Bride Of Trouville. Lyn Stone

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СКАЧАТЬ embarrassment. “I doubt me he would believe it of any natural cause, virile as he appears. He will only be here for the wedding night and then he returns to his home in France. I dare not refuse him.”

      Meg laughed and clapped her hands. “Dare not or do not wish to? A braw one, that count of yours. I’ve seen him myself, and he is one to stir the blood! Stirred mine, right enough, and me married with two bairns!”

      “Meg, hush!” She could not meet the other woman’s eyes. In truth, she did find Edouard handsome. And charming. A part of her trembled with avid curiosity about what could take place between a woman and a man of young years and comely countenance. “I must not quicken with his child. You know well the reason.”

      Meg sighed and fiddled with the bag she wore tied round her slender waist. “You fear bearing another such as the young lord?”

      Anne stiffened. “Nay, I do not fear it! I could not ask a finer son!”

      Then the anger drained away. Meg knew the problems involved as well as she. “Aye, that. I must admit it,” Anne said on a sigh. “Aside from that, a child would bind his lordship closer to this place and might cause frequent visits. I want him gone from here and content to live in France with the profits from my lands. You know what will surely happen if he learns of my Robert’s deafness. You heard of Lord Gile’s son, the one who was blinded and lost everything to his brother because of it?”

      Meg nodded. “Such is the way of things. Might rules. But our Rob’s a mighty one, mind you, or he shall be once he’s grown.”

      Anne grinned at her friend. “Aye, he will be that. Until then, we must hold what is his by any means we may. Now, have you a potion to aid me or not?”

      “A pity our Old Agatha’s long gone, and I am so new to this. Birthing, tending the sick, cooling fevers and such, I have learned to do right well.” Meg shook her head. “We can but try the only thing I have heard of that works. Seeds of lettus did well for Angus’s Moraig. Only the one bairn in some twelve years. Agatha gave that to her to prevent her bearing again. “’Tis all I know that won’t poison you to the bargain.”

      Anne frowned and rubbed at the pain spreading through her temples. “Nothing more certain than that?”

      “Nay. Still, his having only one night’s chance at you is better than a constant planting, eh?” Meg asked, brightening.

      “One time is all it takes, as I recall,” Anne retorted.

      “We’ll try the seeds,” Meg declared as she headed for the door. “I’ll go and grind them now for the potion. You had best begin taking it tonight.”

      Meg would do all she could to help. She and Father Michael had remained her truest friends these past years. A handsome couple they were and happily wed despite the circumstance that caused it. Their wonderful children provided hope for her Robert’s future success. Father Michael’s pragmatism and wealth of intellect combined well with Meg’s sunny disposition and loyal nature. They had produced two exceptional offspring whom Anne loved nearly as much as her own son. She felt herself blessed to have this family with her.

      They had given her much needed support when she was wed to MacBain, and would again when she became wife to the comte. With their help, she would prevail in her plan to enforce Robert’s rights. And she would survive this marriage.

      Anne undressed herself and crawled naked between the soft linens topped with her fur coverlet. She brushed the downy rabbit pelts, gifts from her son, which she had sewn together to form it.

      Tomorrow night she would spend in the lord’s chamber and rest amidst silks and rich marten furs which had traveled with Trouville from France. If, indeed, he allowed her any rest. The thought made her shiver, and Anne almost wished it were due to dread. She felt a bit guilty over her curiosity and her lack of horror over bedding with Trouville. But he was far from a horrible man, so far as she could tell.

      Longings buried since girlhood crept out of their hiding places and pricked at her like little demons. What would it be like to give herself up to these wicked feelings Edouard engendered? Dare she risk it for the space of a few short hours? Might it not be wise to do so, since her sole aim was to distract him fully until his departure?

      Anne snuggled into her pillows. Of course, she should. Why not? He would be gone with the next sunrise.

      

      The restless night Edouard had expected finally gave way to dawn. He rose the moment sunlight invaded the window.

      No doubts troubled him on this day. He whistled softly while Henri prepared his bath. He endured a shave, always risky when Henri remained half asleep. An hour crawled by and then another as he and his son performed their morning rituals with exaggerated care and little exchange of words.

      Damn, but he wished they could just go below and get on with it. He hoped Anne did not suffer similar anxiety or they would both appear forced to the match.

      He sat by the window, dressed only in his smallclothes and hose, waiting while Henri dragged on his own clothing.

      “It is near time,” Henri mumbled, flinging a hand out toward the candle marked to show the hour as it burned.

      “As though I have not watched the damned thing like a hawk marking prey!” Edouard snapped.

      He dressed so quickly, he hoped he had not forgotten anything important. Henri made only token attempts to help before Edouard shooed him away.

      Once they reached the hall, further waiting commenced. An entire hour of it. Edouard readjusted his jewel-hilted sword, shifted his weight to his other foot and tugged the neckline of his finery with one finger. His black velvet jupon fitted uncomfortably and proved too warm for the day. He only wore the thing to please Henri. The boy assured him this was his most flattering and would please the bride. Edouard suspected it made him look as villainous as a tax collector.

      How he loathed waiting. In most cases, he only tolerated doing so when a king was involved. Again, he figeted, rolling his shoulders forward and back. Then he forced himself to be still, clasping his hands behind him.

      “She is late coming,” whispered Henri impatiently.

      Edouard raised his chin a notch and shot the boy a warning look. “I believe we came early.”

      “Everyone else is here,” Henri remarked as he eyed the crowd of castle folk gathered in the midst of the hall. “Mayhaps she changed her mind and ran away.”

      “Not unless she climbed the wall,” Edouard replied dryly. “The portcullis is so old and rusted, its creak would have been heard all the way to the coast. Think you she’s a climber, then?” He smiled down at Henri’s attempt to squelch a giggle.

      Even as he watched, the boy’s eyes widened with wonder and his mouth dropped open. Edouard glanced up to see what had elicited such awe.

      The sight of the bride struck him so, he almost mirrored his son’s expression. The vision she made evoked a collective sigh from all assembled for the ceremony.

      Her flowing hair surrounded her shoulders like a dark, silken cape. With her every movement, its rippling sheen reflected light from every taper in the hall. A narrow, chased-silver circlet crowned the glory of it.

      Her overgown appeared woven of finely СКАЧАТЬ