened with anger. ‘I have heard sufficient of your complaining, Mother. You never cease your demands and yet you do nothing I ask of you.’

‘Why should I send Harold away?’ his mother cried, furious in her turn. ‘He is my husband.’

‘I know well that you married him, but he does not behave as a husband to you,’ Andrew said, looking scornfully at the man. ‘If he showed you respect, I would understand, but he does not.’ He turned away, his back stiff.

‘Where are you going?’ Lady Gifford cried, a harsh note in her voice. ‘I demand that you listen to me!’

Andrew swung round to face her, his eyes glinting. ‘I am no longer a child, madam. You may not command me. I may speak to the King, but if he does not care to listen I shall make no demands of him. Too many years have passed. I am content to win favours and riches for myself—and I should advise you to forget what has gone.’

Striding from the room, Andrew had wondered why he bothered to visit his mother and her husband. He had hated Harold of Meresham from the day his mother had wed him when he was but a lad of seven years, and he knew the two of them had plotted revenge on Lord Melford. Lady Gifford had sent endless petitions to King Henry VII asking that her husband’s estate be returned to her or reparation made, and the King wearied of it. Had Andrew not won favour in Henry’s eyes, the King might have made an example of her before this—but she would not be told.

However, a month past Harold had been lain low of a fever and died suddenly. Returning for the funeral, Andrew had found his mother chastened and silent. He knew that Harold had played a large part in her bitterness, and his hope was that she would now cease her endless demands for recompense. It was, after all, he who had suffered the worst loss, for although he was still entitled to call himself the Earl of Gifford the lands and property that should have been his belonged to another. It was a cause for anger and yet he was not bitter despite all the years of hearing his mother’s complaints.

He had his own estate and his wealth was invested wisely. Perhaps he was not yet as rich as his father had once been, but he was determined that he would make his own way in life—and when he was ready he would take a bride. He had made up his mind then that he would seek Lord Melford out and try to heal the breach that had begun so many years ago.

Andrew’s mind came back to the present and the expression in his eyes was angry once more. He had come here in good faith, hoping to speak to Lord Melford and tell him that Harold was dead, as he had been some kind of relation to Melford’s wife. It was a time for reconciliation, a time to heal old quarrels, but his reception had been cool, barely courteous, and that had made him angry. He had been about to return to London and the court when he caught sight of the fair. The wrestling match had restored his temper and he realised that it would be foolish to leave without accomplishing what he had come for—besides, there might be other diversions to keep him here a while.

He looked around the meadow, hoping to catch sight of the pretty girl once more, but there was no sign of her. That was a shame, but perhaps if he lingered at the inn for a few days he might catch sight of her in the village—and he would return to the Melfords’ house the next day to make another effort at settling the foolish quarrel that had festered on so many years.

‘Catherine, my love,’ Lady Melford said the following morning, ‘I wish you to walk to the village for me with this basket of food and medicines for Widow Hale. Her son told me that she has been poorly for a while, and I believe these restoratives may help her.’

‘Of course I will, Mother,’ Catherine replied with a smile. ‘I am sorry that she has been ill. Is Anne to accompany me?’

‘Your sister has other duties,’ Lady Melford told her. ‘And none of the servants can be spared from their work. You need not linger on the way, and I doubt you will meet many strangers, for the fair folk will be busy packing their wares to move on.’

‘I am not nervous of walking to the village,’ Catherine replied. She had asked only because she knew Anne would relish an hour of freedom away from the house. Her sister was a rebellious girl and avoided her chores if she could. ‘I shall go straight there and back. Besides, none would harm me, for Father is loved and respected by his people.’

‘Yes, he is,’ her mother agreed. ‘Go then, dearest. When you return we shall begin work on your new gown, as your father talks of taking us to London if the marriage of the King’s son takes place as is hoped.’

‘Go to London for Prince Arthur’s wedding?’ Catherine’s face lit up with excitement. ‘Are we all to go, Mother?’

‘Yes, all of us,’ Lady Melford replied, smiling fondly at her daughter. ‘You deserve the treat, Catherine. Besides, the King has sent word that he wishes to see your father at court before the end of the year, and so we must go to the wedding.’

‘It will be so exciting. Does my sister know?’

‘Not yet, but she will soon—I shall tell her after you have gone. Get off now, Catherine, for there is much to do. We must make preparations for winter and all the soft fruits have not yet been preserved.’

Lady Melford bustled off to begin work in her stillroom. She was mistress of a large household and her work was never done, despite all the servants at her disposal.

Catherine was smiling as she put on her cloak and left the house. It was not as sunny as the previous day, for dark clouds had gathered overhead, but it was not cold. Just a pleasant day for a walk to the village and back.

Andrew left the inn. He was intending to ride out to Melford’s estate and see if he chanced luckier that day in the matter of his meeting with the master. However, as he was about to mount his horse, he saw a young woman leaving a cottage just a few steps from where he stood and he hesitated, recognising the girl he had noticed at the fair.

‘Good morrow, mistress,’ he said, moving to block her path. ‘Could you direct me to the road to Shrewsbury?’

‘Why, certainly, sir,’ she replied, a faint rose in her cheeks. ‘You follow the street to the end and take the turning to the right at the fork.’

‘Thank you kindly,’ he said, a smile playing over his mouth as he saw her confusion. She was a modest girl, but he would swear there was fire in her. ‘It is a warm day despite the cloud, is it not?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘Excuse me, I must go on.’

‘Must you?’ Andrew caught her arm as she would have gone by. ‘Have you no time to dally with a stranger? I mean you no disrespect, mistress. I would merely speak with you a little.’

‘I would not be rude, sir, but my mother will worry if I am late back.’

‘I dare say she might, for you are beautiful and some would demand more than a few words and a smile. Go on then, mistress—but tell me your name before you leave, if you please.’

‘I am Catherine, sir,’ she said. ‘I bid you good day and a safe journey.’

‘Farewell, sweet Catherine,’ he said, a rueful note in his voice. ‘I wish you were less modest, for then I should take you to the landlord’s best chamber and kiss those lips I swear would taste of cherries and wine.’

‘Oh…’ A hot flush swept up her cheeks. ‘I must go…’

Andrew watched her walk away, a soft laugh issuing from his lips. She was lovely and truly innocent. He would dare swear that no other man had paid her compliments. He sighed as he thought of the bold women of the court, and the response such a sally would have brought forth, and sighed. Lady Henrietta Salmons was almost as beautiful as that gentle girl, but she had lost her modesty long ago when married to a man twice her age. Her husband was long dead, and he knew that Henrietta hoped for a match between them. At times he had thought to oblige her, for she was a sweet bed companion—but marriage was more than a night’s work and as yet he had not made up his mind. He liked her well enough, but there was something in her nature that gave him pause and made him hesitate to offer for her.

He had thought his sweet country lass might be less modest as she had watched the wrestling and he had seen passion in her eyes, but she was clearly not for dalliance, and it was unlikely that they would meet again.

He turned back to his horse, swinging up into the saddle. He would try once more to see Melford, then he must return to London and the court, for he had been expected some days ago.

Catherine’s heart was racing as she walked away from the man. How could he say such things to her? She knew that he must have been laughing at her for her innocence, but what must he think of her to offer her such an insult? It was because she had stopped to watch him wrestling, of course. He had mistaken her for one of the village girls, and thought that it would pass a little time if she would allow him to seduce her.

Her cheeks were hot with shame. Her mother would be so angry if she knew that Catherine had stopped to speak to a complete stranger. She had been warned of the dangers often enough as a child!

But no harm had come from it, after all. Her pulses returned to normal as she took a detour to call in at the parson’s house. The parson’s wife was a friend to all the family, and Catherine felt the need of a warm, familiar face. Perhaps by the time she left Goodwife Mills the stranger would have departed from the village. Besides, she needed a little time to calm herself before she returned home.

She had never met anyone like the stranger before, and she could not account for the odd feelings his banter had aroused. She ought to have been angry, but for one moment she had felt as if she would like to go with him to the landlord’s best parlour and be kissed—but that was immodest and wicked! She must put all thought of him from her mind and forget the traitorous leap of her heart when he had smiled at her!

Robert Melford frowned as his steward announced that the Earl of Gifford had returned and craved an audience with him. So many years had passed since the war that had caused the quarrel between the Gifford family and his that he had pushed it to the back of his mind; it was almost forgotten and he hoped that Gifford did not wish to bring it all up again.

‘Very well,’ he said as his steward stood waiting. ‘Ask the earl to come in, if you will.’

Rob glanced through the ledgers on his trestle table. His accounts were in order and his vast estates prospered, much of his wealth earned by his own industry. It was true that the sale of the Gifford lands had brought him a decent sum, but he had increased his fortune several times since then. He could, had he wished, have made further reparation to the Giffords, but having made some at the time of the sale, he saw no reason to do more. Gifford’s estate had come to him as a gift from the King and he was not obliged to do anything for the family. Especially after the way the late earl had behaved towards Rob’s beloved wife, Melissa.

He closed the ledger and stood up as the present earl entered, feeling surprised at his appearance—this was not a man struck by poverty, as the wife of the late earl would have them believe. He was well dressed, of good appearance, a handsome young man with a pleasant smile.

‘Good morning, Gifford. I bid you sit, if you will. May I offer some wine?’

‘Thank you, I will take a cup with you,’ the earl replied.

Rob nodded to his steward, who left to carry out his unspoken order. He sat down on the chair he had been using, indicating that the earl should sit in the other at the opposite end of the board.

‘What brings you so far from London, sir? I thought you were often at court these days?’

‘His Majesty has been pleased to give me offices that I have carried out as best I may,’ Andrew replied. ‘I took leave on the occasion of my stepfather’s funeral, and it was in part to tell you of his death that I came.’

‘Thank you. We had heard of it,’ Rob replied. ‘You may know that there was no love lost between Harold of Meresham and my wife. Although she once thought him her half-brother, she never cared for him. In all honesty he was a brute.’

‘I know little of what happened at that time, for I was a child,’ Andrew said and frowned. ‘But I believe there was much bad blood between the families?’

‘It is an old story and best forgot,’ Rob said. ‘If it is in the matter of reparation that your mother claims is due—’ He was silenced as Andrew held up his hand. ‘No? Then I do not understand.’

‘I came to make peace if I can,’ Andrew told him. ‘I do not ask for anything.’

‘Reparation was made years ago. Lady Gifford knows that I had no need to give her anything, but I did.’

‘I have heard naught of that.’ Andrew’s eyes snapped with annoyance. ‘I have told her that she is entitled to none, but she is bitter and does not listen. I hope that now Meresham is dead, she will cease to petition his Majesty.’

Rob was silent for a moment, then, ‘For myself I would shake hands and end this feud here and now. My wife suffered greatly at that time, and your father played his part in it. She does not speak of it, but I think it must still linger in her memory. I cannot invite you to dine as it might offend her—but let there be no more enmity between us.’ He stood and offered his hand. Andrew came forward and took it. ‘If we should meet at court in future, we shall be at least civil to one another, sir—though Lady Gifford may not feel the same.’

‘My mother is unlikely to be at court. The King has no patience with her endless complaints, and I have told her she must remain on her estates and be thankful Henry does not see fit to imprison her.’

‘As you said, perhaps now that her husband is dead, she will be less bitter, for I know he hated both my wife and me.’

‘He would have done you harm if he could,’ Andrew said, ‘but in later years he had become a surly drunkard and was no use for anything.’

‘Your family is well rid of him, then,’ Rob said. He paused as the steward brought wine in a gilt ewer. ‘Come, drink with me, Gifford, and we will seal our truce.’

Catherine was upstairs at the window of her chamber, looking out at the yard when the man left the house. She knew that her father had a visitor, and that her mother was a little disturbed by it, but she gasped in surprise as she saw the man she had spoken to in the village earlier that day. He looked thoughtful as a groom brought him a horse, and he glanced back at the house, his gaze moving upward to her window. She stepped back hastily, not wanting him to see her watching.

‘Catherine, have you decided on the style of your new gown?’

Catherine turned guiltily as her mother entered the room. She was supposed to be deciding on a pattern for the dress they were to cut out downstairs in the parlour.

‘I think I should like it to be similar to my blue,’ she said, laying the garment on the bed for her mother to see. ‘I would like the waist a little higher, but a squared neckline suits me well.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Lady Melford said and glanced out of the window. ‘So he is leaving at last. He spent more than two hours with your father.’

‘Who was Father’s visitor?’

‘He is the Earl of Gifford,’ her mother said and frowned. ‘I did not care for his father, but his mother was kind enough once—though I believe she grew bitter later in life.’

‘Why did you not like his father?’

‘It is an old story, Catherine. Forgive me if I do not tell you. It pains me and I do not care to remember the war.’

Catherine was silenced. She knew that something had happened during the war, though she did not know what. Her father had fought on the side of Henry Tudor and was given great honours for the part he played at that time. Catherine was sure there was much more that she had not been told, but she would not dream of distressing her mother by speaking of something that clearly brought back unpleasant memories.

‘Do not speak of it if it hurts you, dearest Mother,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I shall have the new gown styled as this one. Shall we cut it out now?’

‘I think we should make a start, for we shall all need new clothes before we leave for London. We may have others made for us in town, but it is good for you and Anne to make your own sometimes. You should both know how to mend and set your stitches before you marry.’

Catherine caught her breath. Until this moment she had not truly thought about her marriage, though she knew that it would happen one day. She thought about what the earl had said to her that morning in the village. Would he have said such a thing if he had guessed that she was the daughter of a rich and powerful lord?

She was certain that he had mistaken her for a village girl, because she had watched the wrestling. He probably thought that her father was a rich merchant, because, although her clothes were good quality, she had made most of them with the help of her mother and sister.

When they went to court she would have more stylish gowns. She wondered what he would think of her then and her cheeks felt warm. It would not do to think of him in this way! Catherine mentally scolded herself. The earl would not be interested in her, for there must be many beautiful ladies at court, and though her father was rich, they lived a sheltered life here on the Borders.

The earl must meet many clever, beautiful women if he went often to court. Besides, there was clearly some bad feeling between the earl’s family and hers. Therefore she must not think of him again.