The Lord's Forced Bride. Anne Herries

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      Rob was silent for a moment, then, ‘For myself I would shake hands and end this feud here and now. My wife suffered greatly at that time, and your father played his part in it. She does not speak of it, but I think it must still linger in her memory. I cannot invite you to dine as it might offend her—but let there be no more enmity between us.’ He stood and offered his hand. Andrew came forward and took it. ‘If we should meet at court in future, we shall be at least civil to one another, sir—though Lady Gifford may not feel the same.’

      ‘My mother is unlikely to be at court. The King has no patience with her endless complaints, and I have told her she must remain on her estates and be thankful Henry does not see fit to imprison her.’

      ‘As you said, perhaps now that her husband is dead, she will be less bitter, for I know he hated both my wife and me.’

      ‘He would have done you harm if he could,’ Andrew said, ‘but in later years he had become a surly drunkard and was no use for anything.’

      ‘Your family is well rid of him, then,’ Rob said. He paused as the steward brought wine in a gilt ewer. ‘Come, drink with me, Gifford, and we will seal our truce.’

      Catherine was upstairs at the window of her chamber, looking out at the yard when the man left the house. She knew that her father had a visitor, and that her mother was a little disturbed by it, but she gasped in surprise as she saw the man she had spoken to in the village earlier that day. He looked thoughtful as a groom brought him a horse, and he glanced back at the house, his gaze moving upward to her window. She stepped back hastily, not wanting him to see her watching.

      ‘Catherine, have you decided on the style of your new gown?’

      Catherine turned guiltily as her mother entered the room. She was supposed to be deciding on a pattern for the dress they were to cut out downstairs in the parlour.

      ‘I think I should like it to be similar to my blue,’ she said, laying the garment on the bed for her mother to see. ‘I would like the waist a little higher, but a squared neckline suits me well.’

      ‘Yes, it does,’ Lady Melford said and glanced out of the window. ‘So he is leaving at last. He spent more than two hours with your father.’

      ‘Who was Father’s visitor?’

      ‘He is the Earl of Gifford,’ her mother said and frowned. ‘I did not care for his father, but his mother was kind enough once—though I believe she grew bitter later in life.’

      ‘Why did you not like his father?’

      ‘It is an old story, Catherine. Forgive me if I do not tell you. It pains me and I do not care to remember the war.’

      Catherine was silenced. She knew that something had happened during the war, though she did not know what. Her father had fought on the side of Henry Tudor and was given great honours for the part he played at that time. Catherine was sure there was much more that she had not been told, but she would not dream of distressing her mother by speaking of something that clearly brought back unpleasant memories.

      ‘Do not speak of it if it hurts you, dearest Mother,’ she said. ‘Yes, I think I shall have the new gown styled as this one. Shall we cut it out now?’

      ‘I think we should make a start, for we shall all need new clothes before we leave for London. We may have others made for us in town, but it is good for you and Anne to make your own sometimes. You should both know how to mend and set your stitches before you marry.’

      Catherine caught her breath. Until this moment she had not truly thought about her marriage, though she knew that it would happen one day. She thought about what the earl had said to her that morning in the village. Would he have said such a thing if he had guessed that she was the daughter of a rich and powerful lord?

      She was certain that he had mistaken her for a village girl, because she had watched the wrestling. He probably thought that her father was a rich merchant, because, although her clothes were good quality, she had made most of them with the help of her mother and sister.

      When they went to court she would have more stylish gowns. She wondered what he would think of her then and her cheeks felt warm. It would not do to think of him in this way! Catherine mentally scolded herself. The earl would not be interested in her, for there must be many beautiful ladies at court, and though her father was rich, they lived a sheltered life here on the Borders.

      The earl must meet many clever, beautiful women if he went often to court. Besides, there was clearly some bad feeling between the earl’s family and hers. Therefore she must not think of him again.

      Chapter Two

      Catherine was in the back parlour, working on her sewing two weeks later. The mists of autumn were gathering outside as dusk fell and a fire had been lit in the big open hearth for the first time in weeks. Her little brother was coughing, and she had noticed that her father seemed to have taken it from him, though as yet her mother, sister and Catherine herself were all free of the malady. She had heard that there was a deal of sickness in the village, and one elderly man had died of the fever that was raging in the district.

      In another two weeks they were due to leave for London to prepare for the royal wedding, and Catherine hoped fervently that her father and brother would have recovered in time.

      Her head was bent over her work as it had become dark in the parlour and she was considering whether she should call for a candle when she heard voices and footsteps outside the door. Her head came up and she was looking at the door as it was flung open and a young man entered, still wearing his riding clothes, which were spattered with mud.

      ‘Harry!’ she cried, jumping up with a shout of joy as her brother entered. ‘You are home at last! You sent no word—at least, Father did not tell us that you were expected.’

      ‘I did not send word,’ her twin told her, coming to embrace her in a fierce hug. The two were very close and as children had been inseparable. ‘I was at court for some days after my return from Spain, and when given leave I thought to be here sooner than a letter.’

      ‘It is a wonderful surprise,’ Catherine said. ‘Have you seen Father and Mother?’

      ‘Not yet,’ Harry said, a smile in his eyes. ‘Hannah said you were in here so I came first to you. I wanted to see my little sister.’

      ‘Harry!’ Catherine laughed, because it was their special joke. She had been born only ten minutes after him and they had many jokes that were private, for they did not share all their thoughts with Anne or their youngest sibling. ‘It is so good to see you home!’

      Harry nodded, looking serious for a moment. ‘I wondered if I should see you again, my little cat. I have been on a secret mission for the King and was attacked on my way to Oxford. Had it not been for the intervention of a stranger, I should have been murdered.’

      ‘Oh, Harry, no!’ Catherine was horrified. ‘That is terrible. Do you know who it was? The King should not send you on dangerous missions.’

      ‘I said secret, not dangerous,’ Harry said and frowned. ‘I do not know whether they wanted the letters I carried to his Majesty—or whether it was for another reason that they sought to kill me.’

      Catherine’s eyes widened. ‘Do you have an enemy?’

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