Читать книгу The Warlord's Bride - Margaret Moore - Страница 10

HE WAS MADOC AP GRUFFYDD? This young, strong, arrogant fellow was the man King John expected her to marry?

She felt for the bench and sat heavily. She could reconcile herself to a marriage to an older man, especially a friendly and generous one. But marriage to an arrogant, virile warrior, who could prove to be as violent and cruel as her first husband? That she could never accept.

“Uncle, what have you been doing?” the young Welshman asked of the man they’d assumed was Madoc ap Gruffydd.

“Welcoming your guests, since you weren’t here yourself,” the older man replied without a hint of remorse. “Proper introductions must have slipped my mind, what with the surprise and the lady’s beauty.” He smiled at Roslynn. “I’m Lloyd ap Iolo, Madoc’s uncle. I’m in charge of Llanpowell when Madoc’s on patrol.”

Lord Alfred glared at the man who’d welcomed them. “What sort of Welsh trickery is this?”

The real Lord Madoc regarded Lord Alfred with undisguised scorn. “There was no trickery or deceit. My uncle is in command of Llanpowell when I’m absent, and I count on him to act as host in my stead. If he says he forgot to introduce himself, that is the truth. No insult was intended.”

“Aye, a mistake, that’s all, what with the unexpectedness of your arrival, you see,” the older man assured them.

“Uncle, will you be so good as to pour the lady a drink?” the young lord of Llanpowell ordered. “She looks a little faint.”

Roslynn was not weak or dizzy. If anything, she had never felt more alive—with furious indignation. Once again, a man had deceived her, and although the explanation seemed harmless and plausible, it nevertheless implied disrespect.

Unfortunately, because she was a woman and a guest, and considering the reason she was here, she was in no position to voice her true feelings, so she silently accepted the goblet of wine Lloyd ap Iolo held out to her.

The young man walked to the chair and sat upon it as if he were a king upon his throne. “I apologize for any distress this mistake may have caused you,” he said, not looking the least bit sorry. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to explain why you’ve come to Llanpowell, Lord Alfred.”

“I’ve been trying to,” the Norman nobleman snarled.

“I’m at your disposal, my lord,” Madoc ap Gruffydd replied with exaggerated politeness.

Again she felt as if they were being treated with contempt, and her indignation increased.

Lord Alfred clearly felt that way, too, but he answered with the civility of a man used to the hypocrisy of the court. “King John is grateful for your help defeating the rebellion planned by Wimarc de Werre.”

Lord Alfred then paused, as if giving Lord Madoc time to appreciate the king’s magnanimity.

“His gratitude I can do without,” Lord Madoc remarked instead. “What about the payment I was promised?” His glance flicked to Roslynn and his lips jerked up into a disdainful smile. “Are you about to tell me Lady Roslynn is my reward?”

Roslynn flushed, but met his scornful gaze steadily. “As a matter of fact, my lord, I am.”

She had the brief satisfaction of seeing the arrogant lord of Llanpowell look as stunned as she’d felt when she found out who he was.

“Lady Roslynn and her dowry are indeed your reward,” Lord Alfred clarified.

“Dowry? Did he say dowry?” Lloyd ap Iolo asked as his nephew stared at Roslynn like a man who’d been struck over the head with a heavy object.

“Her dowry consists of eight hundred marks in silver and jewels, as well as many fine household goods,” Lord Alfred added.

Madoc ap Gruffydd launched himself out of his chair as if he’d been set ablaze. “I was promised money for my aid, not a wife! I want no wife, especially one chosen by another man.”

Hope surged through Roslynn. He was going to refuse! She would be spared another terrible marriage and the king couldn’t blame her.

Lord Alfred rose, nearly apoplectic with ire. “How dare you reject—?”

He took a deep breath and got his rage under control. “Think wisely, Welshman, before you reject what King John so generously offers. It is Lady Roslynn and her dowry, or nothing.”

“Be reasonable, Madoc,” his uncle urged. “That’s a lot of money, that dowry, and it’s time you married again.”

Again?

“And although you’ve got one son already, more would be better.”

He had a son?

“I don’t marry at any man’s command, or to breed children,” Lord Madoc replied, “and I won’t have any woman forced to marry me, either.”

As if a woman’s wishes could possibly matter to a man like him.

“Lady Roslynn is not being forced,” Lord Alfred said, turning toward her. “Tell him, my lady. Tell him that you came here of your own free will and you’ll marry him of your own free will.”

Roslynn would much rather have kept silent and let them argue, but since she had been appealed to, she answered truthfully. “I was not threatened or starved or tortured until I agreed to this proposal. However, it was do as the king bid, or stay at his court, and I was very keen to leave it.”

“My lady!” Lord Alfred gasped, as if no one had ever wished to be away from the king and his court before.

She ignored the Norman who had brought her here, treating her as little better than a box or barrel, and addressed the Welsh lord and his uncle. “I would have agreed to anything if it meant I could leave the court.

“I am also still a young woman and I desire a home and children. I’m well aware that as a traitor’s widow, I will be no man’s first choice, so I acquiesced to the king’s command and hoped for the best.

“But you should know, my lord, that this offer costs John nothing. The dowry is not even as much as I brought into my first marriage. All that money and property became my husband’s, and thus forfeit to the crown when he was convicted and executed for treason. John adds nothing of his own. The king sends me to you as he would a worn gown to a beggar.”

Lord Alfred looked as if he might explode. “My lady! That’s not—”

“It is the truth, my lord, and we both know it,” she firmly interrupted. She folded her hands in her lap, feigning a serenity she certainly didn’t feel. “I would have Lord Madoc know it, too.”

As the Welsh nobleman studied her, she grew warm, and it was not from embarrassment. He was an attractive, handsome man, even if he had a hot temper, hair to his shoulders like a savage and dressed little better than one of his men-at-arms.

In that, he was the opposite of Wimarc, who had worn the finest silks and expensive fabrics and kept his hair in the smooth Norman fashion. Wimarc never looked as if he’d just returned from riding hell-bent across the open moor.

“I appreciate your honesty, my lady,” Lord Madoc said, his lips curving up a little, his tone somewhat conciliatory, “although you underestimate yourself. You are a far cry from a worn garment.”

That little hint of a smile and his compliment could not touch her. His deep voice could not affect her. She would not be tempted by this man, no matter how he looked or spoke. She would fight the arousal that bloomed within her, the same weakness that had led her eagerly into an evil man’s arms. Nor would she respond to his flattery.

“What will happen to the lady if we don’t marry?” Lord Madoc asked Lord Alfred.

“We shall both return to court to inform John of your refusal,” the Norman tensely answered.

“No, we will not, my lord.”

Roslynn had foreseen this eventuality and had already decided what she must and would do, whether Lord Alfred approved or not. “You and my dowry may return, Lord Alfred, but I would rather give myself to the church than go back to the king’s court.”

Lord Alfred stared at her as if this was the most outrageous proposal in the world. “But the king—”

“Should have no cause to complain. I have done what he commanded. If Lord Madoc rejects me, the king cannot say I disobeyed. If you fear to return without me, tell John I fell into melancholy and only the promise of a life as a bride of Christ could revive my spirits. No doubt the return of my dowry will help to ease any other disappointment he may feel.”

The lord of Llanpowell resumed his seat. “It appears the lady and I are in agreement, at least on this point. We will neither of us marry simply because King John wishes it.”

Lord Alfred’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “May I remind you both it is never wise to antagonize a king?”

“Perhaps it isn’t wise of John to antagonize me,” Lord Madoc retorted. “I doubt he can afford to lose the friendship of any man who has alliances in the Marches.

“Fortunately, I have not yet refused the king’s gift. She’s a beautiful woman, after all. Bold, too, and while some men like their women placid, I don’t. I prefer a woman who speaks her mind, as this lady so obviously does. So I may yet accept her.”

Surely he didn’t mean that! How could he be so adamantly opposed to the king’s offer one moment, then acquiesce the next—unless the thought of the dowry was too appealing to decline.

“However, as I said, the lady must be willing.”

Which she was not and never would be, no matter how handsome he was.

He must be trying to put the responsibility—and the blame—for thwarting John’s plans back onto her.

“This is ridiculous! She’s only a woman!” Lord Alfred protested. “She has no right to an opinion.”

“In my hall she does,” Lord Madoc replied. “Well, my lady? What say you?”

She would not be caught in his trap, so if he expected her to say yea or nay, he was mistaken. “We have only just arrived,” she said instead. “Must I give my answer now?”

“No,” Lord Madoc said at once. “We should both take time to decide whether or not we’ll suit.”

She already knew the answer to that, and unless she was mistaken, he did, too.

“I should return to the king without delay,” Lord Alfred declared. “He is most anxious to have this settled.”

“He’s had months to fulfill his bargain, so I think he can wait a few more days,” the lord of Llanpowell replied as he got to his feet. “You can blame the Welsh weather if you need a reason, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should find my steward and tell him important guests have arrived. Uncle, please see to the accommodations for Lord Alfred and his men.”

“Aye, nephew, gladly!” the older man said with a broad grin.

“Bron,” Lord Madoc continued, “show Lady Roslynn to the bedchamber in the south tower. She’ll want to rest until the evening meal.”

ALTHOUGH DISPLEASED by Madoc of Llanpowell’s arrogant dismissal and subsequent swift exit, Roslynn was glad to be alone. She needed solitude and quiet to consider all that had happened since arriving in this place.

The upper chamber the maidservant took her to was surprisingly comfortable, if a little dusty. The furnishings—curtained bed, small wooden table, stool and washstand—were old, but well polished. The linen bed curtains, dyed a vibrant blue, hung from bronze rings. No ewer or linen were on the washstand, suggesting this room had not been used recently.

Perhaps it was kept only for guests, and the lord had a finer chamber in another part of the castle.

She strolled toward the narrow window and looked outside. She could see only the inner wall—hardly an inspiring view.

On the other hand, perhaps she had seen all she needed to of this castle and estate, since she probably wouldn’t be staying here much longer.

Although she didn’t want to anger the king by a direct refusal, she would if she must. She would rather face John’s wrath than marry a hot-tempered, possibly violent man who would make her miserable. She had lived that life once; she wouldn’t again.

She heard the sound of heavy boots coming quickly up the stairs and turned toward the door just as Lord Alfred barged inside.

“By the saints, my lady,” he declared as he strode uninvited into the chamber, “to think I ever felt sorry for you!”

He came to a halt, arms akimbo, glaring at her. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am Lady Roslynn de Werre, the daughter of Lady Eloise and Lord James de Briston,” she answered, not afraid of Lord Alfred or his anger. He had very little real power over her here, so far from the king.

Her calm response didn’t ease Lord Alfred’s aggravation. “What sort of tricks are you playing at, my lady? You made nary a squeak in protest the whole way here!”

“I play no tricks. As I said, I’m not averse to the marriage—only to returning to court if Lord Madoc doesn’t want me. You know the sort of men John has about him. Is it any wonder I’m loath to return?”

Lord Alfred didn’t answer directly, no doubt because he did know the sort of men John had about him. “You should have told the king of your feelings.”

As if John would care. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “As he should have told me more about Madoc ap Gruffydd.”

“So you could find excuses not to do as the king wills?”

“To know what manner of man I was expected to marry. He appears to be a hot-tempered savage who finds it amusing to make us look like fools. I especially should have been told he already had a son, as any sons I would bear him wouldn’t inherit his estate, but only a portion of it.”

“Any children I have will inherit equally, except for the title,” the savage himself declared from the doorway.

Both Roslynn and Lord Alfred wheeled around to see Lord Madoc standing on the threshold, his arms crossed.

God help her, how much had he heard?

“That’s a decision I made before I had any children at all and I’ll stand by it, should I be blessed to have more,” he continued as he sauntered into the chamber. He raised an inquisitive black brow. “Might I ask what you’re doing in the lady’s chamber, my lord?”

Lord Alfred drew himself up to his full height. “As the king’s representative, I have every right to speak to her in private.”

“Not in my castle you don’t.”

The Norman couldn’t look more offended if he’d been struck across the face. “I’m an honorable man!”

“So you say, but words are cheap.”

“Then hear me,” Roslynn declared, her own anger rising. “Whatever my late husband was, I’m an honorable woman and there is nothing unseemly between Lord Alfred and me!”

“So I should hope.”

“Lord Madoc,” she snapped, “if you have only come here to insult us—”

“I came here to speak with you, my lady, preferably without the king’s lackey present.”

“My lord!” Lord Alfred huffed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, “I am the king’s representative and so responsible for Lady Roslynn. Unless and until you are wed, you may not be alone with her.”

The Welshman’s brows lowered menacingly. “Do you think I’ll force myself upon her?”

Fighting the fear his words engendered, the visions and memories they roused, Roslynn began to back away, reaching for the dagger she had tucked into her belt. It was small, but lethally sharp, and she would use it if she had to. Never again would she let a man use her as he would. Never.

“She is under the king’s protection!” Lord Alfred exclaimed, likewise reaching for his blade.

“Who, I gather, forces himself on women all the time, even the wives and daughters of his own courtiers,” the Welshman replied. “And why should I not risk it, if you would have us wed? The lady would surely not refuse me if I did.”

God help her! He might be even worse than Wimarc.

Lord Alfred drew his sword and moved in front of her. “You touch her at your peril, Welshman. She is in my care, and I will protect her honor with my life.”

For one breathtaking moment, she feared they would come to blows, until the lord of Llanpowell slowly let out his breath and shook himself, not unlike a great shaggy bear, as his anger seemed to dissipate. “Your defense of the lady does you credit, Lord Alfred. You can put up your sword, for her virtue is quite safe with me. I’ve never forced myself upon a woman and I never will.

“Unfortunately, I find it almost impossible to tell if a Norman’s honorable or not. Now I’m sure you are.”

Roslynn shoved Lord Alfred aside. “Was this some sort of trial, you Welsh oaf, to determine Lord Alfred’s honor—or mine?” she demanded, her whole body quivering with rage. “Perhaps you hoped to find me in Lord Alfred’s arms, the better to reject me and seek a different reward from the king? How unfortunate for you that your plan was doomed to fail, for I value my honor as much as any man.” She pointed at the door. “Get out!”

He raised a brow, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Get out!” she forcefully repeated, and when he still didn’t move, she pulled the dagger from her belt.

In two strides the lord of Llanpowell crossed the floor and grabbed her forearm. He looked like an enraged god, angrier than she’d ever seen any man, even Wimarc when he was captured. Terrified, she cried out and twisted away, protecting her head with her other arm as she anticipated the hard blow, the curses and the kicks that would come.

Instead, she heard his voice, quiet yet strained, firm but steady, as he let go of her. “I’m not going to strike you, my lady, although you drew a blade and I have every right to defend myself, even from a woman.”

Although she had never met him before, he sounded sincere and she choked back her fear. “I drew my knife because I will never again allow a man to take me against my will.”

Lord Madoc’s eyes flared with surprise, then what had to be pity, as if she were a poor, pathetic thing.

“I wasn’t raped by a stranger,” she hurried to explain. “It was no thief or outlaw who outraged me. It was my husband. Our bed was only for his pleasure, never mine.”

Lord Alfred flushed. “If he was your husband, it was his right to—”

“Leave us, my lord,” Lord Madoc ordered. “I will speak to this lady alone and I will not touch her.”

Roslynn saw the truth of his promise in those deep brown eyes that seemed to reveal every flicker of emotion. This might also be her one and only chance to secure her freedom. Therefore, she would take it, and if she was wrong to trust those eyes, she still had her dagger.

Lord Alfred wasn’t willing to acquiesce. “It is most—”

“My lord, please,” Roslynn insisted.

Lord Alfred sheathed his sword. “Very well, I shall go, but know you this, my lord. I will not be kept waiting like a dog on a leash. In two days, I return to court with Lady Roslynn, or without her. However, if this marriage does not take place, rest assured that I shall not be held responsible!”