Fire Song

Roland looked to Meredyth Chalmers as she came forward and took the still yapping dog from beneath his feet. When she bent forward, Roland saw the way the maid’s gaze focused on the bloodstained sheet He met her troubled eyes with his own noncommittal ones.

Meredyth had not taken note of this, for she was occupied in fussing with that ridiculous excuse for a dog, which had not ceased its yapping. “There is no need to apologize, Agnes. You obviously expected Celeste to be here. Clearly you would not be able to tell me where she is then.”

The woman could no longer withhold her understandable curiosity. “No, my lady, I fear I cannot. And yes, I am surprised at seeing you here. I thought Lady Celeste…” Her brows arched in confusion. “Was not Lady Celeste to marry my lord Kirkland?”

Meredyth scowled, biting her lip. “Uh…aye, but there has been a change of plans.”

Roland could not restrain a grunt as he interjected, his voice rife with sarcasm, “Oh, yes, a change of plans indeed.”

Meredyth’s disapproving scowl, the maid’s continued shock and the insistent barking of the dog made Roland realize he could not hope to get anywhere here. With a growl of anger, he stalked toward the maid. “Where is your master?”

She gawked up at him, “In the great hall, my lord, when last I saw him.”

Roland dodged around the maid and out into the corridor. He would get to the bottom of this. If Penacre had not known what his daughters were about, which Roland seriously doubted, he soon would.

When Roland stepped into the corridor he stopped short at seeing Penacre’s knight, Giles, standing just a few feet away. The man’s expression was one of strange satisfaction as he watched Roland come through the doorway. With a sardonic smile Roland bowed. “Is there something I can do to assist you, Sir Giles?” He paused then, moving closer to the man as he gazed into a pair of burning eyes that were on a level with his own. “Or perhaps you might be of assistance to me?”

Roland gestured to where Meredyth now stood in the doorway of the bedchamber. She glared at him, her green eyes dark with defiance as he addressed the other knight. “Were you a part of this charade that has seen me married to the wrong sister?”

As Sir Giles’s gaze followed his direction, his eyes grew round with shock and horror. Immediately Roland realized he could not have known. His horrified reply was further proof. “Married to the wrong sister? Do you mean to say that you have married Meredyth instead of Celeste?”

When Roland nodded, Sir Giles shook his head, his gaze vacant with confusion. “But how could this happen?”

Roland shrugged, feeling his own anger rise anew as he pondered that same question yet again. “You would be a more knowledgeable man than myself if you were able to discover the answer to that question.”

Looking at the man, Roland could see that Sir Giles was not listening. He seemed completely overcome as he clearly forgot all thought of good sense or formality, striding past him to stand frowning down at the diminutive Meredyth as he barked, “Where is your sister?”

Meredyth seemed surprised at the degree of Sir Giles’s reaction. She recovered quickly, clearly not willing to allow him to speak thus to her. As she rose to her full height, Roland could not help noting, with an odd stab of protectiveness, that her head did not even reach the level of the dark knight’s shoulder.

“I do not know where Celeste is,” came her haughty reply, “and I will thank you, Sir Giles, to keep a civil tone when speaking to me.” Roland’s protectiveness turned to an even more surprising feeling of respect as he watched her face the fiercesome knight so regally.

In spite of his unexpected reactions to Meredyth, Roland could not help seeing that the man appeared so distressed by her reply that he did not heed her words. Instead he went so far as to reach out and place a detaining gloved hand upon her arm when she made to turn away, speaking to her hoarsely. “Meredyth, you do not know what the two of you have done.”

Roland felt an incredibly powerful wave of possessiveness streak through him at seeing that large hand on Meredyth’s small bare arm. The sheer depth of the reaction left him feeling as if he had been broadsided by a battering ram. Yet even as he sprang forward, he told himself that his degree of vehemence was simply brought on by the fact that Meredyth was his wife, wanted or not. No other man had the right to touch her.

He was at Sir Giles’s side instantly, his fingers closing on his wrist. “Take your hand from my wife.”

Sir Giles looked up at him with dawning clarity as if he, too, were surprised by his own temerity. Then even as Roland watched, his gaze became hard and guarded as he said, “Very well, Lord Roland. I can see that no one is allowed to trespass upon what belongs to you.”

Roland did not waver in his regard of the other man. “No one.”

Sir Giles looked as if he wished to say more. Then unexpectedly he swung around and strode away from them without a backward glance.

Feeling Meredyth’s gaze upon him, Roland faced her. Her small chin was raised in stubborn defiance. She spoke, with regal conviction. “I did not require your assistance in this, my lord. I am more than capable of rebuffing that oaf.”

Roland felt another unexpected surge of respect for her self-assurance. He quickly pushed it aside, telling himself that respect was not an emotion he wished to feel in connection with any woman—and most definitely not this one. She and her sister had had no right to dupe him. He would make his own position quite clear. “I have neither need nor desire for you to protect yourself, Lady Kirkland. I hold well what belongs to me.”

Outrage darkened her green eyes to jade. Roland had no wish for further debate. She would soon come to understand that his position as her overlord and husband was absolute. He turned and strode down the corridor without another word.

It was clear that his abrupt and obvious dismissal did not please her, for he heard a loud gasp of outrage, then the slamming of a door. A cool smile played about his lips as he heard this. That wench was sadly in need of lessoning, and learn she would, did they remain wed. There could be but one master in his household.

Her capitulation last night had been complete and gratifying. It would be so again, in bed and out. He felt an unexpected stirring in his blood.

Quickly Roland pushed aside all pleasurable thoughts of his bride. He had another matter to attend to. That of ensuring the dower he had been promised.

No woman would sway him from his purpose, no matter how delightful a night in her arms might have been. And Jesu help him, his far too vivid recollections of the evening told him it had been delightful, more so than he would ever have expected. He set his shoulders with determination. Did the dower not come with Meredyth, he would not have her.

Impatiently Roland found himself brushing aside an unwelcome and unanticipated sense of disappointment at his own decision.

He found Penacre in the great hall, where he was just finishing his morning meal. The older man’s gaze was not welcoming as he saw his new son by marriage coming toward him where he sat at the head table.

Roland lost no time in stating his demand. “Penacre, I would have a private audience with you, immediately.” He meant to find out first if Penacre had indeed known of his daughters’ trickery, and second, if he thought to withhold the dower.

Clearly the elder man did not care for Roland’s tone, for he raised a haughty silver brow. “You are free to speak here.” He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the others who were partaking of the morning meal.

“Nay,” Roland replied, “I will converse with you and only you. If your daughter speaks truth you will be glad I have afforded both her and you the courtesy of telling you what I have to say in private.”

Penacre stood, frowning. “As you wish.” Without waiting to see if Roland was indeed following, he strode from the hall. Roland went after him, feeling many sets of unfriendly eyes upon his back. It was obvious that those who had overheard his brusque words to their master did not approve. Roland gave a mental shrug. He had no care for what the folk of Penacre thought of him. He was the one who had been wronged here.

He was led to a small chamber that contained several tables and two chairs. The tables seemed to groan under the weight of the ledgers that rested atop each. Peripherally he found himself thinking that Penacre must have a care with his holdings to keep such detailed records. Then he quickly told himself that Penacre was likely only being miserly. Yet he could not help knowing that Penacre’s home was finely furnished and his daughter richly garbed.

With a wry twist of his lips, Roland told himself it did no ill to Penacre’s lot to be good friend to King John. What matter was it to him now, whom the man supported? Richard was dead.

Roland concentrated on the baron’s possible duplicity toward himself. Penacre made no motion for him to sit, nor did he do so, which was fine with Roland. He had no wish to affect any facade of polite civility.

Roland got to the point immediately. “Lord Penacre, your daughter has assured me that you had no knowledge of what she was about. That is the only reason I am even here discussing this with you rather than with the king himself.”

Penacre’s already stiff expression became even more so. “What are you jabbering about, Kirkland? What has Celeste told you that would make you go to King John in complaint?”

Roland watched the man closely. There was no indication that he was hiding anything, but Roland was not finished. “Not Celeste—Meredyth.”

“Why would Meredyth offer you offense?” The older man shook his head in obvious bafflement. “You have no cause to speak to Meredyth. Have had no need for contact with her of any kind. I’ll thank you to stay away from her.” The pain in his voice was clear as he said, “You’ve already taken the one person who means most to me and will have no more.”

Roland thought this a most odd thing to say, but pushed it aside. He could not be distracted. He continued to study Penacre for any sign of treachery as he said, “Oh, I have had opportunity for the most intimate of contacts with the lady Meredyth. You see it is she who passed the night in my arms.”

Penacre started toward him, his face a mask of anger and confusion. “You had best explain yourself, Kirkland, for I’ve no more patience in me.”

Unmoved by this and determined to learn the truth, Roland said. “It is Meredyth Chalmers who married me in the chapel last eve, Meredyth who is my wife.”

Even Roland could not doubt the utter shock and amazement that drained Hugh Chalmers’s face of all color. As Roland moved to help the older man into a chair, he could not explain the strange sense of relief he felt on finding out his wife had not lied to him on this matter, at least.

He quickly dismissed it. Betrayal was the way of women; his own mother had lessoned them in that when she had abandoned her husband and children by running away with his father’s squire. Even these more than twenty years later the memory had the power to squeeze his heart in a painful grip.

Learning that Meredyth Chalmers had told the truth of this one small matter did not change the fact that she had tricked him into marriage. In fact, it made her reason for doing so even more of a mystery. If not in some attempt to cheat him of the dower, then why indeed?

Meredyth had long since retreated to her own chamber. Nothing more could be gained by staying in Celeste’s. The truth was revealed. She knew that Roland had confronted her father, because he had come to her demanding an explanation, no more than an hour past.

Though it troubled Meredyth greatly to defy her father’s demands for information, she had refused to tell him. Celeste’s secret would not become known through her and Celeste herself had as yet to return to the keep. Her father’s men were at this moment searching for her.

Hugh Chalmers had gone back to St. Sebastian none the wiser, his parting stony stare a clear sign of his disapproval of Meredyth. She could only believe that did he know the truth he would wish for her to protect Celeste. Only that certainty kept her from blurting out all. That and the fact that she could read his illdisguised relief that Celeste had not been the one to marry Kirkland.

Meredyth looked up from her unhappy thoughts as her door opened. It was her maid, Jolie, who stood in the doorway. Her cloud of dark curls surrounded a pale face and troubled brown eyes. “My lady, he is here.”

“He…?” Meredyth asked in a ragged whisper, though she had a very uncomfortable feeling that she already knew what he the maid was referring to.

Before Jolie could say any more, the man in question pushed the door open wide with his broad shoulders. St. Sebastian then dismissed the maid without taking his narrowed cobalt gaze from Meredyth. “You may go.”

Jolie hesitated, her brow creased with concern, and Meredyth knew sympathy for her. The girl was quite young and had only been in her service for three short months. She was not accustomed to dealing with men like Roland St. Sebastian. Nor for that matter was Meredyth, but she nodded reassuringly. “All will be well, Jolie. Lord Kirkland is my…husband. I have nothing to fear from him.”

But even as a clearly reluctant Jolie dipped a curtsy and left, Meredyth wondered if he would continue to be her husband. Would he somehow find a way to set her aside? She supposed the church would allow it, considering the circumstances. Yet she could not help wondering what would then happen to her. She was no longer a virgin and surely all in the keep must know that After Roland had left her in Celeste’s chamber, Meredyth had become aware of the blood on the sheet she used as covering and the fact that Agnes seemed equally aware of it.

No other man would wish to have St. Sebastian’s leavings. Meredyth had thought she was resigned to being her father’s chatelaine, to never having a home and family of her own. But the sheer inescapability of this future should Kirkland refuse to remain wed to her was devastating.

She did not wish for him to know how very much this thought disturbed her. Surely having no husband would be preferable to being this man’s wife. Meredyth squared her shoulders and looked directly into those startlingly blue eyes. “Well?”

Roland St. Sebastian smiled but there was no pleasure in it and a sense of greater unease came over her. “Well, wife. It seems I am to keep you.” Before she could contemplate whether this revelation came as relief or curse, he continued, “Your father seems to have no more understanding of what has made you and your sister act so rashly than I. Furthermore, he has agreed that you shall have the same dower that Celeste would have brought to Kirkland.”

He shrugged. “As I have decided not to contest the fact that you wed me using your sister’s name, the matter is to be overlooked by the priest. We shall change the name on the marriage contract and notify the king of the situation, but I can see little chance of his caring greatly when he has the bulk of his attention set on his own recent marriage to Isabella of Angouleme. He has gained his end in seeing our two houses united. One Chalmers bride is as another.”

Meredyth hardly knew what to reply. His coldness toward her was not surprising, though unexpectedly painful. She pushed this hurt aside to concentrate on the rest of what he had said. The shock of learning that the marriage would be honored by Kirkland was amazing, not to mention the fact that he had just told her that she had attained a dower worth thousands of pounds.

Not that the properties and gold would be available to her. They belonged to the man before her. It was the furniture and linens, the huge copper tub, the bolts of fabric, all the household items they had gathered for Celeste’s marriage. All were now hers.

The thought was so overwhelming that it was a moment before Meredyth realized he was speaking again. “Your father will provide the men to drive the wagons, and I shall leave two of the four I have brought with me to Penacre. They will escort you to Kirkland in the morning. I assume you will be safe upon your own father’s lands. And after that you will be upon mine.”

She frowned. “They will escort me…?”

He raised a brow that was as black as a raven’s wing. “I have other matters to attend to. I shall follow in perhaps a week.”

She took a deep breath. She was to go to Kirkland, the home of her family’s enemy, alone. Meredyth met his gaze with her own deliberately cool one, though it cost her dear. “As you will.” If he thought he would see her beg him to attend her he was greatly mistaken. She would ask for nothing. Better to burn in hell than ask for this oaf’s protection.

Meredyth could not stop herself from saying as much. “If you imagine I shall beg you to act the proper husband to me, St. Sebastian, you may now learn that I will never do so. Not now, and not in the future.” She turned her back to him in dismissal.

It was with complete surprise that she heard his voice so close behind her only a moment later. Dear Lord, he had made not a sound. Meredyth was only just able to keep herself from giving a physical start, as she closed her eyes and willed her racing heartbeat to slow.

His words did nothing to assist her efforts. “Have no fear, wench, I shall act the proper husband to you when required. There will be no need to beg.”

There was no mistaking what he was referring to. The words had the effect of sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. Meredyth was appalled at her own reaction after the way he was now treating her. Even as she struggled with her own feelings, something told her that she must never allow this man to know how greatly he affected her. Calling upon all her reserves of self-preservation, Meredyth swung around to face him. “I have no fear of that or anything else about you, my lord. And allow me to tell you one more truth. You think this marriage has made me yours to command. I am not. I will act by my own wishes.”

As she looked at him, she thought for the briefest moment that she saw admiration light those compelling eyes. But the impression was short-lived, for she could see he was very obviously looking at her with that now accustomed superior expression of his. “Oh, you are mine to command and for whatever act I desire. Mark me.” Without another word he turned on his heel and was gone.

Meredyth passed through the great curtain wall at Kirkland with her head held high. What the occupants of the keep might make of the fact that she was arriving without their lord, she refused to contemplate. She had no more intention of allowing St. Sebastian’s folk to know how dazed she was by the changes that had occurred in her life over the past two days than the man himself.

That not all the changes had been disastrous did not lessen her distress one jot.

She cast a disbelieving glance backward over the two wagonloads of linens, furniture, cloth and other effects. They were hers, all hers, each and every item belonged to her, Meredyth. Never in her life had she thought to have so much.

The only items that had been taken from the chests were the clothing that had already been made up for Celeste, who had finally returned to the keep many hours after the worst of the chaos had died down. She had been summoned to their father, but emerged defiant a short time later, refusing to say where she had been or why she and Meredyth had switched places. Only to Meredyth had she admitted to passing a night in an abandoned forester’s cottage. She had then indicated that her confidence that all would turn out well between Meredyth and Roland had been justified.

An amazed Meredyth had not bothered to plague her with the unpleasant truth. She ignored the throb in her chest at remembering how cool the blackguard had been as he told her that he was sending her on to Kirkland without him.

Determinedly she told herself what he thought mattered very little. What did matter was that she could now set up her own home. Use things that were hers to do with as she pleased. Meredyth much doubted St. Sebastian would remain interested in her for long. He had no real feelings for her. Mayhap he would soon ignore her to the extent that he would leave her to do as she pleased about the keep so long as she did not interfere with him directly. He was a warrior. What true interest could he have in how she ran the household?

For reasons unknown to her the thought of his ignoring her completely was not as soothing as she would have wished. She told herself not to be foolish, even as a sudden and quite unwanted memory of the feel of the man’s tongue against her breast made her flush with heat.

Blushing furiously and angry with herself for such a thought, Meredyth looked about, glad that none here could read her mind. In spite of St. Sebastian’s overconfident parting words, Meredyth had no intention of being intimate with him.

The two men Roland had left behind to escort her sat silent atop their horses where they rode just ahead. They had said barely a word to her or her maid, Jolie, throughout the long day. Neither of the young men had even bothered to mention their names, nor had Roland before he galloped away from Penacre as if he could no longer bear to be there. Of course, she told herself, attempting to be fair-minded, the steadily falling drizzle might have had some bearing on the situation.

Now that they were within the castle walls, Meredyth felt many pairs of eyes upon her. She continued to hold her head high, refusing to give in to the urge to look more closely at the gathering crowd, to see if the people resented their lord’s marriage to his enemy’s daughter as much as she feared. She could only believe they must, and her position was made doubly difficult by Roland’s very conspicuous absence.

Knowing she could change none of this, Meredyth did her utmost to concentrate on surveying her new home. The keep was a large, square, two-story structure with a square tower on each of the four corners. A crenellated walkway ran the length of the four walls. A sturdy log bridge connected the outer wall to the top of the keep. In the event of an attack where the outer wall must be abandoned men would be able to fall back to the protection of the inner keep along this route and burn it behind them so as not to give access to the enemy. She suspected that there were others like it that were not visible to her from this vantage.

Obviously Kirkland took the security of his castle very seriously. Her lips twisted in irony. It did not completely surprise her that such a disagreeable man might indeed have enough enemies to make such precautions necessary.

Not that she felt her own father was lax. But he certainly did not go to such lengths to ensure the peace at Penacre. It had not been needed.

The wagons came to a halt in the center of the courtyard, yet no one moved.

After what seemed an eternity, Meredyth took a deep breath and told herself that she must be the one to do something if no one else intended to. Squaring her shoulders for courage, she slid to the hard-packed ground.

To her relief she saw a man leave the group on the steps of the keep and move toward her. With careful dignity Meredyth waited for him to come to her.

He was a tall man, as tall as St. Sebastian himself, but not quite as broad of shoulder, and his ash-blond hair was cut short He stopped before her with a polite if somewhat stiff bow. “I take it you are my lord’s new wife, the lady Celeste. I am Sir Simon, left in charge of the keep in my lord’s absence. But I am sure he has told you that.”

Meredyth could not hold back a scowl of chagrin. Roland had told her nothing. Worse than that, this man had called her Celeste. Then she chided herself for her own unpreparedness. Of course they were expecting Celeste, not having been told otherwise. Well, she had no intention of explaining anything. She simply replied. “I am your lord’s wife, the lady Meredyth.”