Bride Of Trouville

He had teased her to set her at ease last evening, and she had responded in kind. Though she could be coy, he had seen immediately that she possessed none of the traits of the sophisticated jades he was used to. He had found himself going half-serious with his talk of mutual love. Would it not be astounding if she really—

“The keep is a ruin, but this lady is not, eh?” Henri interrupted his thought with a sly grin. “She is right handsome for one so old.”

“Impertinent whelp,” Edouard admonished as he splashed his face with water from the basin. “Shake out my blue cote-hardie and find the belt, will you? No, the silver one.”

Baincroft must seem rather impoverished by Henri’s standards, Edouard thought. His son had never lived in so modest a place as this. Not that it was in ruin as the boy described, but it did lack the well-appointed comforts and rich trappings of their various estates in France.

And after many occasions of sharing palatial accommodations with the kings they had attended, Henri must believe he had fallen on mean times indeed. But Edouard knew this sound old castle, small though it was, possessed great possibilities.

Lady Anne kept a spartan household, though there were woolen blankets aplenty for warmth, and victuals plentiful enough so that no one suffered hunger. She prepared plain food, missing the customary spices save for salt, and served it up on humble trenchers and unembroidered linens. Economy was good in a wife, though it would no longer be necessary for Anne to employ it.

The old-fashioned square keep boasted only three stories above ground level, all its rooms accessed by a spiral stairway. Some wise ancestor had thrown up a high wall to add protection, creating the spacious ward where stood several outbuildings. All the stone, inside and out, remained undressed and not even whitewashed.

His wealth could change all of that. He would meet the ship this week and receive all the items his factor could gather and transport from the holdings in France. His belongings could make Baincroft a right habitable abode for the next few years, a place suitably grand for a lady such as Anne. By the time her son claimed it for his own, Edouard planned to have built her a home fit for royalty on her land adjacent to this.

Would she welcome grandeur, or would she remain the unpretentious, dignified soul that she seemed in spite of it? He secretly hoped that she would stay as she was. She wore a glow of serenity, a mantle more dear than any he had acquired thus far. Though even now, Edouard could feel a calmness seeping into his soul to replace the constant watchfulness and suspicion.

He straightened the hose points he had just tied to his belt and stood waiting for Henri to assemble the rest of his clothing. “You approve of the lady, then?” he asked his son.

“Dare I not?” the boy returned, holding the velvet garment out to be donned. “Would it matter? It did not the last time.”

“No,” Edouard admitted. He should have cuffed Henri for his sarcasm, but the lad did come by it honestly. Instead, he softened the truth with a smile of affection. “However, I would appreciate your support in this.”

Edouard sighed and laid his hands on Henri’s slender shoulders. “Son, you are nearly a man now. I have done you ill by remaining unattached so long. Who is to teach you manners and the way with proper ladies if I do not take a wife? True, I could foster you with another lord, one with a wife who would take on the task, but I trust no other to train you up as I will do.”

Henri nodded. “I would learn from the best there is, Father.”

“Not above boosting the old man’s pride, eh?” Edouard did feel immensely proud that Henri felt this way. He brushed nonexistent lint from the shoulders of his son’s finely stitched jack. “So! Shall we go below, break our fast, and charm my bride-to-be?”

“Why not?” Henri replied. “At least she does not serve up sheep guts as I have been told they do here. One must like her for that, I suppose.”

Edouard did cuff him then as they laughed together.

As they descended the stairs, he wondered whether Lady Anne had her own son convinced this marriage would be a good thing. A half-grown lad could harbor jealousy of a mother, hatred for a man who would replace his dead father, and resentment for anyone who had charge of his lands these next few years.

She greeted them, all gracious and soft-spoken, as they entered the hall. “My lord. Henri. Do come and eat. My uncle left Baincroft some two hours past.” She raised her brows and offered Edouard a conspiratorial half smile. “He wants musicians for the wedding feast. And better wine.”

“Now, why does that not surprise me?” Edouard laughed softly and placed her hand on his forearm. He pressed her fingers and felt her answering squeeze.

All the while, he congratulated himself again on his decision to wed this woman. Upon first glance at her the day before, he had known he would have her. She stirred his blood rightly enough, but her appeal extended beyond the obvious. He detected a remarkable strength, that inner calm, and a bold decisiveness surpassing any he had yet beheld in a woman. All that, without any evident aggressiveness. He wondered how she managed it.

She did resemble Hume’s daughter, Honor, somewhat. Only Lady Anne’s lovely gray eyes shot no sparks of hatred and fear when they met his own. Her inviting lips, which he had pressed for as long as he dared in their kiss of peace, offered only smiles and sweet words. Her musical voice did wondrous things to his senses, soothing and exciting at the same time. He could just imagine the gentle purr of it when he...

“When will we meet your son, my lady?” Henri dared ask. Edouard should have chastised him for speaking without leave, but he wanted the answer, as well. He added his questioning look to Henri’s.

She bit those rose-touched lips together for an instant before she answered. “Later today, I trow. Robert went a-hunting with my steward. I fear we did not expect your company yestereve and today found our meat in short supply. You will forgive him, won’t you? Rob does feel so responsible for Baincroft’s hospitality.”

“He has recovered from his illness then?”

“Illness?” The lady appeared confused for a moment and then fixed a bright smile. “Oh, aye, he is well enough to hunt! He seemed determined to go.”

“That is admirable of him.” Edouard assured her. He had noticed a small break in her poise and wished to restore it She must be concerned about her son’s reaction to the news that she would marry. “Lord Robert must provide you much comfort since you lost your husband. When he returns, I must commend your son for his thoughtfulness in seeing to our needs.”

The lady merely smiled, nodded and indicated they should sit down. This time he motioned for Henri to join them at board. There were hands enough to fill the cups and the food already lay on the table before them.

Edouard had hardly touched his ale cup when a heavyset man, one he’d seen in the stables, rushed in at a lumbering run, gasping, “Lady—come quick—our laddie—north wall!”

Lady Anne issued a sharp little cry and leapt up from her seat. Abandoning all grace for speed, she raced across the hall and out the door. Edouard followed at a run, as did Henri and the rest of the hall’s inhabitants.

When they rounded the keep itself, there were already a number of people staring up at the small figure atop the corner merlon, arms raised to the sky. A large hawk circled above him and the boy looked set to leap toward it.

“Mon Dieu!” Edouard whispered as he started for the steps to the wall-walk.

Lady Anne grabbed his arm and hung on as he rushed past her. “Wait! There’s no time!” Then she released him and put the fingers of one hand to her lips, emitting a sharp, earsplitting whistle. Then another.

The lad turned. For an instant, he wavered, arms wind-milling before he finally caught his balance. Edouard’s heart stopped. He envisioned the broken little body lying in a heap on the other side of the wall.

Anne beckoned frantically and the agile little fellow scrambled down. No one in the bailey moved as they watched the boy tear heedlessly along the open wall-walk, a narrow path of rough wooden planks protected on one side by the stone wall to which they were attached. On the other lay an unguarded drop of some sixty feet. A collective groan emerged from the crowd as he reached the steps and clambered down.

Lady Anne sank to her knees in the dirt. Edouard marched forward and grasped the boy by his shoulders. He could not stop the flow of harsh reprimands. “Do you see what you have done, you reckless lackwit? Look at your lady! She is nigh in a faint with worry you would break your foolish neck!”

He shook the little beggar sharply and then dragged him before Lady Anne by the scruff of his neck. An old hound rushed forward, growling, but the boy silenced him with an upraised palm. Ignoring the dog, Edouard forced the boy to his knees in front of her. “Apologize at once!”

Edouard could not bear the pale fright that stole Anne’s calm, the leftover terror in her soft gray eyes. Neither could the lad, apparently. With a look of absolute contrition and the most gentle of gestures, the grubby young hands cupped her face and patted. When he removed them, there were streaks of dirt along her cheeks, mingling with the wetness of her tears.

Her lips firmed and her eyes narrowed. “To my solar with you! Go!” she demanded. She did not shout, but clipped each word distinctly in a low tone that did not bode well for the little daredevil’s backside, Edouard thought. The boy and the old hound trudged off as ordered, heads down and contrite.

He took her arm and raised her up. “You are extremely overset, my lady. Shall I deal with him for you?”

“No!” she exclaimed with a lift of her head. “He would not comprehend you—your French.”

Edouard raised his brows at that. “I know my English. But I had no mind to do much speaking. The rascal is incredibly heedless and he needs be taught a lesson.”

She pierced him with a look of the purest hatred he had ever seen. “Beat anyone who belongs to me and I will kill you!”

Before her shocking words registered, she had whirled angrily away from him and followed the boy around the side of the keep.

“Father, did you hear? She threatened you!” Henri whispered in awe.

“Yes, I heard. Apparently Lady Anne is very protective of her people.” A good thing to be, Edouard supposed, but her vehemence seemed unwarranted. “Go along, Henri, and finish your meal. You have sword practice in half an hour.”

Sir Gui approached as Henri left. “My lord, I need a private word with you.”

“What’s amiss, Gui?”

The knight fell in step with Edouard as they walked slowly back to the keep. “I overheard the lady. You should take her threat seriously, you know.”

Edouard laughed. “And why is that? You think her able to follow through?”

Sir Gui hesitated only briefly before speaking. “Yes, my lord. The people here are different than we are used to. Rough, not quite civilized, I think, and more prone to violence. Her first husband died under very peculiar circumstances. By her own hand, they say.”

Edouard halted. “Who spouts such rumors? I would have his name. His tongue, too, if he cannot keep it still.”

“I cannot give his name, for I do not know it. Last eve I slept in the stables instead of the barracks. My mount seemed ill and off his feed, so I took the empty stall near his. I awoke late in the night when I heard two men speaking together in low voices, as though secrets passed between them. One laughed and asked the other if he thought the French count might also succumb to the old lord’s ague in due time.”

“And the answer?” Edouard demanded.

“Most likely, so the other man said, for the lady suffered too long before discovering the solution to her problem. Now she had found it, the man declared, and it would be no great trick for her to solve this one. If that means she killed her first lord, she might have the same plan for you!”

The silence drew out between them while Edouard considered the probability of truth in the exchange. He knew well the power of gossip. When anyone died in a manner that left doubt as to the reason, the remaining spouse always became suspect. Never mind that there was no motive, no proof, no shred of evidence.

Edouard himself had been a victim of that particular occurrence, not once but twice.

But the fact remained, Lady Anne had just warned him outright that she would kill him if he usurped her power to discipline her people. A strong reaction for the mere shaking of a stable lad.

The look she wore when she said it spoke of passion far more intense than he had suspected she possessed. He could direct that surprising fervor, however, and make it a positive thing between them. Despite that intensity, he could not believe Anne capable of murder.

“Speak to no one of what you heard, Gui. I doubt me there is reason to put any credence to it.”

“Doubt if you must, my lord, but do not discount it altogether, eh? She thinks this place and these people are still hers, not yours. Even the tamest bitch grows dangerous when you manhandle her pups.”

“You court death yourself with that comparison!” Edouard warned, his hand automatically gripping his sword.

Gui backed away, hands up. “No disrespect! I but meant to make a point. A poor choice of words. I apologize.”

Edouard knew he had overreacted. “Very well, then. Take charge of Henri when he comes out. He needs work on his parry.”

“Gladly, my lord.” Sir Gui paused and risked another warning. “You will have a care? Finding another such generous lord would not be an easy task.”

Generous? Edouard wondered what had fostered that compliment. Gui had not yet proved himself worthy enough to gather any special rewards. Nor was he likely to, given that loose tongue of his. “Of course, Gui. I am ever aware.”

Chapter Three

Edouard climbed the rough wooden steps and entered the hall. The reckless stable lad, the hound, a priest, and Lady Anne were just exiting the solar. She rushed forward to meet him as the others headed toward the kitchens. “My lord, I must apologize for my hasty words. There is no excuse—”

“Do not trouble yourself, Anne. I understand how worried you were about that boy.” He smiled down at her, feeling again that powerful need to restore her quiescence. “If you have the same concern for all your folk. I should imagine they adore you.”

For a brief instant, he could have sworn she wore a look of fear. Perhaps because he had just reminded her of the incident outside, he decided.

She made no answer to his comment, but changed the subject entirely. “I spoke with Father Michael. He agreed to perform our wedding on the morrow so that you need not delay your travel.”

Edouard reached for her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing each one in turn. “I applaud your efficiency, sweet lady. What a lucky man am I to find such a treasure.” He felt the stiffness of her reaction to his gesture melt slowly into acceptance. Taking advantage, he turned her hands and kissed the palms.

Then he released one and trailed his fingers over her cheeks. “The little ingrate made mud of the tears you wept for him,” he said softly. “For that alone, I could thrash him.”

She yanked her hand from his. The blast of sudden fury turned her eyes to molten silver. “Not whilst I live!” she snarled.

“No, no, my sweet! You mistake me!” he caught her arm as she spun to leave. “But a figure of speech! I only meant that I hate to see you weep for any cause. Come now.”

Edouard handled her heaving anger gently, determined to soothe her. “You have settled the matter and it is forgotten, eh? Over and done and we will think on it no more. Come, sit and have wine with me now, for we have much to learn of each other.”

Her shoulders squared defensively and she refused to look at him. “Forgive me, no. I must go and wash my face. Then I must see Father Michael’s wife and plan the—”

“Wife? Your priest has a wife?” Edouard demanded.

In her confusion, she seemed to forget the anger. That was something, anyway. “Aye, he does. What of it?”

“Priests should be celibate. ’Tis church law!”

“Bother!” she said with a wave of her hand. “Many priests are wed here in this country. Yours as well, I’d wager. ’Tis better than keeping, a woman and children hidden away, do you not agree?”

Edouard closed his mouth. He knew better than to argue anything further at this point. The wedding was tomorrow. Afterward would be time enough to establish his control over foolhardy villeins and wayward holy men. He was no stranger to discretion, and that was certainly called for at the moment.

“As you say,” he said mildly, adding a bow.

He watched as she took herself off in the same direction as the priest and the boy. Then he turned slowly and went out to observe Henri’s progress with the blade.

Sir Gui might not be far wrong about the primitive nature of these Scots. After encountering Anne’s startling bursts of rage, priests who took wives, young lords who shunned guests, and peasants who thought to fly, Edouard considered that his knight might have the right of it.

Despite all of that, mayhaps even because of it, Edouard liked this place. And he fully intended to stay.

Anne swept into the kitchens where she encountered Robert and Father Michael engaged in wolfing down bannocks. Rob’s old hound, Rufus, scratched behind one ear, whining for Rob to share the food.

“Father, tell Meg I need to see her in the solar immediately after the noon meal.”

Then she grabbed Robert’s chin between her thumb and fingers. “Go to my room. Do not let him see you.”

Robert nodded, grinning merrily around a mouthful of the doughy bread. He slid off the worktable where he perched and skipped off toward the hall, Rufus the hound in tow. Anne watched as Rob halted, peeked around the archway, and then dashed for the stairs.

Anne went to the solar for her sewing basket, found her sharpest scissors and followed him up.

“Sit here,” she ordered her son once she had arranged the stool in front of her chair beside the window. “And be still.”

She held a section of his shoulder-length hair between her fingers as she clipped it. Once she had shortened all of it considerably, she ordered him to undress and get into the tub. They laughed together when Rufus disappeared beneath the bed.

Rob screeched and shivered as he entered the water which had grown cold since her morning bath. “Mama,” he began a protest, which she quickly squelched with a meaningful look.

“Scrub!” she warned him, ruffling his newly shorn waves. “Or I shall do it for you.”

Anne watched sternly while he complied. She dipped and poured water over his head to rinse off the soap, laughing with him as he sputtered and giggled. It brought to mind his babyhood and the first bathing experience they shared. He was her very heart, this lad.

When he had finished, she held out a length of linen and wrapped it around him. Then she directed him to sit near the brazier where she rubbed dry his wheat-colored locks.

Though he had MacBain’s coloring there, his eyes were like her own. She thought he had the looks of her own father, rather than his. His disposition was his own, however.

Merry Rob, friend to all. Yet he was canny, too, not quite as all-trusting as he seemed. He must regret that he missed the sounds everyone else took so for granted, but he never seemed to brood over it. Even during those worst of times with MacBain, it had been Rob who boosted her flagging spirits, who reassured her all would be well. She envied his self-confidence and wondered where in this world he had acquired it. A compensation from God, no doubt.

How handsome he was, all clean and scrubbed. She pulled a long-sleeved tunic of saffron wool over his head and handed him smallclothes and brown chausses to don for himself. When he had done so, Anne offered a belt of burnished leather with a gold buckle, one she had mfashioned from his father’s things.

He grimaced as he took it, probably remembering its former owner. “Uggy bet,” he muttered, but obediently cinched it around his middle.

The way he looked now, Trouville would never realize Robert was the lad on the parapet this morning. She had transformed the long tangle of his dust-coated hair into a silken, sunlit cap. Gone were the threadbare, homespun clothes he always wore for his morning hunts. He looked a proper lordling now. Nay, the comte would not know him. She would barely recognize him herself did she not see him clean and dressed so at supper most nights.

Rob returned to his stool and sat. His expressive eyes, only a shade darker than her own, regarded her with questions. Why the bath before evening? Why must I dress so fine before midday? What is afoot here, Mama?

She knelt before him so that they were face-to-face. “You are to meet Lord Trouville today,” she explained.

Rob’s brows drew together in a scowl. He had not liked that shaking Trouville had given him. “Nay!”

“Aye!” she declared. “You will. Now you must heed me, Rob.”

Rebellion had him closing his eyes and turning away, but she firmly tapped his knee, her signal that she meant business and he must attend.

When he finally faced her, his resignation apparent in the sag of his shoulders, she continued. “I must marry this man,” she said, clasping her palms together.

He studied them for a moment, sighed loudly, and then gave one succinct nod.

“He wants to meet you. You must watch his words. Say only ‘aye, my lord’ or ‘nay, my lord.”’

Rob chewed his lip and lowered his brows. She knew he was considering whether he could do as she demanded with any success. The French accent would be a great obstacle. Rob must have noted the problem when Trouville threatened him earlier.

“I shall be there. Look to me,” she advised, touching her finger to his eye and then to her lips. “Now for speech practice.”

He clamped the back of one hand to his brow and rolled his eyes, groaning dramatically as he slid to the floor. Anne laughed at his foolery, for the moment forgetting her fears.

Later, as she left Rob in her rooms, perfecting his bow before old Rufus, Anne’s apprehension returned. He had to meet Trouville, there was no getting around that. Pray God the man would be too caught up in the excitement of his impending wedding to pay much mind to a mere stepson.

Her new husband would be gone very soon. Of necessity, Rob must appear at the ceremony, but there would be no time for discourse between them then, surely. If only they could get through this evening’s confrontation without detection, she would keep Rob out of sight until protocol demanded his presence.

If worse came to worst and the comte discovered the truth about Rob, she would have no recourse but to plead mercy. If she pled prettily and often enough, he might permit Rob and her to live on as supplicants. But Anne knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that Trouville would never grant her Robert all that was his by right of birth when he reached adulthood.

Many things could occur between now and that time, however. Her uncle would not be around to observe Rob in the years to come. He had a home and his duties in France. Trouville might make infrequent visits, but she could keep Rob away from him. If fortune smiled, neither of the men should guess until Robert was a man grown, if even then.

By that time, Anne hoped she would have taught her son enough to hold his own. By that time, she would have installed a wife for him with wits enough to supply what he lacked when he needed help. Meg and Michael’s daughter, Jehan, had a good head on her shoulders. Rob would have a young steward, as well. Thomas, his brother-by-marriage, would protect and serve out of love for his lord. Their training was already well underway. She had done all she could for the present.