Читать книгу The Welshman's Bride - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 9

Chapter Two

“By God, I’ll kill you!”

Still half-asleep and completely naked, Dylan rolled over and stared at the enraged Lord Perronet at the door of his bedchamber.

The man’s face was as red as a cherry and—most surprising of all—he was fumbling for the sword at his side.

Now wide-awake, Dylan reached for his own weapon, which should have been beside his bed. He halted in stunned shock as his hand encountered an unexpected mound.

That moved.

“Uncle?” Genevieve Perronet said as she sat up, holding the coverings over herself.

It was obvious that beneath those coverings, she was as naked as he.

“Anwyl!” he cried. “What—?”

“Varlet! Churl! I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done!” Lord Perronet roared, finally succeeding in drawing his sword.

Realizing the man seriously intended to attack him, Dylan leapt from the bed and frantically searched for his weapon.

What had he done with it last night?

What had he done last night, period!

He spotted his sword belt slung over the chair in the comrner and lunged for it as Lord Perronet charged toward him.

Genevieve screamed. Dylan grabbed his sheath and drew his sword, whirling around and jumping out of the way of Perronet’s blow without a moment to spare.

“Stop! Uncle, please! Stop!” Genevieve cried.

“Quiet, woman!” Perronet bellowed.

Dylan crouched in a defensive stance, ignoring Genevieve and keeping his gaze firmly on his opponent. He could tell Lord Perronet had not wielded a sword in some time. Nevertheless, even an unskilled man could be dangerous with a heavy broadsword.

“Dylan, my love, don’t hurt him!”

Dylan glanced at Genevieve, then back to her enraged uncle. “Put up your sword, my lord, for I warn you, I will defend myself.”

“You defiler of women! Base, despicable lout!” Perronet shouted. “I should have known! Your father was the same, and his father before him!”

A muscle in Dylan’s jaw started to twitch. “Be careful what you say to me, old man. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll kill you if you insult me again.”

“It is you who have insulted the honor of my family!” Perronet cried. “Your family hasn’t had any honor in a hundred years!”

“Shut it, Perronet, or God help me, I’ll run you through!”

“Dylan! Uncle!”

“Do you think everyone’s forgotten about your lout of a father, you bastard?” Perronet snarled as they circled each other. “We all know the stories of his rapes and thievery and dishonor! A scoundrel from a line of scoundrels—and you are just the same!”

With a bellow like an angry bear, Dylan lifted his sword to strike.

“Please, don’t!” Genevieve shouted.

Dylan hesitated at her distressed plea, and in that moment, Perronet moved out of range of Dylan’s blow.

“What in the name of God is going on?” Baron DeLanyea demanded from the door.

The combatants ignored the baron and continued to circle each other warily.

“Baron DeLanyea!” Genevieve cried, relieved by his presence, for surely her uncle and the man she loved would not come to blows if the baron interceded.

The baron looked at her, the brow over his remaining eye rising with surprise, and she modestly pulled the bedclothes up to her chin.

She had been expecting some kind of confrontation between her uncle and Dylan. That was necessary—but she had never imagined that her uncle would try to kill him.

“I said,” the baron repeated in a voice as firm and cold as iron, “what is going on?”

“Your nephew has seduced my niece!” Perronet replied. “That rogue of a bastard has ruined her!”

The baron ran his gaze over Genevieve again, and this time, she thought she saw something other than surprise and dismay.

Disrespect?

She flushed hotly at that notion, but told herself there was no help for it. She had to break the betrothal with Lord Kirkheathe and sneaking into Dy-lan’s bed had seemed the easiest way.

Of course, it would not be without some damage to her reputation, but that would happen however she contrived to break the betrothal.

“Dylan, is this true?” the baron asked with amazing calm, given the circumstances.

“No! I have no idea how she came to be in my bed!”

“You do not know?”

“You lying bastard!” Perronet charged.

“Say that again, and I will kill you,” Dylan growled.

Wrapping herself in the bedclothes, for her folded clothes were on a chest on the other side of the room, Genevieve clambered from the bed. “Please, don’t fight. This can be settled—”

“Look there! What more evidence do you need?” Perronet demanded, pointing with his sword to the dried drops of blood Genevieve had squeezed from her pricked fingertip onto the bottom sheet.

“We will simply have to be married,” Genevieve said.

“What?” Dylan gasped, lowering his sword and staring at her, wide-eyed with...horror?

Her stomach knotted. “Yes. You love me. I love you. We...we spent the night together. We have to be married.”

He shook his head, his angry gaze boring into her. “Oh, no, we don’t.”

Now truly dismayed and fearful, she stammered, “You...you kissed me...and...”

“Quiet, Genevieve!” her uncle commanded as he marched toward the baron. “Your nephew, who is, I understand, also your foster son, has basely used and deceived my niece. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing—at the moment,” the baron replied just as calmly. “I suggest we let them get dressed and then we can discuss this...situation...in a more rational manner.

“Without swords,” he finished pointedly.

“She’s right. They’ll have to be married,” Perronet declared. “Lord Kirkheathe—”

The baron held up his hand, silencing him. “Please, Lord Perronet, let us take some time to calm ourselves. Then we can decide how best to proceed.”

Her uncle hesitated, then sheathed his sword while continuing to regard Dylan disdainfully. “Because you ask it of me. Baron, I will. But that whelp will make amends!”

With that, he reached out and grabbed Genevieve roughly by the arm.

“Come along, girl!” he growled, pulling her toward the door.

“My dress—”

“Leave it!” he snarled as he all but dragged her past the baron.

Dylan raised his sword again and took a step forward.

“Let them go,” the baron commanded. “Did you hear me, Dylan? Let them go!”

“He cannot treat her that way!”

“Get dressed.”

Dylan glanced down at his naked body. Without another word, he threw his sword on the bed and picked up his breeches, which were lying on the floor. He looked around for his tunic, noticing the unfamiliar clothing on the chest

Not unfamiliar, he corrected, for he recognized the gown Genevieve had worn last evening at the banquet, when he had done his best to avoid her.

He spotted his tunic stung over the chair and yanked it on.

“No matter what she’s done, he shouldn’t have been so rough with her,” he muttered before he stuck his head out of the garment.

“Her uncle has the right to treat her as he sees fit,” the baron replied, coming farther into the room. “What rights have you been enjoying?”

“Not that! I don’t know how she got in my bed.”

With a sinking heart, Dylan noted the skeptical quirk of the baron’s lips as he sat in the chair. He looked like a king about to dispense judgment.

He suddenly wished the baron’s wife were there. Lady Roanna’s serenity would be welcome at a time like this. Unfortunately, the baron’s ancient nurse was very ill; Lady Roanna had been tending to her when she was not involved in the preparations for the festivities surrounding Trystan’s knighting.

“He called me a bastard, that cur,” Dylan said defensively.

“You are a bastard,” the baron replied evenly.

“I know that!” Dylan replied. “But he had no right to impugn my honor.”

“He thinks he does, and the evidence is against you.”

“Don’t you think I would remember having a beauty like Genevieve Perronet in my arms?” Dy-lan protested, his arms akimbo. “I didn’t make love with her!”

“Sit down,” the baron ordered, pointing at the bed.

Dylan didn’t like the coldness of his uncle’s tone.

Nevertheless, he had been told to sit, and that was some cause for comfort. When he had been naughty as a child, he had been kept standing while he was chastised.

Of course, this situation was different from stealing apples or sneaking out of the castle at night, and he wasn’t ten years old anymore.

When he was seated, the baron said, “You can see how this looks, Dylan. She was naked in your bed.”

“I never touched her. At least, not last night.”

The baron reached up to scratch the scar that extended beneath his brown leather eye patch. “But before then? What were you up to with Genevieve Perronet?”

“Nothing—or nothing much. I certainly never said I wanted her to break her betrothal, and God knows I never invited her to my bed. You have to believe that, Uncle. I’ve never seduced a woman with a promise of marriage.”

“Good thing, or you would have been married at fourteen.”

The baron’s remark, although grimly said, made Dylan relax a little more. “I honestly have no idea how she came to be in my bed, naked or otherwise.”

“That is what I find most surprising of all. Is it possible you could have brought her here without remembering? Were you drunk last night?”

“I had some wine and ale, and I was very tired. But I’m certain I would have remembered making love.”

Indeed, as he recalled the perfect pale flesh of Genevieve’s shoulders and the pretty tumble of her blond hair, he knew he would have remembered. “She must have come into my bed after I was asleep.”

“I suppose that might be possible,” the baron replied with a dubious expression. “How do you explain the blood on the sheets?”

“I don’t. I can’t—because I don’t know how it came to be there. Maybe I’ve got a cut someplace and it bled.”

“That’s possible. Did you look?”

“Not yet.”

“Lord Perronet will no doubt want to see such a cut, if it exists.”

Dylan regarded the baron steadily. “There was no need for him to try to kill me, or to manhandle Genevieve that way.”

“Put yourself in his place, Dylan. He manages to get her betrothed to one of the most powerful men in the north of England, and then he finds her in your bed.”

“I didn’t—”

The baron nodded patiently. “I believe you. But he may not. He hardly knows you.”

“He seems to know of me, or at least my family,” Dylan replied dourly.

“Your grandfather was well-known, and your father had a certain...”

“Infamy,” Dylan provided.

“Yes. So you see, he knows no good of your family. When he saw her in that bed, the poor fellow must have nearly died of shock. God’s wounds, I almost did myself when I got here.”

“How did he come to find us together?” Dylan asked suspiciously. “Who told him Genevieve was with me?”

“I don’t think anybody did. It was rather obvious last night that she could hardly keep her eyes off you.”

“I gave her no encouragement last night. I didn’t dance with her, or even say a word.”

“Perhaps not, but if a man finds a girl missing, and that girl is clearly attracted to a personable young man, his thoughts might tend to certain conclusions.”

Dylan sighed heavily as he ran his hand through his thick hair. “That’s why I tried to ignore her last night.”

“Regrettably, your actions did not have the effect you intended.”

The baron leaned toward him. “What happened between you before last night, Dylan? It’s clear she thought if the betrothal was broken, you would wed her. Did you give her cause to think you wanted to marry her if she was free?”

Dylan smote his forehead. “God’s holy heart, that’s why she did it—to break the betrothal!”

“Obviously. Did you tell her that?”

“Anwyl, no! I said I would be sorry to see her leave or some such thing.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else!”

“What else did you do?”

“I...there may have been some kissing,” he muttered, looking at his feet.

“Kissing?”

“Passionate kissing,” he confessed.

“Just kissing?”

“A little more.”

“What ‘little more’?”

Frustrated, Dylan raised his eyes and regarded the baron resolutely. “You’re a man. You can guess. But I never made love to her, or even got close to it.”

“Dylan,” the baron began not unkindly, “do you never stop to think? Lady Genevieve has been with Lady Katherine DuMonde the past eight years. I doubt she’s even talked to many men that whole time. Now she’s traveling to be married to a man she’s never seen, and who she knows is not young. They stop here, and who does she meet but you?

“I won’t be telling you anything you don’t already know when I say you’re as handsome a young man as she’s ever likely to meet, and—” he grinned for an instant “—you’ve got a merry devilry that reminds me of myself at your age, so I know how attractive that quality can be.

“I do not doubt that you’ve grievously underestimated the effect you had on her,” he continued, serious again. “She thought you liked her more than you intended, and saw a way to get out of a marriage she didn’t want.”

“I suppose I should have listened to Griffydd,” Dylan muttered.

“What does Griffydd have to do with this?”

Dylan shrugged. “He tried to warn me, but I...”

“Yes, you should have paid attention,” the baron replied. “But that is past. The question before us now is, what can we say to assuage her uncle?”

“I won’t be forced to marry her just to save her honor, which she compromised,” Dylan warned.

“You know I am not a proponent of forced marriages, for any reason,” the baron replied. “We must think of a way to let the marriage to Lord Kirkheathe proceed as planned.”

As the baron regarded the silent young man he had known from his birth, his brow furrowed with concern. “You do want the marriage to Kirkheathe to proceed?”

Dylan shrugged again. “Naturally. But after all the racket Lord Perronet made, her reputation may already be too seriously ruined. Kirkheathe might spurn her.”

“That is true.” The baron sighed.

“Unless I can convince Lord Perronet that I did not make love to his niece and so there is no reason she cannot marry Kirkheathe.”

“You will convince him?”

Feeling a certain amount of guilt over what he had done with Genevieve, he nodded. “I will try.”

“So there is no reason at all she cannot marry Kirkheathe?”

Dylan rose and faced his foster father. “If there is, it is only in her own mind.”

“Or heart, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed after a short silence.

“Well, then,” the baron said, rising. “I suggest you waste no time. The longer Lord Perronet is on the rampage, the worse the damage to Lady Genevieve’s reputation will be.”

Dylan nodded and turned to go.

Before he could leave, the baron reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “She seems a sweet girl, if misguided. Do not fault her too much for her foolishness.”

Dylan smiled his irrepressible smile. “Because she claims to be in love with me, I will be chivalry itself when I talk to her.”

Then a scowl replaced the smile as he strode from the room.

“As for her uncle, I can make no such promises.”

Having hastily dressed in a gown of what she considered a most appropriate black, Genevieve sat staring at her hands folded on her lap. Her uncle was going to be here at any moment, and she was doing her best to compose herself.

It was not easy. Indeed, if someone were to offer her a means of being spirited out of Craig Fawr to the farthest reaches of Europe, she would consider herself the most fortunate of beings.

Sadly, no such miraculous event was in the offing.

And yet it was not shame and sorrow that filled her heart at the moment. It was a fierce and righteous anger, because she had been tricked by a clever rogue bent only on his own amusement

She never should have trusted Dylan DeLanyea’s kisses and his smiles and his sorrowful words. She should have remembered Lady Katherine’s admonitions that most young men were scheming, lustful rascals best avoided.

To think she had believed that he loved her! That his passionate kisses meant that he cared. Instead, as she had discovered to her horror and her shame, he had only been toying with her and amusing himself at her expense.

She should have been a dutiful niece and gladly gone to her marriage instead of climbing into a bed beside a naked and softly snoring Welshman who had promised her... nothing.

And she never should have cut her own finger to make it look as if she had bled. That was something one of the other girls at Lady Katherine’s claimed would happen the first time she lay with a man. That girl had lost her virginity some time before to a soldier in her father’s employ.

How she had looked down on Cecily Debarry after she had heard that, Genevieve thought, disgusted with herself as she remembered. That was how people would think of her now, as a sinful, immoral creature—and it was Dylan DeLanyea’s fault!

“Are you dressed?” her uncle demanded from the other side of the door.

“Yes,” she answered, rising and steeling herself for his anger. She would try to tell him the truth—that she was a virgin still—and her reasons for the deception, but she had little hope that he would listen.

What hope she had was squelched the moment her uncle marched into the chamber. He was still so angry, his hawklike face seemed filled with fury and his brown eyes fairly snapped with wrath as he slammed the heavy door shut.

Explanations would be useless. How could she save herself from his ire?

Quickly she knelt before him in an attitude of humble contrition, her anger masked, her head lowered, pressing her palms together as if she were praying—and she was, silently begging God to help her from this morass she had created.

“Uncle, I beg your forgiveness for my shameful conduct,” she murmured contritely. “I am very sorry.”

“So you should be.”

Noting that he didn’t sound quite so angry, she risked a glance up at him, and thought she saw a crack in the veneer of wrath.

“I was weak and foolish.”

Because I thought he loved me.

“All women are weak and foolish,” her uncle growled. “It is their nature.”

“I regret that I have sinned so grievously.”

And trusted him.

“You could not help it, I suppose,” he said, slightly mollified. “Like Eve when she was tempted by a snake.”

She tentatively raised her eyes to regard him.

“I suppose the betrothal to Lord Kirkheathe must be broken?” she asked with very real remorse.

She had never met the man, did not know him—but could marriage to him make her feel any worse?

“He very specifically wanted a virgin,” her uncle muttered as he strolled to the window and stared out, unseeing.

Genevieve swallowed hard. That did not make the man sound any more attractive; still, what alternatives existed?

“You will have to marry DeLanyea.”

She stared at him. “After what he did?”

Her uncle turned to face her. “We have little choice.”

“Lord Kirkheathe lives far away. Rumors may not reach him, so he need not know—”

Her uncle’s fierce scowl silenced her. “I will know, and I gave the man my word that you were a virgin. Besides, Kirkheathe hears everything one way or another. Since you are no longer pure, honor demands that I break the contract, just as honor demands that DeLanyea marry you after what he has done.”

“But I do not want to marry him now!”

“You wanted him enough last night to dishonor yourself,” he noted, glaring at her.

“I... I was overwhelmed by him. I made a mistake. I should not have done it.”

“Girl, get it through your head. Your reputation is irrevocably destroyed—unless he marries you.”

She got to her feet.

“Uncle,” she said resolutely, “I am a virgin still. It was a ruse to break the betrothal. I crept into his bed last night when he was already asleep.”

Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Did that bastard tell you to say that?”

“No! It is the truth. I thought he loved me and would want to marry me if I were free. Clearly, I made a serious error,” she finished bitterly.

“Yes, you did,” her uncle concurred grimly. “Whatever stupid thing you thought, this is not some childish prank, easily mended. Easily forgiven.”

It was unfortunately obvious that he did not believe her explanation.

“There is only one way out of this with even a hint of honor. You must and shall marry Dylan DeLanyea, and now I will ensure that is what comes to pass.”

He started for the door.

“I would rather die!”

He halted, then wheeled slowly on his heel to regard her dispassionately, as if she were a stranger to him. “There is a window. Jump.”

Appalled at his cold remark, she could only stare at him.

“I thought you would not,” he muttered as he left her.

After he closed the door, she heard the sound of a key in the lock.

Smking down on the chair, she put her head in her hands.

And cursed herself for a fool.