Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore
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able to stand. He wore the same clothing he had the day before, but the finely woven tunic was now stained with bits of food and wine and his beard was dotted with crumbs. His hair was unkempt, his full face florid, and he was clearly the worse for wine. Again.
Nevertheless, for the first time in their acquaintance, Roland was glad to see him, for his presence silenced Rheged. He didn’t take kindly to being threatened and he didn’t want to come to blows, not in his father-in-law’s courtyard.
“Ah, Sir Roland!” Lord DeLac cried. “There y’are! Time to go, eh? Now you’ve got the dowry and my daughter, off you trot!”
As if all he’d wanted to do was conclude a bargain. No doubt that was how Lord DeLac thought of the marriage.
Roland had to suppress the temptation to dunk the greedy, drunken lout in the nearest horse trough.
“Mavis!” DeLac bellowed, turning around in a circle and looking up as if he expected to see her on the wall walk. “Where are you, girl? Your husband is waiting!”
“Here, Father!” Mavis answered, appearing at the kitchen entrance and hurrying toward them with her cousin at her side.
His beautiful young wife wore a simple brown traveling gown and was shrouded in a thick brown cloak with a rabbit fur collar. Her attire was almost nunlike and her demeanor that of a fresh young maiden—quite different from the bold wanton in his bed last night.
He’d never experienced such thrilling excitement, such perfect satisfaction, in any woman’s arms. He had been sure she felt the same, until he’d seen those devastating tears.
Surely, he told himself, if she’d been forced to take him for her husband, she wouldn’t have been so willing and wanton—but why then had she been crying? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said or done to otherwise upset her, except make love to her, his exciting, virginal—
She had been a virgin. No doubt there’d been some pain, something he hadn’t yet considered, and perhaps enough to cause her tears.
Mavis came to a breathless halt beside his horse and gave him a bright smile. “I’m ready now.”
His gaze searched her face as he tried to discern if she was sincerely happy, or only pretending to be.
If she was pretending, she was very good at it.
“About time, too!” her father exclaimed. “Take her, Roland, and safe journey to you both. God’s blood, it’s freezing out here!”
With that, Lord DeLac hurried back inside without so much as a backward glance at his only child. Meanwhile, Rheged’s wife hurried to embrace Mavis while Rheged continued to regard Roland with a look that might have frozen the very marrow of a man’s bones, if it were anyone but Roland. He had been subject to intimidation his entire life, and by men harder and crueler than Rheged of Cwm Bron could ever be.
“Godspeed and may you have a safe journey!” Tamsin said to Mavis fervently. “Never forget you will always be welcome at Cwm Bron.”
Mavis hugged her cousin tightly. “I’ll remember.”
“Come, my lady, let us go,” Roland said, moving to help her mount her horse.
“As you wish, my lord,” Mavis replied, giving him another brilliant smile.
He doubted anyone could feign such sincere happiness so well. He must be right to think that her pain was merely physical, and if so, that hurt would soon heal.
If only there were some way to find out if that was the sole cause of her tears! He couldn’t talk to a woman with ease, as Gerrard did.
Once Mavis was in the saddle, Tamsin ran up to his wife’s horse and placed her hand on Mavis’s boot. “Remember what I said!” she cried. “Anything you need, you have but to ask! If you require our help, send word at once.”
She made it sound as if Mavis was going to her doom, and his hope began to fade that he’d found the cause of her tears. Yet whatever the reason for this marriage, he thought as he raised his hand to signal the cortege to depart, he was still Sir Roland, Lord of Dunborough, and his bride would make him the envy of any man who saw her.
Especially his brother.
* * *
The day continued to be fine, if chilly, and Mavis would have enjoyed the ride, save for two things: her husband rode several paces ahead as if he didn’t want to talk to her, and the men of their escort riding behind her talked far too much.
“S’truth, I wish I was back at Castle DeLac,” Arnhelm muttered. He was a tall, slender soldier, bearded and the leader of the escort. “Look at him, riding like he’s got a spear up his arse. What kind of lord comes all the way from godforsaken Yorkshire by himself, anyway?”
“One from Dunborough,” his short, stocky brother and second in command, Verdan, answered. “And now, God save us, we got to go back with him!”
“This is a bad time to be heading to Yorkshire, all right. At least we don’t have to stay there. Mind you, she does, poor thing,” Arnhelm said, nodding at Mavis. “It ain’t right, this marriage.”
“Aye, he don’t deserve her. He’s a hard man, and her as sweet and gentle as a lamb.”
Mavis kept her gaze on her husband and tried not to listen, but it proved impossible. Arnhelm had too loud a voice. For his sake, she was rather glad her husband was so far ahead, so he couldn’t hear the men’s conversation. And Roland did sit in the saddle as if his back would break rather than bend if he tried to lean forward.
Determined not to listen to Arnhelm and Verdan anymore, she moved her horse forward until she and Roland were side by side. He might not want to talk to her, but she would speak to him.
She also didn’t want the soldiers returning to DeLac with tales of a silent bride and a brooding groom. While her father might not care, Tamsin would worry. “How much longer will we be traveling today, my lord?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he did.
“A few hours.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Unless the riding is too tiring or uncomfortable for you.”
“Oh, no. I have spent many a happy hour in the saddle. I’m not sore at all.”
He glanced at her again, then looked away just as quickly, and she wondered if he understood what else she was saying. She didn’t want to come right out and tell him he hadn’t hurt her much, not with the escort so close. Instead, she tried a different subject. “If we make good time, how long until we reach Dunborough?”
“Six days.”
“As long as that?” She had been anticipating three days, four at the most if the weather turned bad.
“The ox cannot go quickly.”
She should, of course, have taken that into consideration. “And your castle? Is it as large as DeLac?”
“Larger. It’s one of the strongest in the north,” he replied, and although his expression didn’t change, she could hear his pride.
“The household must have many servants,” she ventured, wishing she’d taken on more of Tamsin’s duties in DeLac before her cousin had married.
“Enough.”
“Come, my lord,” she gently chided. “Can you not be more specific? I am to be chatelaine, after all.”
He frowned. “I’m not certain. Eua can tell you. Or Dalfrid.”
“And they are?”
“Eua has been serving in the household since before I was born, and Dalfrid is the steward.”
While Roland’s answers were short and to the point, at least he was talking to her, and she took that as an encouraging sign. “I understand you have a twin brother. Does he live in the