The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ hands on his hips, he glared at her, his dark eyes fiercely angry, his mouth a thin line of annoyance. “No, you do not, my lady, or you would never accuse me of selfish seduction. The women I’ve been with have all approached me, and they were made well aware that they should expect nothing more from me than a night’s pleasure.”

      “How very generous of you, my lord.”

      “Would you prefer me to be like Henry? To speak flattery and honeyed, meaningless words? To murmur tender nothings?”

      “I want you to stop kissing me! I’m not yet your wife.”

      His eyes widened for a brief instant, and then his expression changed. It was like seeing flames snuffed out, and she knew the storm raging within him had passed. “No, you’re not,” he muttered, running his hand through his long, thick hair.

      She was so close to her liberty, she couldn’t stop now. She must rouse his ire again. “I want you to order Sir Henry and Sir Ranulf to stay away from Beatrice.”

      Despite her irate tone, no answering spark ignited in his eyes. “They’re both honorable knights and will never touch her or harm her in any way,” he said coolly as he moved behind the table again, as if to put a barrier between them. “I trust them completely.”

      “I don’t,” she retorted. “Sir Henry seems the sort who cares only about his own desires, no matter what harm he may do. As for Sir Ranulf, he looks quite capable of doing anything to get what he wants. Woe betide your friends if they hurt those I love!”

      “Let us understand each other, my lady,” Merrick said, his voice still calm. Very calm, as he crossed his arms. “I trust my friends absolutely, or they wouldn’t be my friends. I hope to be able to trust my wife in that same way.”

      “And if you cannot?”

      His gaze was steady. Stern. Implacable. “Then she will not be my wife.”

      Outside, the rain slashed against the stones and the wind moaned; inside the solar, the very air seemed to quiver with expectation.

      Her freedom was within her grasp. All she had to do was tell him that she would not be faithful. That she would break her marriage vows, or even that she was no longer a virgin. All she had to do was lie, and say she would bring shame to him. And to herself.

      So why did she hesitate? Her honor or her freedom. Why not choose and be done?

      Because she simply couldn’t tell this man she was, or would be, no better than a whore.

      “I will have no unwilling wife, Constance,” he said softly, coming around the table toward her. “If I’ve offended you by my decisions, or if you care more for another, tell me now and I’ll release you.”

      Perhaps he would—but at what price? “What penalty would you seek if I refused? My dowry?”

      Surprise flashed across his face. “Nothing. I would want nothing at all from you, my lady.”

      She couldn’t believe that he would be so generous, so willing to let her go free without some compensation. “If that’s so, you’re not the same boy who left here fifteen years ago.”

      “No, I am not.”

      Tell him to let you go, her mind urged.

      The words wouldn’t come.

      She’d been so sure of what she wanted for so long, yet he seemed so different from that spoiled boy. He might be a chivalrous knight, a just overlord, a man she could respect, perhaps even, in time, to love. He certainly aroused her desire as no other man ever had.

      But could she trust him? Despite his apparent sincerity, could she truly believe he would let her—and her dowry and the connection to her family—go so easily?

      No, she couldn’t. At least, not yet.

      “Yes or no, Constance? Will you be my wife or not? I would have an answer one way or the other, my lady.”

      If an answer was what he wanted, she’d give him one. “In spite of your seductive skill, my lord,” she said, “I require more time to make up my mind.”

      Then she strode out of the chamber, and did everything she could to avoid being near him until the first of May.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      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 СКАЧАТЬ