The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ Jesus, let me go home!

      Sir Egbert’s voice rose to an angry, insistent shout, including what had to be curses, and he made angry gestures. The leader of the soldiers nodded and, frowning, turned his horse back toward his men.

      Sir Egbert raised his hand and pointed to the wood—the murky, scary woods full of terrible things. The scarred man barked an order, and his men drew out their swords.

      The boy prayed harder as he nudged his pony forward. Please God, keep me safe. Please, Jesus, let me go home. Mary, Mother of God, I want to go home!

      

      WITHIN AN HOUR THE ATTACK WAS over. All in the cortege lay dead or dying in the wood.

      Save one.

      CHAPTER ONE

      April, 1243

      THE BOAR’S HEAD TAVERN boasted the prettiest, cleanest serving wenches for miles around. The young women were all eager to please their customers in a variety of ways, too, especially the boisterous knights and squires currently making merry in the taproom. Carrying pitchers of wine and mugs of ale, the wenches moved deftly between the tables, laughing and joking with the men, and sizing them up as to their worth. They could easily earn a month’s worth of income in a single night from drunken revelers like these.

      Only one man sitting silently at a table in the corner seemed uninterested in the women, or celebrating. He had his back to the wall and stared down into his goblet, completely oblivious to the merry mayhem around him.

      Two other knights, equally young and muscular, shared his table. The handsomest of the pair, brown haired and with a smile that held a host of promises, delighted in having the women compete for his attention and hurry to fetch his wine. The second knight, more sober, with shrewd hazel eyes, a straight, narrow nose and reddish brown hair, seemed more inclined to view the women and listen to their banter with a jaundiced eye, well aware that they were calculating how much they could charge for their services between the sheets.

      “Here, m’dear, where do you think you’re going with that jug of wine?” the comely Sir Henry demanded as he reached out and drew the most buxom of the wenches onto his lap.

      She set the jug of wine on the scarred table beside him and, laughing, wound her arms around his neck. It was a miracle her bodice didn’t slip farther down and reveal more of her breasts, but then, she wouldn’t have cared if it had. “Over to that table there, where they pay,” she said pertly, and with unmistakable significance.

      “Egad, wench, will you besmirch our honor?” Henry cried with mock indignation. “Of course we’ll pay. Didn’t my friends and I win several ransoms at the tournament? Aren’t there many young men who had to pay us for their horses and armor after we triumphed on the field and forced them to cry mercy? Why, we’re rich, I tell you. Rich!”

      The silent knight in the corner glanced up a moment, then returned to staring into his goblet as if he was expecting it to speak.

      Henry turned to the cynical knight beside him while his hand wandered toward the wench’s fulsome breasts. “Pay the girl, Ranulf.”

      Sir Ranulf raised a sardonic brow as he reached into his woolen tunic and drew out a leather pouch. “I don’t suppose there’s any point suggesting you be quiet about our winnings? You’re making us the bait of every cutpurse between here and Cornwall.”

      “Fie, man, you fret like an old woman! No man would be fool enough to try to rob the three of us!”

      With a shrug, Ranulf pulled out a silver penny. The wench’s eyes widened and she reached out to snatch it from his grasp, but Ranulf’s hand closed over it before she could. “You can have this if you bring us some good wine instead of this vinegar.”

      She nodded eagerly.

      Sir Ranulf’s eyes danced with amusement. “And if you’ll share my bed tonight.”

      The wench immediately jumped up from Henry’s lap.

      “Hey, now!” Henry protested.

      Ranulf ignored him. “Off you go,” he said to the wench, holding out the coin again.

      “What about him? Does he want any company?” the young woman asked, nodding at their companion.

      The dark-haired man raised his head to look at her. He was undeniably good-looking, but there was something so stern and forbidding in his expression, the wench’s smile died and she immediately took a step back. “I didn’t mean no offense.”

      “Don’t mind Merrick,” Henry said with a soothing smile. “He’s in mourning for his father, you see. Now fetch the wine like a good girl.”

      The wench cast another wary look at Merrick, smiled at Henry and Ranulf, then hurried to do Henry’s bidding.

      Henry smacked the table in front of their grimly silent friend. “For God’s sake, Merrick, this isn’t a wake.”

      Ranulf frowned. “He’s got a lot on his mind, Henry. Let him alone.”

      Henry paid Ranulf no heed. “It’s not as if you cared for your father that you should be upset over his death. You haven’t even been home in fifteen years.”

      Merrick leaned back against the wall and crossed his strong arms that could wield a sword, lance or mace for hours without tiring. “Ruining your entertainment, am I?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff.

      “As a matter of fact, you are. Granted, it would give any man pause to think he’s not just inherited an estate but also has to get married to some girl he hasn’t seen in years, but if you ask me, that’s all the more reason you should enjoy tonight. Given how many knights you defeated, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these wenches would do it for nothing. Come, Merrick, why not have a little sport? I know you, and once you’re married you won’t stray, so all the more reason to—”

      “No.”

      “You’re going to save yourself for a girl you haven’t seen since you were ten years old?” Henry demanded.

      “Yes.”

      “Then I hope what we’ve heard is true, and she’s a beauty.”

      “Her looks don’t matter.”

      “But supposing you don’t suit each other?” Henry asked with exasperation. “What if you find you don’t even like her? What will you do then?”

      “I’ll manage.”

      “It’s a question of honor, Henry,” Ranulf interjected, giving Henry another warning look. “The betrothal agreement means they’re as good as married already, so it’s no easy contract to break. Now for God’s sake, let it alone.”

      “If there’s honor involved, it’s his late, unlamented father’s, not his,” Henry replied. “Merrick didn’t make the betrothal agreement.”

      “His bride’s lived in Tregellas since they were betrothed, so she’ll know the household, the villagers and the tenants,” Ranulf pointed out. “That’ll СКАЧАТЬ