Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore
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Melvin, to see that Sir Roland’s men are taken care of.”
“Right you are, my dear! Now come along with me, Sir Roland, and we’ll get your horses settled and then your men. There should be room enough in the stable for your horses, and we’ve a building behind it for the ox and your wagon. Your men can all sleep in the hall.
“That’s a fine beast you’re riding, I must say! Speaking of fine, your wife is quite a beauty. Mavis, you said her name was? Lovely name, lovely girl. We’ve heard nothing of Lord DeLac’s daughter getting married, though...”
* * *
Lady Viola led Mavis to a small, comfortable chamber on the second floor of the manor house. Tapestries covered the walls and a large bronze brazier of glowing coals provided warmth. There were cloth shutters as well as wooden ones to keep out the cold and drafts. The furniture was simple, but well made, consisting of a bed, two low chairs near the brazier, a chest for clothing, a washing stand and a stool, where a maidservant sat rocking a cradle.
The servant, a rosy-faced, neatly dressed lass, rose when they entered.
“How is my lambkin, Annisa? Still asleep?” Lady Viola asked.
“Aye, but making little noises like he’ll be waking soon.”
“You go and eat, and I’ll tend to Martin until you return.” As the maid nodded and left the chamber, Lady Viola said, “Then it should be time for the evening meal.”
“I must thank you for your generous hospitality, my lady,” Mavis said at once. “I’m sorry you were forced to take us in, but we could find no other accommodation. Unfortunately, it seems that the reputation of my husband’s relatives has preceded us, and innkeepers are reluctant to give us shelter.”
“It’s indeed unfortunate that you’ve had such a reception so near our home,” Lady Viola replied, “but we’re happy to be of service.”
She spoke with such sincerity, Mavis believed her, and was even more grateful.
“I’m surprised your husband didn’t realize that might be the case.”
Mavis remembered what the groom had told her the first night Roland had arrived at Castle DeLac. “He only stopped once on the journey to DeLac, so he might not have encountered anyone who had any dealings with his family, or knew their reputation.”
“And you did not suspect there might be any such trouble?”
Mavis shook her head. “No,” she replied, suddenly feeling foolish. Sir Blane and Broderick had journeyed to DeLac. She should have expected that they’d behaved just as loutishly along the way as they had when they reached DeLac.
The babe began to fuss. Lady Viola picked up the squirming, swaddled baby with a tuft of light brown hair and, holding him to her shoulder, sat in the chair near the brazier. “Please, lie down, my dear, and rest. You look worn out.”
Although Mavis was tired, she sat in the other chair. “I assure you, Lady Viola, that Roland is not like his father and older brother. I’ve met them, and I can vouch for the difference.”
That was certainly true, especially when it came to their treatment of women.
When the baby continued to fuss, Lady Viola opened her gown and put the wee lad to nurse. “And the other brother, Gerrard? Have you ever met him?”
“No. Have you, my lady?”
“Only by reputation,” she replied. She studied Mavis a moment. “I would rather not be the bearer of bad tidings, but ignorance is no protection for a woman, so I will tell you what I’ve heard about Gerrard of Dunborough—that he’s devilishly handsome and devilishly clever, too, and without an honest bone in his body. He cheats at games of chance and refuses to pay merchants, or the tavern keepers whose wine he drinks, or the women he...” She delicately cleared her throat. “To put it in the simplest way, I am afraid, my dear, that he is a thorough reprobate.”
Although Mavis was dismayed to hear her husband’s twin painted in such a terrible light, she tried not to betray it. “Then he, too, is nothing like Roland. But since Roland is the lord, and Gerrard the younger, I should have little enough to do with Gerrard in Dunborough.”
“I hope so, my lady, yet that might make him all the more dangerous.”
“Surely there is little he can do to hurt me, and even if he tries, my husband will protect me.”
“For your sake, I would that it were so, but Gerrard’s a sly fox, my lady. He could try to make your husband hate you.”
“Why? What could he possibly gain?”
“From what I know of the men of Dunborough, his brother’s unhappiness may be enough.”
Mavis had no answer to that, nor did she wish to hear any more. “You’ve been blessed with a fine, healthy child,” she observed.
Lady Viola kissed the top of her nursing baby’s head. “Children are indeed a blessing and a joy, my dear.”
Mavis instinctively rested her clasped hands on her belly. “I would do anything to have children. They are our comfort and support.”
“Beg pardon, my lady,” Annisa said as she reentered the chamber. “The evening meal is ready.”
Lady Viola handed her sleepy child to the maidservant, who laid the baby on her shoulder to burp him.
“I’m sorry. You didn’t get a chance to rest after all,” she said to Mavis as she closed her gown.
“It’s quite all right,” Mavis replied, even though she wished she’d taken a nap so she wouldn’t have heard so much about her husband’s brother before they rejoined the men in the hall below.
“I suppose the women must have their time to gossip, eh, my lord, and we men must wait for them to finish, even if we’re starving,” Sir Melvin said to Roland as they sat together in the main room of his manor house.
Roland did not reply, in part because he didn’t know if Mavis indulged in gossip, but also because it didn’t matter if he answered. He had already learned that Sir Melvin would keep talking regardless. Since returning to the house he had talked about the state of the roads, last year’s harvest, the king and the latest news of the church in Rome.
Roland could believe the man would keep talking even if he were knocked unconscious.
“Mind you, it’s easy for a man to wait for a woman as beautiful as your wife,” Sir Melvin continued. “Such eyes! Such skin! Not that I envy you, my lord, for Viola won my heart when I was just a lad, and she says the same of me, hard as that may be to believe.”
Roland did find that rather difficult to comprehend. He supposed it was possible that Sir Melvin had been thinner, and quieter, in his youth.
Roland’s gaze wandered to the soldiers of his escort, who were likewise awaiting the evening meal. They were clustered around a trestle table at the far end of the room, chatting quietly among themselves and only occasionally glancing their way. No doubt they were discussing what had happened that day, and he was sure nothing good was being said of the men of Dunborough.
He noted the two brothers sitting close together, head to head, one speaking, the other listening, paying attention and nodding agreement as if they were friends, not mortal enemies locked in battle for a father’s notice.
“You’ve made a most promising alliance, too,” Sir Melvin went on, snaring his attention again. “Lord DeLac is a wealthy and powerful man.”
“Who will probably soon be dead of drink,” Roland replied, trying to silence the fellow, at least for a moment.
Unfortunately, his plan did not succeed.
“Yes, well, ahem, we have heard