The Warlord's Bride. Margaret Moore

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      ALTHOUGH DISPLEASED by Madoc of Llanpowell’s arrogant dismissal and subsequent swift exit, Roslynn was glad to be alone. She needed solitude and quiet to consider all that had happened since arriving in this place.

      The upper chamber the maidservant took her to was surprisingly comfortable, if a little dusty. The furnishings—curtained bed, small wooden table, stool and washstand—were old, but well polished. The linen bed curtains, dyed a vibrant blue, hung from bronze rings. No ewer or linen were on the washstand, suggesting this room had not been used recently.

      Perhaps it was kept only for guests, and the lord had a finer chamber in another part of the castle.

      She strolled toward the narrow window and looked outside. She could see only the inner wall—hardly an inspiring view.

      On the other hand, perhaps she had seen all she needed to of this castle and estate, since she probably wouldn’t be staying here much longer.

      Although she didn’t want to anger the king by a direct refusal, she would if she must. She would rather face John’s wrath than marry a hot-tempered, possibly violent man who would make her miserable. She had lived that life once; she wouldn’t again.

      She heard the sound of heavy boots coming quickly up the stairs and turned toward the door just as Lord Alfred barged inside.

      “By the saints, my lady,” he declared as he strode uninvited into the chamber, “to think I ever felt sorry for you!”

      He came to a halt, arms akimbo, glaring at her. “Who do you think you are?”

      “I am Lady Roslynn de Werre, the daughter of Lady Eloise and Lord James de Briston,” she answered, not afraid of Lord Alfred or his anger. He had very little real power over her here, so far from the king.

      Her calm response didn’t ease Lord Alfred’s aggravation. “What sort of tricks are you playing at, my lady? You made nary a squeak in protest the whole way here!”

      “I play no tricks. As I said, I’m not averse to the marriage—only to returning to court if Lord Madoc doesn’t want me. You know the sort of men John has about him. Is it any wonder I’m loath to return?”

      Lord Alfred didn’t answer directly, no doubt because he did know the sort of men John had about him. “You should have told the king of your feelings.”

      As if John would care. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “As he should have told me more about Madoc ap Gruffydd.”

      “So you could find excuses not to do as the king wills?”

      “To know what manner of man I was expected to marry. He appears to be a hot-tempered savage who finds it amusing to make us look like fools. I especially should have been told he already had a son, as any sons I would bear him wouldn’t inherit his estate, but only a portion of it.”

      “Any children I have will inherit equally, except for the title,” the savage himself declared from the doorway.

      Both Roslynn and Lord Alfred wheeled around to see Lord Madoc standing on the threshold, his arms crossed.

      God help her, how much had he heard?

      “That’s a decision I made before I had any children at all and I’ll stand by it, should I be blessed to have more,” he continued as he sauntered into the chamber. He raised an inquisitive black brow. “Might I ask what you’re doing in the lady’s chamber, my lord?”

      Lord Alfred drew himself up to his full height. “As the king’s representative, I have every right to speak to her in private.”

      “Not in my castle you don’t.”

      The Norman couldn’t look more offended if he’d been struck across the face. “I’m an honorable man!”

      “So you say, but words are cheap.”

      “Then hear me,” Roslynn declared, her own anger rising. “Whatever my late husband was, I’m an honorable woman and there is nothing unseemly between Lord Alfred and me!”

      “So I should hope.”

      “Lord Madoc,” she snapped, “if you have only come here to insult us—”

      “I came here to speak with you, my lady, preferably without the king’s lackey present.”

      “My lord!” Lord Alfred huffed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, “I am the king’s representative and so responsible for Lady Roslynn. Unless and until you are wed, you may not be alone with her.”

      The Welshman’s brows lowered menacingly. “Do you think I’ll force myself upon her?”

      Fighting the fear his words engendered, the visions and memories they roused, Roslynn began to back away, reaching for the dagger she had СКАЧАТЬ