Chosen for the Marriage Bed. Anne O'Brien
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the rich hue of the cloak, picked up a glint of gold from the weak rays of the sun.
‘Do I call you Beth? Or Bess?’ he asked. ‘What do your family call you?’
‘I am Elizabeth,’ she replied gravely.
‘Then Elizabeth it shall be.’ It told him much of her upbringing, that she had never been named informally with affection. ‘Do you approve?’ he asked.
‘Of what?’
‘Ledenshall.’ He gestured to their surroundings. ‘Your new home.’
‘Of course.’ The slightest hint of colour rose from the fur at her neckline, as if in guilt that she had been found out in some lack of courtesy. ‘You didn’t mind?’ A quick contact of eyes, as if she feared a reprimand.
‘Of course not. It’s your home. You’re free to enjoy it.’ A contradiction here, he realised, between confidence and vulnerability. He thought about what he wanted to say to put her at her ease, which she clearly wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry you should have had to face this ordeal alone. Your uncle should have been here to welcome you.’
The heightened colour deepened. ‘And I am sure we can deal well enough without him, my lord. Sir John is the last person I would expect to be here to make me comfortable.’ She closed her lips firmly.
So the tale of the estrangement between uncle and niece was true. He found Elizabeth was now looking squarely at him, head tilted, whilst Richard awaited the outcome, senses on the alert. It was not often that young women appraised him in so serious a manner, without a smile on their lips or an invitation in their eyes. She was definitely taking his measure. Her words surprised him further.
‘Let us be frank. We both know it, my lord. I am here as a replacement for my cousin Maude because Sir John wishes it,’ she announced gruffly. ‘And because for you the de Lacy connection would have its advantages in the March. There’s no need for pretence between us. You did not want me, I know. But I presume that Sir John was most persuasive with my dowry—my mother’s Vaughan lands, I expect. And, of course, you’ll need a Malinder heir. I shall do all in my power to oblige.’
Well, here was plain speaking. But if her words took him aback, he hid it and answered in kind. ‘That is all true. And I warrant that my offer to take you as Lady of Ledenshall would give you far more satisfaction than the narrow life of a nun in Llanwardine. There are advantages on both sides.’
The colour flared as if she had been struck, and he was sorry for his lack of finesse, but her reply was immediate. ‘That is also true. I regret Maude’s loss to you. She had the promise of such beauty and spirit.’
What could he say to that? His mind scrabbled for an answer, until it was made obvious that she had no expectation of empty flattering remarks.
‘I have studied what I see in my mirror, my lord.’ She turned from him to look out over the battlements. ‘I shall try to be everything a wife should be. You need not fear for my loyalty, if that would be a concern. I would not wish it to be an issue between us.’ Now he was definitely startled that she should pick up so contentious an issue, almost as if she could read his mind. Honesty indeed on such brief acquaintance, even if it proved to be painful. ‘My family is Yorkist—you and I have been brought up as enemies from our cradles, and I shall always consider the claim of the Plantagenet House of York to be superior to that of poor mad King Henry. But I swear that my loyalty in marriage will be to you.’
Richard looked at his bride’s stern face with a complex mix of astonishment and admiration and decided to be just as forthright. ‘My own oath is given to that same King Henry, whatever the state of his wits, because he is the anointed King, whilst the Plantagenets have bloody treachery in mind.’ He smiled a little as she stiffened at his accusation. ‘I see we shall never agree on this divisive issue—but with such honesty between us, we shall do well enough together.’
‘I expect we shall.’ She risked a slanted glance ‘We are both adult and see the value of honesty and loyalty between man and wife. I dislike pretence and disguise.’
‘And I.’ How strong she was beneath her pale fragility, how magnificently controlled in the circumstances. But she was not a comfortable presence. He felt it was a bit like negotiating an alliance with a potential enemy with the flags of war still raised on both sides.
‘And the marriage ceremony?’ Elizabeth asked bluntly.
‘Soon. I see no reason to prolong the arrangements.’ He leaned against the parapet to watch the play of emotion over her face. ‘If that is to your liking, of course—I suppose I should never underestimate the amount of time needed by the females of a household.’
‘I have no objection. I have no experience of such matters.’ Her flat words were accompanied by a little lift of her shoulders as if she did not care.
Although his hackles rose, instinct quickly told Richard Malinder that it was a pretence. It mattered to her, though she would not admit it. He did not think she would admit anything to him—yet. He took possession of her hands again, turning them over, smoothing them with fingers callused from sword and reins. Hers were no better than his, he mused, no softer, and impossibly red and rough with swollen knuckles and chapped skin, nails chipped and broken. Not the hands of a lady of birth. His lips tightened as he came to understand her life at Llanwardine.
‘You will not have to scrub floors here, lady.’
‘Thank God.’ She looked at her hands with a little frown of distaste. ‘This was from digging for roots in frozen ground. And breaking the ice on the water to wash the bowls after meals.’
‘Chilblains?’ he enquired in some sympathy. He enfolded her fingers gently within his.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I fear so. And my toes. Jane Bringsty urges pennyroyal salve on me, but to no avail.’
‘We must look after you here. I cannot have a Malinder bride suffering.’
He looked again at her hands, warmly enclosed within his. They might be damaged and painful, but her fingers were long and slender, the nails pale ovals. They could be beautiful, he suspected. And it reminded him that he must give her some symbol of their union. Not a ring yet, he decided. Not until she could wear it with pride and some satisfaction. But he knew exactly what he would give her.
Elizabeth made no attempt to pull away. When, in a noble gesture of chivalry towards his bride, Richard bent his head to kiss her work-scarred hands, he felt the slightest return of pressure as she tightened her fingers on his. The little gesture of trust tugged at his heart, surprising him, so that he felt compelled to turn her hand to press his lips to her palm. In contrast to her fingers the skin was enticingly soft so that he lingered, his lips warming, then looking up to find her eyes searching his face. He was transfixed by the beauty of their violet depths, a leaping connection that made him want to soothe and reassure her as he would a newly broken mare.
For a long moment they simply stared at each other.
The she pulled her hands free and the moment was broken.
‘Let us go down. The wind has too much of an edge here.’ He made to lead her down the steps, placing himself unobtrusively between the lady and the increasing gusts. ‘Food, I think. And you need to be introduced to those of the household whom you have not already met.’
On level ground again within the courtyard, sheltered from the worst, he pulled her hand through his arm to walk back to the living quarters, in no manner dissatisfied with the turn of events. Outspoken to a fault she might be, she would never be easy to live with—too much obstinacy, too wilful, he had decided—but there was at least a measure of agreement between them.
Whilst Elizabeth de Lacy fought a difficult battle to repress the little spurt of hope that warmed her heart. Take care! she warned herself. It would be too easy to allow this man to break down the barriers so effectively constructed over the years to protect her heart from further hurt. But Richard Malinder was kind. He had shown her a level of understanding that she had not