Lady Rowena's Ruin. Carol Townend
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she married Eric.
If she married Eric she would be obeying her father and escaping him. A voice in her head was muttering: Better Eric than the convent. Better Eric than Sir Breon. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.
Mathieu’s face swam into her mind and a pang went through her. It was obvious she wasn’t going to be allowed to mourn him in peace.
Could she marry Eric? She gave him a sideways glance. His strong arms had had no difficulty overpowering her. The boy she had dreamed about so long ago was a successful knight, a landed knight. Doubtless the habit of command had become his second nature. Would he seek to dominate her as her father sought to dominate her mother?
‘Sir Breon is as much a victim as anyone else,’ she murmured.
Eric’s eyebrow shot upwards. ‘You like Sir Breon, my lady?’
Rowena shuddered and gave a swift headshake. She didn’t like Sir Breon, but she thought she understood him. Over the years she’d watched Sir Breon’s ambition warp his nature. He’d begun in a small way. There’d been an archery contest one winter—the men of Jutigny had been pitted against the Provins guard and Sir Breon had been put in charge. The Jutigny team had won, much to her father’s delight. After that the rumours had begun, rumours which went something like this—Sir Breon had contacts in Provins and he’d bribed one or two of their archers to miss their mark. Provins had lost, not badly, just enough to ensure that the Jutigny team won.
‘My father is a cunning man,’ she said. It was clever of her father to offer Eric her hand in marriage. By holding out the promise of a county he was offering Eric everything he’d always wanted. If Eric married her, he would no longer feel like an outsider. ‘He is also a cruel man.’
‘Cruel?’
She shrugged. ‘He is offering what you most want—land—and he is using your best quality—your loyalty—to bend you to do his will.’
‘My lady, I will not marry you if you do not wish it.’
The gold cross at Rowena’s breast flashed as she took in a deep breath. Eric’s heart clenched. His aloof would-be nun was looking rather the worse for wear. Her hair streamed down her back like silk, she didn’t seem to have noticed how it had unravelled. Her eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots, were shiny with unshed tears.
‘Father is such a trial,’ she murmured. ‘Sometimes I think that he hates me.’
Eric shook his head. She looked so small and defenceless. So hurt. He was taken with the urge to take her hand, he wanted to comfort her. She wants to be a nun, don’t touch her, it’s obvious she dislikes men. Eric could understand why. It took a strong man to hold on to a county and her father was just such a man. Sadly, Count Faramus could be extremely inflexible, certainly as far as his womenfolk were concerned. Yet it was more complicated than that. Her father had fought to keep his county and he wanted it to go to his daughter and in turn to her heirs.
‘My lady, you are an heiress. The County of Sainte-Colombe could be yours one day.’
‘I don’t want to be an heiress.’
He smiled. ‘Nevertheless, my lady, that is the role you were born to.’
Her chin lifted. ‘What happens next?’
‘Next, I take you back to my manor where we will wait. I swear you will not be forced to do anything against your will. I feel sure your father will reconsider. After that, you’ll be safe to return to the convent.’
‘And if Father doesn’t relent?’
‘My lady, I will take your part.’
Her pretty mouth set in a bitter line. ‘Much good that will do me.’
‘My lady?’
‘Lord Gawain took my part when he released me from my betrothal. He went to Paris and convinced the king to let me enter a nunnery. If Father won’t listen to the king, sir, I hardly think he will listen to you. He is determined to marry me off.’
Eric lifted an eyebrow. ‘I too would petition the king on your behalf. Don’t you trust me?’
‘I trust you.’ Blue eyes searched his. ‘Up to a point.’
Eric stiffened. ‘My lady, I take exception to that remark. You have my word that if all else fails, I will petition the king.’
‘Thank you.’ She pushed a strand of hair back over her shoulder and sighed. ‘This is all because of my cousin, Sir Armand.’
‘Yes, Count Faramus mentioned him.’
‘Father hates him, he will do anything to prevent him inheriting the estate.’ She looked pleadingly at him. ‘So you plan to take me back to Monfort. And then?’
‘We wait for your father to come to his senses.’
She shook her head and her hair rippled out over her shoulders. ‘That day will never dawn. Father thinks to win you over by giving you a chance to step into his shoes. He’s tempting you as he has tempted Sir Breon over the years.’
Eric stared at her. ‘My lady?’
She shrugged. ‘You must have noticed. Every time Father wants something unsavoury doing he goes straight to Sir Breon and offers him something he knows Sir Breon will not be able to resist. And however distasteful the task, Sir Breon always steps up to the mark. If silver is offered he accepts it. Every time.’
‘I am not Sir Breon.’ Eric’s voice was gruff. It irritated him beyond measure that Lady Rowena should compare him to Sir Breon. Particularly since marriage with her would give him the security he had always longed for. Him? A count? Once it would have seemed impossible, yet now... ‘You will have to trust me, my lady.’
She gave him a small smile that reminded him of her mother and shook her head. ‘Sir, I can see I have little choice but to go with you.’
Eric breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Thank heaven, she was prepared to put a little trust in him, he didn’t want to ride back to Monfort with her fighting him every step of the way.
As soon as Lord Faramus realised that he could not force her into marriage—after all, Lady Rowena was the king’s goddaughter—Eric would do the right thing and send her back to the abbey.
Nearby, a horse whinnied. Alard had followed them into the copse and stood with the horses a little way off. Rising, Eric had extended his hand to help Lady Rowena up before he recalled that she would not like to touch him. To his surprise and pleasure her tiny hand took his and she came gracefully to her feet.
She straightened the cross at her breast, shook out her grey gown and started to tidy her hair. ‘Goodness,’ she said, flushing like a rose as she realised how much of it had worked loose. ‘What a mess. You should have told me.’
Her hair looked beautiful to Eric—small golden tendrils framed her face, long shimmering waves cascaded down her back. A compliment hovered on the tip of his tongue. He folded his lips together and kept it in. A woman who was shortly to make her preliminary vows wouldn’t appreciate compliments.
He cleared his throat. All in all, Lady Rowena was taking this better than he had dared hope. Nevertheless, the tremor in her hands as she plaited her hair told him that she was nervous. Was she afraid of him? Lord, he hoped not. It wouldn’t be surprising if she were though. This—being abducted from the convent—had to be the most unnerving experience of her life.
Eric had considered her cossetted as a child. Now he realised how wrong he’d been. Not having parents himself had blinded him to the truth. Cosseted was definitely not the word to use for the count’s treatment of his only child. Restricted would be a better word. When Lady Rowena had been young, Count Faramus had watched over her like a hawk and, as soon as she had left her childhood behind, she’d spent half her time in a convent.
The nuns must have been instructed to teach her the