Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore

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      After Roland had gone, Mavis went to the bed and sat heavily. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes welled with tears, only this time it wasn’t because she was leaving the only home she’d ever known and the cousin she loved like a sister.

      What had happened to Roland? Where had the kind, gentle lover gone?

      She could think of nothing she’d done to anger or upset him...unless he felt she’d talked too much last night. Or perhaps her father’s behavior had disturbed him.

      It could be that, despite her belief otherwise, he had seen this marriage only as a bargain with her father. He had done what was necessary to consummate the marriage and cared for her no more than that.

      As for the tender, gentle way he’d loved her, perhaps that was only because she’d been a virgin.

      Maybe he’d found her lacking in their bed.

      She knew nothing of a man’s pleasure. While her wedding night had been extraordinary for her, perhaps it hadn’t been nearly so wonderful for a man of experience. Given her husband’s handsome features and powerful body, she was surely not his first.

      Then another, more terrible explanation came to mind. She had heard there were men who, having taken their pleasure of a virgin, lost all interest.

      No, that could not be so with Roland. She would have seen some hint that it was only her body he wanted. She had encountered that sort of lust often enough before, including from his older brother, and would certainly have recognized it.

      She glanced at the bed and noticed the small spot of blood on the sheet. Yet another explanation leaped into her mind, one much more in keeping with her perception of the man in the solar. If he thought he’d hurt her, he might be angry with himself, not at her, and that would explain his parting words to her, too.

      Although she was a little sore, the experience had been no more painful than pulling a hangnail, and she must find a way to tell him, once they were alone.

      And she would know, by how he acted then, if he had married her because he wanted her, as she fervently hoped, or if he saw the marriage only as a means to make an alliance with her father.

      * * *

      A short time later, Roland stood in the courtyard with his arms crossed and his weight on one leg. The wagons were loaded with Mavis’s dower goods, the ox to pull it was in the shafts, his horse and her mare were saddled and ready and the morning meal concluded. The clouds parted to reveal the sun, which began to burn off the remaining frost on the cobblestones. A light breeze blew, enough to ruffle his hair and the pennants on the castle walls, and redden the noses of their escort as they, too, waited to be on their way.

      “You’re a lucky man.”

      Roland half turned and found Rheged of Cwm Bron at his elbow. “I agree,” he said, meeting the man’s gaze steadily, keeping his voice even.

      “Mavis is a kind and sweet young woman,” Rheged continued. “My wife loves her like a sister and we both want Mavis to be happy.”

      The man’s deep voice was genial, but there was a look in his eyes that told Roland this was something more than placid observation. Nevertheless, he replied in the same manner as before. “As do I.”

      “I’m glad to hear it. We’d be upset otherwise.”

      Again there was more to the Welshman’s comment than just the words. But wordplay and hints and insinuation were the language of cheats and deceivers, and Roland would have none of that. “If you have something of import to say to me, my lord, speak plainly.”

      “Very well,” Rheged replied. “Tamsin tells me you gave Mavis the choice of accepting the betrothal or not, and she accepted. That’s all to the good. But Mavis is young in the ways of the world, and she’s had enough trouble already with her father, so I hope you’ll treat her with the kindness and respect she deserves.”

      The Welshman spoke as if he were a brute, no better than his father or older brother. He had hoped for better from Rheged, and he wondered what the Welshman might have said about him. If Mavis had been forced to accept the marriage and her cousin’s husband had said derogatory things about him, no wonder she’d been crying.

      “Considering that you abducted the woman you have taken to wife,” he said with a hint of the ire he felt, “it strikes me that you are hardly in a position to offer any man advice on how to treat a woman.”

      Rheged’s eyes flared with annoyance, but his tone was still genial when he replied. “Then don’t consider it advice. Consider it a warning. If you or your brother hurt her in any way, you’ll have me to answer to.”

      “I do not take kindly to threats, my lord, even from relatives,” Roland returned.

      The door to the hall opened and Lord DeLac came reeling out of the hall, barely able to stand. He wore the same clothing he had the day before, but the finely woven tunic was now stained with bits of food and wine and his beard was dotted with crumbs. His hair was unkempt, his full face florid, and he was clearly the worse for wine. Again.

      Nevertheless, for the first time in their acquaintance, Roland was glad to see him, for his presence silenced Rheged. He didn’t take kindly to being threatened and he didn’t want to come to blows, not in his father-in-law’s courtyard.

      “Ah, Sir Roland!” Lord DeLac cried. “There y’are! Time to go, eh? Now you’ve got the dowry and my daughter, off you trot!”

      As if all he’d wanted to do was conclude a bargain. No doubt that was how Lord DeLac thought of the marriage.

      Roland had to suppress the temptation to dunk the greedy, drunken lout in the nearest horse trough.

      “Mavis!” DeLac bellowed, turning around in a circle and looking up as if he expected to see her on the wall walk. “Where are you, girl? Your husband is waiting!”

      “Here, Father!” Mavis answered, appearing at the kitchen entrance and hurrying toward them with her cousin at her side.

      His beautiful young wife wore a simple brown traveling gown and was shrouded in a thick brown cloak with a rabbit fur collar. Her attire was almost nunlike and her demeanor that of a fresh young maiden—quite different from the bold wanton in his bed last night.

      He’d never experienced such thrilling excitement, such perfect satisfaction, in any woman’s arms. He had been sure she felt the same, until he’d seen those devastating tears.

      Surely, he told himself, if she’d been forced to take him for her husband, she wouldn’t have been so willing and wanton—but why then had she been crying? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said or done to otherwise upset her, except make love to her, his exciting, virginal—

      She had been a virgin. No doubt there’d been some pain, something he hadn’t yet considered, and perhaps enough to cause her tears.

      Mavis came to a breathless halt beside his horse and gave him a bright smile. “I’m ready now.”

      His gaze searched her face as he tried to discern if she was sincerely happy, or only pretending to be.

      If she was pretending, she was very good at it.

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