Читать книгу Lady Rowena's Ruin - Carol Townend - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Sparrows darted in and out of hedgerows dotted with bramble flowers. Monfort was a couple of hours’ ride from Provins. It wasn’t until they had passed the halfway mark and turned into the side road that cut through the fields that Eric noticed the horsemen some distance behind them. There were three of them. Eric couldn’t be certain, but he rather thought they’d been there since they’d left the convent. Twisting in the saddle, he focused his attention on them. This road didn’t go anywhere save for Monfort Manor and the village of the same name that had grown up around it. What business could those riders have coming this way?

Cursing under his breath—Lord Faramus had promised that he would not interfere—Eric glanced at the squire riding at his side. ‘Alard?’

‘Sir?’

Eric jerked his head in the direction of the party behind them. ‘Did you notice those horsemen?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘How long have they been there?’

‘They’ve been with us pretty much the whole way. I thought you’d seen them.’

Eric sighed, he should have noticed them as soon as they’d turned off the main highway—the scent of summer flowers must be fuddling his wits. He swore under his breath. Lord Faramus was going to meddle, he was sure of it. He was equally sure that his interfering would make matters worse. As things stood Lady Rowena barely trusted him.

Lady Rowena turned her head and looked at him. ‘There’s a problem, sir?’

‘Behind us.’ Eric gestured at the other riders. ‘Your father seems to be keeping an eye on us.’

She leaned out, grasping his arm to steady herself, and her blue gaze focused on the three riders. She had the longest eyelashes Eric had ever seen. Her mouth—it was the colour of ripe cherries and just as tempting—firmed. ‘Father can’t help himself. He is so very controlling.’ Her grip on his arm tightened. ‘Eric, you won’t let them take me?’

Eric’s pulse jumped. When she’d called him Eric, it was as though the years fell away and they were children again. The lack of formality made him feel as though they’d been friends for ever. Tearing his gaze from her, he focused on the men behind them. If it came to a fight it was three against two. He was confident he could protect her, provided she wasn’t sitting before him when they came to blows. ‘They won’t take you. My lady, you may be at ease, you are coming with me to Monfort.’

‘I really don’t want to see my father. Nor do I want to be given to Sir Breon.’

Eric was irritated Lord Faramus was checking up on him after promising otherwise, however, it wasn’t her fault. And he supposed it showed some measure of care that the count wanted to know his daughter had come to no harm. He gave her as reassuring a smile as he could muster. ‘You won’t be. I am sure that your father has sent us an escort simply to make certain that I get you safely back to the manor.’ His mouth twisted. It would be good to think Lady Rowena was happy to come with him because she had a sincere liking for him. He couldn’t delude himself though—he and she had hardly spoken in years. She was only happy to accompany him because she disliked Sir Breon more than him. ‘He wouldn’t want you to be carried off by anyone but me.’

She gave him a straight look and surprised him with a laugh that wasn’t echoed in her eyes. ‘Likely that’s the truth. Father only asks knights he trusts to do his dirty work.’

It didn’t sit well with Eric that Lady Rowena had decided he was doing her father’s dirty work. ‘My lady, I thought you understood, I am only appearing to fall in with your father’s plans. He will change his mind, I am certain. You will be back at the convent before you know it.’

Those large blue eyes searched his before she gave a little shrug and released his arm. ‘So you say.’

Her tone irked him. If she didn’t believe him why was she agreeing to accompany him? Why had she called him Eric? As she turned to face forward once more, Eric put his hand carefully back on her waist. This time she made no move to ease her body from his. He wasn’t sure what she thought of him—she had liked him when she’d been a child, but now? Had her view of him changed so much? If so, why? Was it simply that they were no longer children?

She dislikes men. Had she always done so? Her relationship with her father had always been fiery. In the past Eric had seen this as a sign of her spirit, two strong wills were bound to clash from time to time. Was there more to it than that? Had something happened in the years since he’d seen her? Something that had given her a mistrust of men?

Eric’s thoughts regarding the woman sharing his saddle were rapidly becoming confused. It should be a simple matter to take her to Monfort and keep her safe until her father had cooled down. Sadly, Eric hadn’t bargained for the effect she would have on him. Lady Rowena was a pretty child no longer, she had grown into a woman of rare beauty. There was no confusion there. The difficulty was that Eric found her convent aloofness something of a challenge. She was using it as a shield, too innocent to see that it made him ache to push it aside and see what lay behind. Was she as prim as she appeared? He was enjoying the neat way her body nestled against his far too much. He was enjoying the softness of her hair when it brushed against his face, not to mention the scent of summer. Her dainty, ladylike body was far too appealing for his peace of mind. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d imagined.

She wanted to be a nun. He found himself staring at the back of her head, frowning as he wished he could see into her mind. It seemed so wrong. Did she really want to take the veil? Or was this just her way of thwarting her father?

As a young girl at Jutigny Castle, Lady Rowena had been a favourite with the retainers’ children. She’d shown no airs and graces. Night after night the children had flocked round her, demanding stories before they settled down to sleep. She’d been happy to oblige, producing story after story. Naturally most of them had been Bible stories, but the occasional fairy story and chivalric tale had crept in among the parables. If it weren’t for Lady Rowena’s insistence on taking the veil, she would make a fine mother. Mon Dieu, it chilled his blood to think of her mouldering away in the cloisters until the end of her days.

Eric urged Captain on. As the fields slipped past, he glanced back from time to time. The horsemen didn’t draw any nearer, nor did they fall behind, they kept their distance as though measuring it to the inch. When Eric’s small party had passed through Monfort village and reached the manor, Eric hailed the guard at the gatehouse and glanced back up the road. Their unwanted escort had stopped about half a mile away on the edge of the village, near enough for Eric to see their horses’ tails swishing to and fro.

Lady Rowena followed his glance. Her brow clouded. ‘My father is the most stubborn man alive,’ she muttered. ‘I wonder which of his men he sent to follow us, it’s odd I don’t recognise the horses.’

Eric shrugged, hailed the guard at the gatehouse and they clopped into the manor yard.

Lady Rowena looked about with interest and Eric wondered what she was seeing. She’d been to Paris; she was used to Provins with its upper and lower town, with its huge market and square. Compared to that, Monfort village was simple indeed—two straggling lines of cottages; a church; a smith; an alehouse. As for Eric’s manor, it couldn’t compare to Castle Jutigny or indeed to her father’s other holdings in Sainte-Colombe. To her eyes—the daughter of a count—Monfort must seem a mean and shabby place.

Eric had had the stables repaired when he’d arrived; the main tower had been scoured top to bottom; a pair of extra privies had been built into the north wall, none the less he was achingly conscious that it lacked many of the comforts she had known at Jutigny or Sainte-Colombe. His household was relatively small. The cookhouse was tiny and the food that came out of it was good, honest fare, if somewhat basic.

‘Welcome to Monfort, my lady.’ He found himself braced for her reaction.

‘Thank you.’

He helped her down and she looked about with interest, giving him no sign that she saw anything amiss about her surroundings. She gave him a candid look. ‘Eric, if you imagine my father will change his mind whilst I am lodged beneath your roof, you are very much mistaken. He means to make you marry me.’

He put his hand on his heart. ‘My lady, I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and your wish to be clothed as a novice. I swear you will be safe here.’

She gave him a faint smile. ‘You intend to observe the proprieties.’

‘But of course.’

‘Where will I sleep?’

Eric gestured at the tower. ‘There is a chamber off the minstrel’s gallery, I have given orders for it to be made ready for you.’

‘Thank you, sir. You’ve arranged for a maid?’

Eric felt his face fall. ‘You want a maid?’ Bon sang—good grief—naturally, she would want a maid. Likely Lady Rowena hadn’t dressed herself in years. Swiftly he ran his gaze over her grey gown. The lacings were at the back. Tight lacings. She was probably too innocent to realise how those lacings showed off every curve. Beautiful.

She tipped her head to one side and the cross at her breast gleamed. Eric received the distinct impression that she had seen his gaze linger on her body. ‘Sir, I am capable of dressing myself. However, if the proprieties are to be observed, you ought to arrange for a maid to sleep in my bedchamber. And most of my things are at the convent, I shall need more clothing.’

‘It shall be arranged.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Do you care to see the bedchamber?’

* * *

The hall at Monfort was nowhere near as large as Rowena’s father’s hall at Jutigny, but it was well proportioned with heavy beams criss-crossing the roof. Rowena saw an oak table set before a stone fireplace. A young woman was kneeling on the hearth, shovelling dead ashes into a leather pail. The table was clean, though Rowena would swear it had never been polished—the mark of the adze showed clearly on the wood. She glimpsed side tables and a couple of stools by the fireplace. The walls were whitewashed, again they looked clean. However, there were no tapestries, indeed, no linens of any kind. There were no cushions to soften the benches. The lack of linens or wall-hangings told Rowena that Monfort was almost entirely a male domain.

As they approached the door at the far end of the hall, the woman laying the fire looked across at them. Eric gestured her over. ‘Helvise?’

The woman brushed soot from her fingers and got to her feet. Rowena saw that she was about the same age as herself. She was far gone in pregnancy.

‘Sir?’

‘Helvise, this is Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe, she will be staying at Monfort for a time.’

‘Yes, sir, I remember you told me last eve.’

‘Is her chamber ready?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Eric nodded. ‘Thank you, Helvise.’ His brow creased. ‘I am going to show Lady Rowena up and I should like you to accompany us. For form’s sake.’

The woman’s gaze travelled slowly from Eric to Rowena and back to Eric again. For no reason that she could think of, Rowena felt her cheeks heat.

‘For form’s sake,’ Helvise muttered. ‘Of course, sir.’

They wound their way up a stairwell lit by slender lancets and stepped out on to a landing at one end of the gallery. Rowena could see right down into the hall. There were two doorways, Eric leaned past her and lifted the latch of the second door.

With Helvise hovering at their backs, Eric and Rowena squeezed into a shadowy bedchamber. It wasn’t large, there was only room for the two of them. Rowena squeezed up against the wall next to a shuttered window whilst Eric flung back the shutters. Light poured in. The spring breeze ruffled Eric’s hair.

The window looked out over a wooded area. Rowena could see the river gleaming through the foliage and a man leading a donkey along a narrow track. There was movement under the tree canopy, and one of the horsemen they’d seen earlier rode into a scrap of sunlight and said something to the man with the donkey.

Rowena sighed, her father’s man was doubtless checking up on them. When the rider tipped back his head to examine the tower, instinct had her drawing back from the window.

‘Well?’ Eric was waiting for her reaction. ‘Can you manage in here?’

In a corner of the bedchamber there was a tiny hearth; on the opposite wall a row of hooks. Other than the bed, there was nothing, it was as spare as her cell in the convent.

‘This is fine. Thank you, sir.’

Eric shoved his hand through his hair. ‘It is plain, I know, and the fireplace is small. You could have my bedchamber which is larger, but I didn’t think you would be comfortable there.’

‘No indeed, my father’s request has inconvenienced you enough.’ The bed here certainly swallowed up most of the space. The sheets appeared to be linen and a couple of blankets were heaped up at the foot. ‘Truly, sir, this chamber will suit me well.’

Eric nodded and sent Helvise one of the smiles that Rowena remembered from his time at Jutigny. It was the smile of a man used to getting his way with women, full of charm and confidence. ‘Helvise, do you know of anyone prepared to try her hand at being a maid? Someone who might be ready to take on some lighter tasks for a time.’

‘You mean me, sir?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Thank you, sir, I would appreciate that,’ Helvise said, in a cool tone that seemed to say otherwise.

‘It will mean you bedding down here with Lady Rowena.’

‘For as long as she’s here, you mean, sir?’

‘Aye.’

Rowena made a sharp movement. ‘Eric, what about Helvise’s husband? Surely he will object? He will want to be with her, particularly since Helvise is so near her time.’

The sudden silence told her she had blundered. Eric’s face confirmed it, his expression seemed to freeze. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but Helvise got there first.

‘Don’t worry about that, my lady,’ Helvise said. The girl lifted her chin so defensively that Rowena understood without being told that Helvise wasn’t married. ‘I am more than content to act as your maid. I have had enough of shifting logs.’

Cheeks hot, embarrassed by her mistake, Rowena nodded. Helvise wasn’t married and she was having a baby. It was very unorthodox, shocking even. Who was the baby’s father? A horrible thought rushed in on her.

Could Eric be the father? It wasn’t a line of thought Rowena wanted to pursue, but her father had forced her into a position where she might seriously have to consider marrying this man. She needed to know what sort of a husband he would make. Eric was known to be a terrible flirt, would he take his marriage vows seriously? The idea that he might stray didn’t sit well with her. The question echoed through her mind. Was Helvise Eric’s lover?

Eric was bowing her out of the chamber. ‘If it pleases you, I will show you the rest of the manor.’

‘Thank you.’ Rowena followed him from the chamber and on to the minstrel’s gallery, staring at his broad shoulders. He was so tall. She fixed her gaze on his dark head as he pointed out the doors at the other end of the gallery. He was saying something about building extra garderobes. Her thoughts rushed on. She really didn’t like the idea that he might stray. She wasn’t going to marry Eric, so why did she find the idea that he might take a lover so distasteful? It was most peculiar.

Last year, when Rowena had been betrothed to Lord Gawain she had discovered he had a long-standing mistress. Seeing that Lord Gawain loved the woman, Rowena recalled telling him that after their marriage she wouldn’t mind him seeking his pleasure elsewhere. And it hadn’t been because she had disliked the man, far from it. Grief-stricken though she had been, she had liked Lord Gawain, very much. He had seemed a fair-minded, reasonable man. Notwithstanding that, she wouldn’t have minded him keeping a mistress. Why then was the thought of marrying Eric and having to watch him take his pleasure elsewhere so utterly repugnant?

She had idolised Eric as a child, that must have something to do with it. Each time she’d seen him teasing a Jutigny maid, her insides had twisted. She’d been jealous. Even today she could hear faint echoes of her childhood longings.

Her parents had tried to protect her innocence. In that they hadn’t been entirely successful, Rowena knew full well that many married men kept mistresses. And when she’d given Lord Gawain leave to keep his lover after their marriage, she’d meant it, she truly wouldn’t have minded.

Had she felt that way because she’d been reeling from the horror of Mathieu’s untimely death? It seemed likely. Back then Rowena had been deep in mourning. It had been far too soon for her to think about marrying anyone else. Why, even the thought of kissing Lord Gawain had made her want to take to her heels.

Rowena heard Helvise take her leave and murmured her thanks. How odd that she could still hear echoes of her former childish longings. The idea of Eric being unfaithful really wasn’t pleasant. In a way though, it was a relief. It must mean she was at last getting over the shock of losing Mathieu.

Eric was pointing at a doorway across the gallery, telling her that that was his chamber. Nodding, Rowena leaned on the gallery guardrail and looked down into the hall. A door slammed and shortly afterwards Helvise walked into view and crossed the hall.

‘She’s going to the cookhouse,’ Eric murmured, following her gaze.

‘Helvise runs your household?’

‘Since I took over this manor, Helvise has been in charge of domestic matters, yes.’ A frown brought his eyebrows together. ‘She is very capable and very stubborn.’

‘Sir?’

‘Given that her baby will arrive soon, she does far too much.’ His hand covered hers. ‘She will not rest and I have been looking for a way to lighten her load.’ He gave her one of his light-hearted grins and squeezed her fingers. Rowena’s heart did a little skip. ‘I never expected your father would ask me to kidnap you, but since he has, I am very pleased that you will accept Helvise as your maid. She needs to be made to do less.’

‘I am happy to help,’ Rowena murmured.

‘I realise Helvise might not make an ideal maidservant, she will need training.’

Rowena searched Eric’s face, looking for something that would reveal his feelings for Helvise. He was standing close enough for her to see that the flecks in his green eyes were amber up here in the dimness of the gallery. Were he and Helvise lovers? Was the child his? His expression gave nothing away. Rowena knew she must be patient, in time, she might learn the truth. ‘Eric, who will run the household if Helvise acts as my maid?’

Eric looked blankly at her before his face cleared. ‘There’s a woman in the village, the smith’s wife, Maude, I could ask her.’

Rowena found herself shaking her head. ‘Sir, I have been taught how to run a household, whilst I am here I would be glad to help.’

He stared. ‘You, run this manor?’

‘You think me incapable?’ She stiffened, mildly affronted at his doubts. ‘I assure you I have been trained to run households far larger than this one.’ And if she did manage this manor, the insight she would gain about Eric would be invaluable. Servants revealed more about their masters than most men realised. She would learn far more about his nature if she put her hand to the wheel than if she sat idly by. With a start, she realised she was starting to take the idea of marrying Eric seriously. Could she marry this man? Could she?

‘Rowena—my lady—you misunderstand, all I am trying to say is that I didn’t bring you here to work. I brought you here to—’

‘Save me from Sir Breon?’ She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is that truly why you brought me here?’

‘You know it is.’

‘You think my father will change his mind? You think I will be able to return to the convent?’

He looked at her. ‘If I had a daughter I couldn’t possibly force her into marriage.’

‘You might if you held my father’s lands.’ Rowena tipped back her head to hold his gaze. ‘Eric, you have forgotten Sir Armand. My father loathes him, he will not change his mind.’ She swallowed and the question she burned for him to answer slipped out. ‘Do you wish to marry me?’

‘My lady, have you forgotten the abbey? You are to take the veil.’ He studied her face and lowered his voice. ‘I was shocked when I heard about your decision to become a nun.’

‘Shocked?’

‘It seemed so much at odds with the girl I knew. You—a nun.’ He shook his head. ‘All I could think was that you made your decision to thwart your father.’

‘In part.’ Rowena saw no reason to tell Eric about Mathieu. Her relationship with Mathieu had been a secret. No one knew that she had fallen in love with him and that one day she had hoped to marry him. In any case, nothing had happened between her and Mathieu, a few stolen kisses didn’t count.

However, there was something she did need to tell Eric. He had to be told that if he wished it, she might consider marrying him. Sir Breon was out of the question, but Eric had arranged for her to have a maid, exactly as she had asked. So far he was giving every sign that whilst she was under his roof he intended to observe the proprieties. She trusted him. Perhaps they might spend the next few days learning about each other. They might consider whether they might really make a match of it.

She took a deep breath. ‘Eric, sir, there is something important I would ask you.’

‘Aye?’

‘If...if I was willing, would you marry me?’

Searching eyes looked into hers. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Eric, you know I could never marry Sir Breon. Sadly, my father also knows it. That’s why he put you in the position of having to rescue me. He was relying on your innate sense of chivalry.’

Eric’s mouth twisted. ‘My innate sense of chivalry?’

‘He respects you too, of course. He would never have asked you to marry me otherwise.’ Rowena gripped the gallery guardrail. This was beyond embarrassing, but since she had begun she would finish. Now she was away from St Mary’s, she was beginning to see the world—and her place in it—with new eyes. She had believed she was made to be a nun and the thought of returning to the nunnery should please her. It didn’t, it left her cold as stone. She didn’t wanted to go back. Ever. How could this be? Her stomach felt jittery and her pulse was thudding. She drew in a breath. ‘Eric, recently I have been ill at ease in the convent and I wasn’t quite sure why. I am beginning to see that I have been dreading taking my vows.’

‘Go on.’

‘I thought God was testing me.’

‘It’s possible you are not meant to be a nun.’

‘Eric, I don’t know. All I can say it that I have felt half-dead these past weeks. With your agreement, I should like to consider marrying you.’

He looked quizzically at her. ‘You think marrying me would bring you to life?’

With difficulty she met his gaze. ‘I don’t know, but I would like to consider it. We were friends when we were young, we liked each other.’

‘So we did.’

‘Marriages have been founded on far less. I think we should use the next few days to see if we might suit each other.’

He drew his head back. ‘You would be happy to become my wife?’

‘I am happy to consider it, but only if you want it. I would not wish to marry you if you did not want me.’

Slowly, he looked her up and down. His eyes were dark and something in his expression brought warmth to her cheeks. ‘Any man would surely be happy to call you his wife.’ His face lightened. He took his hand in his and carried it to his heart. ‘My lady, even if you hadn’t a penny to call your own, you would be a desirable woman.’ With a grin, he lifted her hand briefly to his lips. ‘Lady Rowena, you are beyond compare.’

A pang went through her. Naturally, Eric would want her for her lands. As would any man. Rowena had always known her true worth as a daughter and heiress to the County of Sainte-Colombe. No man of any sense would ever put her person before her lands. Ignoring the pang—it couldn’t be disappointment—she looked expectantly at him. She wanted to hear his agreement, she needed the words. ‘So, you would be happy to consider my father’s proposal?’

‘If we came to an agreement, would it be a real marriage?’ he asked, staring at her mouth.

Rowena shifted as an inexplicable wave of heat rushed through her. ‘It...it should be in name only, I think, certainly at the beginning.’

He grimaced.

‘Eric, it...it is a long time since we have seen each other. We have become as strangers.’

He cleared his throat and squeezed her fingers. ‘If we decide to marry all shall be as you wish, my lady, though I give you fair warning the idea of a marriage being in name only holds no appeal. A marriage is not considered valid until it is consummated.’

She bit her lip. ‘I do not feel ready for consummation, sir.’

‘I shall do my utmost to ensure you change your mind about that, and quickly. I want heirs.’

Cheeks burning, she nodded. ‘Eventually, of course. I understand the duties of a wife.’

‘We need to retreat,’ he murmured. Backing her into the shadows away from the guardrail, he grasped her other hand.

Rowena’s breath left her. She poised herself for flight as broad shoulders blocked her view of the hall. Eric’s scent—a heady mix of leather and horse, woodsmoke and man—filled her nostrils.

‘Relax, Rowena,’ he said softly. ‘If I may call you that?’

‘Please do.’ Managing to free one of her hands, Rowena had placed it against his gambeson with the vague intention of warding him off before she realised she wasn’t afraid. Her throat worked. ‘Wh...what are you doing?’

‘I am going to seal our betrothal agreement, I am going to kiss you.’

Her gaze flew to his mouth. It was smiling. It was extraordinarily attractive. How strange, she wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t dreading his kiss. ‘We are not actually betrothed, Eric,’ she said as steadily as she could. ‘We are merely considering becoming betrothed. We have to see if we think we will make a good match.’

His smile grew and his eyes danced. ‘As you say.’

He lowered his head, still smiling, and Rowena’s fingers curled into the leather of his gambeson.

Lightly, he kissed her forehead. Her stomach swooped. He kissed her temples equally lightly, and the muscles in her belly tightened. His musky male scent seemed familiar and something about it was sending messages to her brain, messages that spoke of safety. Of warmth. Of a haven in a world she had never understood.

And then his lips found hers and Rowena could no longer think. Here was warmth and gentleness. She heard flurried breathing, hers. There wasn’t enough air. Her heart was racing and her fingers were itching to slide into his hair.

Taking her by the waist, he pulled her flush against him. When she heard a very male murmur of satisfaction, she realised that she had gone up on her toes the better to reach him. Something about this man—his kiss, the careful way he was holding her—made her feel as though she wanted to climb into him. Gripped by shyness, she hid her face against his leather gambeson. What was wrong with her? She had been lost in that kiss. Lost. Not once had she thought of taking her vows. Not once had she thought of Mathieu.

‘Rowena.’ The humour in his voice eased both shyness and shame, and she opened her eyes to see him shaking his head at her. ‘Our marriage will be consummated quite soon, I believe.’

Frowning, she drew back. ‘Sir, just because we have shared a kiss does not mean I will marry you. We have not yet decided, we might discover we loathe each other.’

A dark brow lifted. He tucked a wayward curl back under her veil and crooked his arm at her. ‘As you say, my lady. Shall we go back into the hall and see what Helvise has found us in the way of refreshment?’