Читать книгу The Unwilling Bride - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 12

ON MAY DAY MORNING, CONSTANCE stood beside Merrick on a raised platform that had been erected at the edge of the village green.

In the center of the green was the Maypole, with its bright ribbons and wildflowers and, gathered around it, the villagers and tenants of Tregellas, as well as the garrison soldiers not on duty. Tumblers and other entertainers were at the far end of the green, stretching and preparing as they waited for the lord to select the Queen of the May.

The uncles, Henry, Ranulf and Beatrice were on the dais with Merrick and Constance, and it seemed the excitement of the crowd had transferred itself to Beatrice and Henry, at least. Beatrice’s eyes glowed with delight, and Henry had been making jokes the whole way from the castle. The uncles stood with appropriately serious lordly dignity, while Ranulf regarded the celebrations with cynical amusement.

“Which one is Annice?”

Fanning herself with her hand, for the day was sunny and warm for May, Constance answered Merrick’s query. “She’s beside the chandler’s stall.”

“And that young man holding her hand is Eric?”

“Yes.”

“Merrick, why don’t you get this moving along and declare Lady Constance the Queen of the May?” Henry suggested, moving closer. “I’m parched from the heat already.”

“As much as I would like to give my bride that honor, I’ve been informed I should choose another, for the sake of peace,” Merrick said to his friend.

Henry’s eyes widened with surprise for an instant, then he shrugged and said, “What about Beatrice then? She’s very pretty.”

Beatrice reddened and started to giggle.

“No,” Merrick brusquely replied.

Beatrice’s face fell.

“A choice from the village will please the people of Tregellas,” Constance explained to the disappointed Beatrice and her champion.

She gave Beatrice a comforting smile. “You shouldn’t begrudge one of the village girls the chance to be the center of attention. One day, you’ll have a great wedding, with feasting and dancing and music and guests from all over England. You’ll be far more important than a Queen of the May that day.”

Beatrice brightened. “Like you, on your wedding day.”

Fortunately, Merrick spoke, sparing Constance the necessity of answering. “Constance thinks Annice would be best, so Annice it will be,” he said with quiet force.

Then he unexpectedly reached for Constance’s hand, an act that would surely be interpreted by all in the village as a confirmation that she was eager to have him for her husband.

Unfortunately, he held her tight, and short of yanking her hand from his firm grasp, she had no recourse but to let him continue holding it.

“Good people of Tregellas,” Merrick called out, his gruff, strong voice carrying easily in the warm spring air, “it is my honor today to choose the Queen of the May. After consulting with Lady Constance, I have made my decision. This year, your queen shall be Annice, the chandler’s daughter.”

A cacophony of cheers and happy murmurings went up from the gathering, enabling Constance to relax a little. Her choice had been as well received as she’d hoped.

Merrick, too, seemed pleased as he looked at Constance and squeezed her hand. Given what holding her hand might signify, she should be annoyed. But she wasn’t, until she wondered if that firm grasp signified possession, too.

Looking both wary and proud enough to burst his tunic lacings, Eric led a blushing Annice to the dais. When they arrived, Merrick gravely held out a plain silver ring as her prize—something Constance hadn’t expected. She wasn’t sure what to make of the gift as Annice hesitantly reached for it, her big green eyes staring up into Merrick’s dark brown ones.

“Go ahead, my girl,” Henry said jovially. “He won’t bite—unless you want him to.”

Appalled, Constance gasped. Annice turned pale and Eric glared, while Merrick glowered at his friend.

Henry smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. I, um, forgot that I’m, um…”

“A fool?” Merrick snapped. He quickly turned back and addressed the young woman. “Don’t be afraid, Annice,” he said, his deep voice appeasing. “Your virtue is safe from me and—” he darted another sharp glance at Henry “—my men.”

He raised his voice. “I would have all in Tregellas know that your women have nothing to fear from me. As your overlord, their honor is mine to protect, not destroy. If any of my men ever harm you or your wives or children, you are to come and tell me, without fear that further trouble will befall you. As long as you obey the law, I promise to do my utmost to fulfill my duty to you, as I hope you will fulfill yours to me.”

He again took hold of Constance’s hand. “With my gentle lady wife to guide me, I hope to rule you well, with justice and clemency, as my father did not.”

As the assembly burst out cheering, Constance pulled her hand from his. He spoke as if she’d consented, or as if his offer of freedom had been bogus all along.

Seething with anger and indignation, she cursed herself for a weak-willed, lust-addled fool. Just because his touch and his kisses aroused her desire, she mustn’t forget what she feared—that he would prove to be a second version of his hated father.

Merrick turned to Henry, who was whispering something to Beatrice that made her giggle.

“I would speak with you, Henry,” he said in a tone that, even in the midst of her own concerns, made Constance shiver.

Henry, however, merely rolled his eyes. “God’s wounds, Merrick, it was a slip of the tongue.”

“So you said. Will you never learn to think before you speak? Your stupid jest could have cost me dear.”

“Well, obviously it didn’t,” Henry said, nodding at the crowd.

Several villagers clustered around Annice and Eric, admiring her ring. Two girls were trying to get a circlet of flowers to stay on the queen’s glossy tresses, laughing as it fell first to one side, then another. Others had already retired to the alehouse and tavern, where the innkeeper had set up tables and benches outside so his customers could observe the entertainers. Several couples were beginning a round dance near the Maypole, and children were anxiously and eagerly gathered there, waiting for that part of the festivities to begin. Many were already eating sweetmeats and other treats, to judge by the remainders around their mouths.

Henry turned to Beatrice and Constance for support. “It wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

Not unexpectedly, Beatrice smiled and shook her head. Constance, however, was not so inclined to agree. “The women here have had good cause to fear their overlord in the past. Your jest might have made them think their days of dread were not yet over.”

“I must have these people’s trust, Henry,” Merrick said. “I can’t allow anyone to undermine it.”

“Of course I understand that—”

“No, I don’t think you do, or the magnitude of the mistrust and hatred I have to overcome here if I’m to rule and my family be safe.”

“He’s right, you know,” Ranulf remarked before Henry could reply. “It wouldn’t be the first time a war got started over a few ill-chosen words.”

“Then maybe I ought to leave,” Henry said with obvious annoyance.

“Oh, surely not!” Beatrice cried, looking beseechingly from Constance to Merrick. “He didn’t mean any harm, my lord, and you’ve been such friends in the past, it would be terrible to break it off over such a little thing.” She gestured toward the green. “See? Nothing’s amiss. Everyone seems happy and content. Surely as long as Henry behaves honorably—which I’m certain he will—there’s no cause to banish him. Sir Henry will be more careful in the future, won’t you, Sir Henry?”

A swift glance at Lord Carrell told Constance her uncle was also suspicious of Beatrice’s defense of the roguish and handsome young knight.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Henry said with genial remorse. “I promise I’ll be as serious as a monk after a two-day fast from here on.”

“Then you may stay—provided you curb your tongue.”

Henry put his hand on his heart and bowed. “If I ever speak in a way that leads to trouble for you, you may cut it out.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Henry reddened, then smiled, although his eyes were not so merry.

Ranulf clapped a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Let’s go get some ale and watch the dancers, my swift-tongued friend.”

“Come, Beatrice,” Lord Carrell ordered as the two knights walked away.

Whatever Beatrice was thinking, she meekly followed her father from the dais. Lord Algernon bowed and hurried after them, leaving Constance alone with Merrick.

“I want to meet Peder,” he announced, to both her surprise and chagrin. She’d been hoping to abandon him.

“I don’t see him in the crowd, my lord,” she replied.

Merrick nodded toward the smithy. “Isn’t that Peder sitting outside the blacksmith’s?”

Since Merrick was, unfortunately, right, Constance had to agree. “Yes, but I don’t think you need me to—”

“I would prefer it.”

His words didn’t offer the possibility of refusal, so she silently led him toward the smithy, making easy progress because anyone who was in their path quickly got out of it.

Peder, whose eyesight was remarkably good for a man of his years, soon realized they were headed toward him, yet he made no move to stand until they reached him. Then he got to his feet, smiled and bowed to Constance. “My lady.” His expression hardened as he bowed to Merrick. “My lord.”

“Please, sit,” Merrick said in Cornish after Constance had made the introductions.

Peder and Constance exchanged surprised looks as Peder obeyed.

“I did spend the first ten years of my life here,” Merrick said in answer to their silent query, “so it shouldn’t come as a shock that I can speak the native tongue.”

“It’s been fifteen years,” Peder said, as if he suspected this was some kind of trick.

“I kept in practice by saying my prayers in Cornish,” Merrick explained. “But that’s not what I wish to discuss with you, Peder. I gather Lady Constance relies on you for information about the villagers.”

Constance stared at him with offended dismay. How had he come to that outrageous conclusion? She had never said that, nor would she ever betray the villagers’ trust.

“Lady Constance and me are friends, from when she was a girl,” Peder replied with scorn. “And neither of us are the sort to carry tales.”

“I meant no insult,” Merrick replied, glancing at Constance before again addressing Peder.

She wondered if he realized that he’d affronted her, too. Or cared if he had.

“I’d appreciate any guidance as to how I can best govern my people,” he said, “from a man who’s lived here all his life and has the respect of everyone.”

Was this a genuine request, or did he seek to flatter Peder into cooperation? Yet there was a tension in Merrick’s shoulders, as if he cared what Peder would do, or say, that seemed to belie that motive.

Peder regarded the nobleman steadily, without a hint of fear or favor, and Constance detected a note of pride in his voice when he answered. “It’s hard to tell what folks really think when you’re a great lord, I suppose. Too many tells ’em only what they want to hear.”

“A man in power needs trustworthy advisers,” Merrick agreed, his body still tense.

Would he heed a wife’s advice? Or would he pay attention to his betrothed’s views only until they were wed?

“You’d have me advise you, eh?” Peder asked, making no secret of his skepticism.

Merrick frowned, but she thought she saw disappointment lurking in his eyes, not anger. “I remember you from when I was a boy,” he said. “You were considered a good man. I could use the help of a good man.”

Constance hoped he never found out Peder had been smuggling out a significant portion of his tin for years.

“Please God, I’ll always be a good man, as much as one can be in these troubled times,” Peder said. His expression darkened. “But I’ll not spy on my friends.”

Merrick looked genuinely surprised. “Have I asked you to do so?”

What did he want, then?

“As I said, I remember you from before I left Tregellas,” Merrick continued. “I seek your help, if you’ll give it. Whether or not you do, I want to help you.” He went down on one knee so that he was looking directly into Peder’s face, his gaze searching for…what? Understanding? Agreement? “My father sinned greatly against your daughter, Peder, and caused your family much harm. I’m truly sorry for your loss. Although nothing can replace your daughter and her son, if there’s anything you ever need to make your days comfortable, you are to tell Constance or me, and I will see that you get it.”

Forgiveness? Was that what he was looking for in Peder’s aged face?

He didn’t get it.

Peder glared at him, anger furrowing his brow. “That can’t make up for what your father done.”

Disappointment flashed across Merrick’s face before he rose. “My offer stands, regardless,” he said before a loud, joyous cry coming from from the green made all three look that way.

“Unless I’m mistaken, my lady,” Merrick said, turning toward her, “they’re about to start the dance around the Maypole. I recall you were going to participate.”

“Can she still visit with me?” Peder demanded.

Merrick inclined his head. “Of course. I see no reason to forbid it. I’m grateful Lady Constance had such a friend while my father was alive.”

Peder got to his feet. “Then I’ll take her to the dancing, my lord.”

Merrick inclined his head. “Very well. I should discuss the boundary for the playing field with Sir Ranulf.”

Peder winked at Constance, although the look he gave Merrick when he addressed the lord of Tregellas was one of respect due to a nobleman. “Then good day to you, my lord.”

“Good day to you, Peder,” Merrick replied before heading toward the tavern where Sir Ranulf and Sir Henry were deep in discussion, and their ale.

“Look at ’im, the devil’s own spawn,” Peder muttered as he watched Merrick stride away. “Arrogant bastard. Handsome, like his father, and probably as sinful as his sire, too.” He slid Constance a sudden, piercing glance. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so free with my opinions.”

Constance couldn’t blame Peder for his hatred of the son of Wicked William, or the vices he believed Merrick would possess. She had been suspicious of him, too. How could she not be, remembering his father and all that he had done? Yet Merrick hadn’t acted the lascivious scoundrel since his arrival. The only woman he’d attempted to be intimate with, as far as she knew—and she would have heard—was herself. “Lord Merrick has given me his word that women will be safe from him.”

Peder scowled. “You think that means anything?”

Constance thought of Merrick’s tone and the look in his eyes when he vowed to respect her and to protect the women of Tregellas. “Yes, I do. At least, I hope so, and so far, he’s done nothing to make me believe otherwise. Maybe it’s because he was sent away from here so young. Perhaps Sir Leonard taught him to be a better man than his father ever could.”

“The boy decrees the man, my lady, and I’m old enough to know,” Peder declared as they walked toward the Maypole. “If that’s the Merrick who left Tregellas fifteen years ago, that’s a man you shouldn’t marry, or he’ll make you miserable, as his father did his poor mother. She was a gentle soul, and she thought she could change her husband. She found out quick enough she couldn’t, and many of us thought it a mercy she died giving birth to the boy.” Peder paused, and when he began again, his voice was thick with emotion. “You know what his father did to my daughter, my lady, and what became of her. Despair and disgrace and then…”

“Yes, Peder, I remember,” she said softly, squeezing his arm. “I will be wary. I promise. And there is something else I must tell you, while I have this chance. Merrick is determined to uphold the king’s laws against smuggling. You should cease for the time being, and pay taxes accordingly.”

“What, give all that money to the Norman king?”

“Lord Merrick may not prove to be as cruel and vindictive as his father, but until we know for certain, I think it would be best to be cautious. I appreciate that means less money for you, but that’s better than death, isn’t it?”

“That tax isn’t fair.”

“That’s why Alan de Vern and I were willing to turn a blind eye. Perhaps in time, Lord Merrick will come to appreciate that, but until then, I fear for your safety if you continue. Please, Peder, for my sake. You are like a grandfather to me and if anything happened to you…”

Peder looked at her with love in his steadfast brown eyes. “And you’re as dear to me as any granddaughter could be.” His gaze turned intense and he lowered his voice so she had to strain to hear him. “I think you should run, my lady. Run as far and as fast as you can from that Merrick.”

“I have thought of that, Peder,” she answered just as quietly. “But what would I do? Where would I go? How would I live?”

“I’m not the only one in the village who loves you like family, my lady. We know how many times you calmed the old lord when he was in one of his rages, and spared many a man’s life and a woman’s honor when you did. If you want to run away, come to me. We’ll help you get away and keep you safe.”

Although she was grateful for this offer, Constance felt no real relief or joy. If she got away, she would have to travel far before she could feel safe. She would be alone, in a strange land, among foreigners. She would be poor, for she wouldn’t take much from the villagers, who had little enough as it was.

Right now, that fate seemed far more lonely and frightening than…staying here.

Yet when she saw how anxious Peder was, she gave him a thankful smile. “I promise you, Peder, that if I decide to flee, I’ll come straight to you.”

“HURRY, CONSTANCE, HURRY, or the game’s going to be over!” Beatrice chided with bubbling enthusiasm as she led her cousin toward the river meadow a short while later.

“I think there’s plenty of time left,” Constance said, reluctantly following. She had no desire to lend her support to something she feared would end in disaster.

As they approached the mill, she was sure it had, for it sounded like a riot was already under way. Gathering up her skirts, she started to run.

“Wait! Wait for me!” Beatrice cried, hurrying after her.

“Go back to the castle,” Constance ordered over her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was for Beatrice to be involved in—

A cheering, extremely excited crowd?

That was what met her eyes as she rounded the mill and discovered groups of villagers gathered at the north edge of the meadow, shouting encouragement to the village men dashing about the field. Off-duty soldiers not involved in the game were gathered at the other end of the field, likewise shouting praise and suggestions to their fellows.

She came to a halt, panting. She was thrilled she was wrong, of course, but even so, one hard hit could still lead to trouble.

Beatrice stopped beside her. “I didn’t mean we had to run,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

“I misjudged the cheers,” Constance admitted. “I thought the men were fighting.”

“Oh,” Beatrice murmured, her attention now fully on the game.

Or at least the half-naked players, Constance realized with a bit of a jolt. For half-naked and sweating they certainly were.

She was no sheltered child, and neither was Beatrice. They’d seen half-naked men before, and men wearing even less working in the fields on a hot summer’s day. Nevertheless, the sight was certainly…disconcerting.

“I just hope nobody gets hurt,” she said, trying to pay attention to the game.

Beatrice gave her a confident smile. “They’ll all be careful, I’m sure. The garrison won’t want Merrick to be angry with them—which he would be if someone got hurt and he had to pay—and the villagers will be afraid to hurt the soldiers because they won’t want to anger Merrick, either.”

That was very likely true, Constance thought with some relief. Then she wondered why that hadn’t occurred to her. She’d obviously been too distracted by…other things.

“Isn’t that Lord Merrick on the field?” Beatrice asked, pointing.

Surely not, Constance thought as she followed her cousin’s gaze. But unless she was going blind, the man in the front of the pack chasing after the ball, with his dark hair streaming behind him like a pennant, was the lord of Tregellas himself. His powerful arms churned and his long and graceful strides reminded her of a stag bounding over the moor.

Constance could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes. Yet wasn’t that Sir Henry and Sir Ranulf running neck and neck behind him? “By the saints,” she murmured, aghast at both a lord engaging in such play and the sight of her betrothed’s undoubtedly fine body.

“Oh, look! There’s Sir Henry!” Beatrice cried, jumping up and down in her excitement. “He’s got the ball!”

Henry deftly passed it back to Merrick, who charged up the field, keeping the ball just ahead of his rapid feet.

Who was winning? It was hard to tell, for both the villagers and the soldiers were cheering wildly. Constance spotted Talek, the garrison commander, among the soldiers and, taking hold of Beatrice by the sleeve, pushed her way through the crowd of men surrounding him. They were so intent on the game, they didn’t realize who was shoving them aside until after she’d gone past.

She tapped Talek on the arm to get his attention. “Who’s winning?” she shouted over the din.

“It’s a tie,” the middle-aged soldier answered just as loudly. “But we’ve got his lordship, so it’s going to be us who win. I’ve never seen such a fine—”

His words were drowned out by a great roar from the spectators. Merrick had stumbled and nearly fallen, but in the next moment he recovered with a fluid twist of his body. Then he ran even faster, as if that brief setback only spurred him on.

He was nearly at the two posts stuck in the ground marking the goal. The soldiers shouted themselves hoarse. The villagers screamed at their men, and some groaned with dismay.

Constance tried not to get caught up in the excitement. She was a lady, after all, and thus should behave with decorum and dignity. Besides, it was only a game. It didn’t matter who won, as long as fighting didn’t break out.

Merrick was almost at the goal….

The smith’s son charged forward and got the ball away from Merrick. The villagers shouted, loudly urging on their men; the soldiers cursed with astonishing variety and fluency.

Eric passed the ball to his father, who passed it to—

Ranulf intercepted it and, with a quick move, kicked it back to Merrick. His mighty chest heaving, Merrick again started up the field, this time with Henry and Ranulf guarding him on either side.

Perspiration made Merrick’s chest shine in the sun as if it’d been oiled. His breeches were soaked with sweat at the waist and clung to his strong thighs.

More cheering, more cursing—Merrick scored!

“Well done!” Constance cried as she leapt into the air. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth. Could she possibly be more undignified?

Beatrice, whom she’d quite forgotten, had no concern about her appearance as she danced with delight. “I knew we’d win! I knew it!” she declared, clapping.

As the soldiers, led by Talek, surged into the field past them, Constance tried to compose herself. “Yes, well, that was certainly interesting,” she said, keeping her eyes—and attention—on the crowd as the villagers surrounded Eric and the others. There could yet be trouble.

Beatrice stopped prancing. “Interesting? It was wonderful! Merrick was so fast. Whoever would have thought he could run like that?”

“Indeed,” Constance murmured as the foot soldiers surrounded their overlord, who gulped down what seemed an enormous mug of ale that a grinning soldier handed him.

Lord William wouldn’t have deigned to let one of his men get within ten feet of him.

And then Merrick did something more surprising still: he went to the villagers and praised them for their efforts. He was followed by his men, who were laughing and bragging good-naturedly, as were the equally happy and proud villagers.

Obviously Merrick knew men and their reactions better than she did, and he was certainly far more willing to mix with his people than his father had ever been.

What kind of man was the new lord of Tregellas? Could he truly be so different from his father, and the brat she’d loathed for so long?

“Come along, Beatrice,” she said, moving away before the excited soldiers and villagers engulfed them. “I don’t think there’s any need to linger.”

“Don’t you want to congratulate Merrick?” Beatrice asked.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Beatrice frowned. “You do like Merrick, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, not quite sure if that was a lie or not.

Beatrice leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper, as if she feared she was about to impart something scandalous. “I know age and looks aren’t supposed to be as important as family or wealth when it comes to a husband, but you’re so lucky he’s handsome. Really, Constance, would you want to make love with someone who looks like…like Ruan, for instance? Thank the blessed Virgin you can look forward to your wedding night.”

Merrick’s voice rose stern and commanding from the midst of the mob of soldiers. “Let me pass.”

Now that could have been his father, Constance thought with a stab of disappointment.

Then she realized that Merrick—still blatantly half-naked, although he held a shirt in his hand—was walking toward her, while the men made way for him as if he was a king.