Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore
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yawning. He snapped to attention when he saw Roland. “My lord!”
“You are taking care of my lady’s horse, I assume,” Roland calmly remarked.
“Aye, m’lord.”
“And you are?”
“Verdan, my lord.”
Roland noted their somewhat similar features, despite the difference in their builds. “Are you two related?”
“Brothers, my lord,” Arnhelm answered.
Brothers. That no doubt explained the kick.
He was about to dismiss them when he realized he had an opportunity he might want to take advantage of, and not only to delay going to the chamber he would be sharing with his wife. “Lord DeLac seems to have a good eye for horses.”
Verdan and Arnhelm exchanged glances, then Arnhelm answered. “Aye, m’lord. We never thought Lord DeLac would let my lady take her, even though she’s been my lady’s mare since my lady were fifteen.”
“And she is now...?”
“Nearly twenty, my lord, so past time she was married, so everybody said,” Verdan replied. “Lady Mavis had the boys buzzing around her from when she was just a lass, and with good reason. Pretty and pleasing, that’s our lady. A man could go far and not find another like her, so when we found out she was to be married, we all—”
Arnhelm shoved his brother with his shoulder, a censorious motion that Roland was also all too familiar with. Unlike Gerrard, however, Verdan seemed to appreciate that he should, perhaps, be quiet. “We all wished her joy,” he finished rather feebly.
“No doubt,” Roland said. “You two are sleeping here, I take it?”
“Aye, my lord, to guard the horses and the dowry,” Arnhelm answered. “I’m on first watch.”
“See that you stay awake, then,” Roland replied as he abandoned hopes for some time alone. He gave Hephaestus another pat on his nose, and left the stable.
As he crossed the yard, he paused a moment to look up at the window of the chamber where his wife had gone. The shutter was closed, but the slats allowed a little bit of light to shine through. His wife was still awake.
He was tempted to bed down in the stables with the soldiers on watch. He’d slept in the stables at home often enough, trying to avoid his father and brothers.
But then he’d been a lad fearful of his father’s fists and older brother’s slaps, strangleholds and punches, not a lord with men under his command. He knew full well what gossips soldiers could be. He wasn’t about to let rumors spread that Sir Roland of Dunborough did not sleep with his lovely young wife. He could imagine the speculation that would follow. At the very least, they would probably say that she had barred the door.
As he continued across the yard, he wondered about the other men who’d wanted Mavis. Well, any man who saw her would want her. But had she wanted any of them? She’d said she’d married him because she’d wished to; that didn’t mean there hadn’t been others before him whom she might have considered, too.
It didn’t matter what had happened in the past. She was his wife now. He need not be jealous of those other, unknown men.
He marched through the taproom, acknowledging the soldiers bedding down there with a nod before he mounted the steps and entered the bedchamber.
To find Mavis in the bed, with the covers up to her chin as if to shield herself from attack.
In spite of his determination to keep his distance, his heart sank. Nevertheless, he would maintain his dignity. He went over to the small table in the corner bearing a cup and pitcher. After pouring himself some water, he downed it in a gulp.
When he turned back, his wife was no longer in the bed. She stood beside it, wearing only a shift, her golden hair loose about her shoulders. She had her arms clasped in front of her and looked like an angel, while his thoughts were far from pure.
But he would resist the lust of his body. He would ignore the desire coursing through him like waters at the flood. He would not remember their wedding night or that afternoon beneath the tree, except for the shame he’d felt afterward. He wasn’t like his father. Or his brothers.
He must remember, too, that only that morning she had been weeping, so her smiles and her willingness to share his bed might only be for show. “Go back to bed, Mavis.”
She nodded and obeyed, but her expression...it was like seeing a flame snuffed out. It took all his resolve to go to the bed, take a pillow and pull off a blanket. “I shall sleep on the floor,” he said, regarding her steadily, watching for a flicker of relief.
Instead, she lifted the covers in a gesture of invitation. “You need not, my lord.”
Every particle of his being urged him to join her, to share her body and her bed, to believe that this exceptional woman wished to be his wife.
And yet he dare not give in, not if he would prove to himself that he was different from his family. “You are weary, my lady, and should rest.”
“So should you, and it need not be on the floor.”
He was not going to admit that she tempted him beyond all reason, or that he’d seen her crying. “I will sleep where I choose, my lady,” he replied.
Without another word, she turned onto her side and faced the wall.
That was for the best, he thought as he made his simple bed, lest she continue to try to persuade him and he prove too weak to resist.
* * *
The next morning, Mavis awoke to the sound of birds singing. The chamber was dim, for the shutters were still closed. It was bright enough to see that she was alone, however, and a pillow and folded blanket were on the end of the bed.
Rising, she sighed with both weariness and dismay. It had been a long, anxious night, half of it spent waiting to see if Roland would join her in the bed.
He did not.
She tried not to feel hurt or disappointed, although he had to realize now that making love wasn’t painful for her. And even if he didn’t want to make love with her, there was no need for him to sleep on the floor.
A soft knock sounded on the door and, after her response, Polly entered with a ewer of steaming water in one hand and linens in the other. “Beg pardon, my lady, but Sir Roland asked me to bring you water and linen to wash. He wants to leave as soon as you’ve dressed and had a bite to eat.”
That was more than he’d said to her. “Thank you.”
Polly set the ewer on the washstand. “Elrod’s still talking about them lumplings, my lady.”
“I’m glad he liked them.”
Polly grinned. “He likes that they’re cheap. I like that they’re easy. Your husband must be some proud of you, my lady.”
“I hope so,” she replied. “I can wash and dress without assistance, Polly. I’m sure you’re needed in the kitchen.”
“As a matter of fact, my lady, I am. Ylda could burn boiling water,” she said with a grateful grin before she bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the room.
Mavis watched her go with a sigh, then washed, combed her hair and put on her traveling gown. She picked up her cloak and made her way to the taproom.
Roland wasn’t there, either. Nor were any of the men. Elrod was, though, beaming at her as if she were the light of his life. “Ah, my lady! Here you are and looking lovelier than ever!”
The man would have done very well at court. “Thank you. Where is my husband?”
“In the yard overseeing your men saddling the horses and getting the ox into the yoke.”
Polly came into the