The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ he’ll be even richer. He’ll also be wanting heirs as well as a chatelaine, so he needs a wife.”

      Henry frowned. “I don’t know what it is about men once they get an estate. Suddenly it’s all about finding a woman who’s a good manager, like a steward.”

      “You’ll be the same, should you ever get an estate,” Ranulf replied. “Responsibility changes a man.”

      “God help me, I hope not!” Henry cried, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned. “When I marry, I’m going to find the most beautiful woman I can and to hell with anything else.”

      “Even if she’s poor?” Ranulf skeptically inquired.

      “My brother claims his wife has enriched his life in a hundred ways although she brought barely a ha’penny to the marriage. So, yes, even if she’s poor.”

      “And if she’s silly and insipid, and can’t run your household?”

      “I’ll make sure I have excellent servants.”

      Ranulf raised a brow. “How do you plan to pay these servants?”

      That gave Henry a moment’s pause. Then he brightened. “I’ll win more tournament prizes, or find a lord who needs a knight in his service.”

      “Surely you’ll want a woman you can talk to, who doesn’t drive you mad with foolish babble?”

      Henry waved his hand dismissively. “I won’t listen and I’ll keep her too busy to talk.” He grinned at Merrick. “Is that your plan, too? Keep Lady Constance too occupied to talk? You do intend to actually have some conversation with your wife? Otherwise, she’s liable to think you’re mute.”

      Merrick shoved back his stool and got to his feet. “I speak when I have something worthwhile to say. Now I’m going to bed.”

      Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Well, if you want to leave so soon, Merrick, farewell. All the better for us, since we won’t have to compete with the new lord of Tregellas and tournament champion for a woman’s favor.” He shook his head with bogus dismay. “For a man who barely says ten words at a time, I don’t know how you manage to attract the attention you do.”

      “Perhaps because I barely say ten words at a time.”

      “Since he doesn’t usually go lacking, there must be some truth to that,” Ranulf dryly affirmed.

      Henry looked indignant. “I’ll have you know many women consider me charmingly well-spoken.” Then he raised his voice so that those around him could hear. “Merrick may outshine me on the tournament field, but I believe I carry the honors in the bedchamber.”

      The rest of the merrymakers in the tavern fell silent, while the women eyed him with speculation.

      “If it pleases you to think so,” Merrick said, and there was a look in his eyes that told Ranulf that Merrick’s temper, slow to rouse, was rising.

      “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” he cried, likewise getting to his feet. “Since the lord of Tregellas and champion of today’s tournament wishes to leave us, let’s allow him to retire from the field with honor intact and declare a draw in matters of the bedchamber.”

      Henry stood and bowed to Merrick. “I’m willing to agree that we’re evenly matched.”

      The buxom serving wench sauntered toward them, a carafe of wine balanced on her hip. “I could try you both,” she offered, “and choose a winner.”

      “No need. My friend is just leaving,” Henry said as he grabbed the carafe out of her hands. Tipping it back, he let the wine pour into his open mouth, while with his free hand he reached out to embrace her.

      She wasn’t there.

      She was in Merrick’s arms, and being quite thoroughly kissed. His friend’s mouth moved over hers with sure and certain purpose, one hand sliding slowly down her back to caress her rounded buttocks.

      The wench not only responded willingly to Merrick’s kiss, she ground her hips against him as if she wanted him to take her then and there.

      Finally Merrick broke the kiss and removed the panting woman’s clinging arms from around his body. As she staggered over to the nearest bench and sat heavily, fanning herself with her hand, he turned on his heel and marched out of the tavern without another word.

      The moment he was gone, the Boar’s Head taproom erupted with the noise of amused, drunken noblemen and laughing women.

      “I don’t think you should have implied that Merrick is second best when it comes to the bedchamber,” Ranulf noted as he and Henry returned to their seats.

      “Obviously not,” Henry said with a good-natured smile. “But at least I got him to quit brooding for a bit, didn’t I?”

      

      “HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM? I’d be beside myself with excitement if I was going to see the man I was to marry, and after fifteen years!” sixteen-year-old Beatrice cried, her face aglow, her hands rapturously clasped, as she sat on the bed in Constance’s bedchamber.

      “I’ve been betrothed since I was five years old, so I’ve had plenty of time to get used to the idea of marriage,” Constance replied without turning away from the polished silver plate that served as her mirror. She raised a gold necklace to drape it around her neck, then set it down before her cousin noticed that her hands were trembling. “Perhaps if my betrothed had come home once or twice in those fifteen years, I might be more excited. As it is, I hardly know what to expect. He may hate me on sight.”

      Indeed, she hoped he did hate her. For years her greatest hope had been that Merrick’s long absence meant that he shared her aversion to their contracted marriage.

      “I’m sure he’ll like you,” Beatrice assured her. “Everybody in Tregellas likes you. All the servants in the castle admire and respect you. Nobody else could handle the old lord the way you did, so Father says.”

      Constance tried to focus on adjusting her veil and not recall the shouting, the curses, the throwing of anything within reach, the blows aimed at everyone except her….

      “I’m sure Merrick’s a fine fellow,” Beatrice went on. “He’s won a lot of tournaments and he’s been to court, too. Surely that means he can dance. I wonder if he sings? Maybe he’ll sing a love song to you, Constance. Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

      Constance sent up a silent prayer for patience before she addressed her loquacious cousin. “I would rather he respect me.”

      Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want your husband to love you?”

      “It’s the dearest wish of my heart,” Constance truthfully replied. Unfortunately, she feared any son of Wicked William would be incapable of that sincere emotion.

      “At least you knew each other before,” Beatrice offered.

      “Yes, we did,” Constance replied, keeping any animosity from her voice.

      But Merrick had been a horrible boy who always demanded СКАЧАТЬ