The Norman's Heart Page 7
“You hurt me,” she said flatly.
Maybe she was merely upset because of the perfectly normal consequences of losing her virginity. “The pain was not so very bad, was it?” he asked not unkindly, quite certain that even if he had been blind drunk, his skill would still have made her wedding night bliss.
“Which one?” she asked sarcastically.
He sat up a little straighter. “I’m referring to the...to the loss of your maidenhead,” he said, feeling an unfamiliar discomfort at having to discuss the subject.
“That is not what I was referring to.” She shoved the sleeves of her gown upward and he saw purple bruises.
“God’s wounds!” he gasped, truly appalled. “I’ve never hurt a woman in my life!”
“Perhaps knowing I was your legal wife made a difference,” she observed, pulling her sleeves back down. “I am going to go to mass, where I will pray for you.”
He got out of bed, noticing the drops of blood on the linen as he did so. The marriage must have been consummated, and apparently he had been a wretched brute. “I don’t want your prayers. I was simply acting like any husband would after your insolence to my overlord,” he lied defensively. He saw his own garments scattered about the floor and yanked on his chausses.
Her lip curled scornfully. “Baron DeGuerre was a guest in my house, and if you don’t care if he respects your home, I do. I am not so blinded by admiration that I don’t see his arrogance.”
“If I admire him, it is because he is deserving of lit.”
“Is he? This man who treats your servant as his whore, and who dares to do so at your wedding feast—this man is worthy of your complete devotion?”
“I have sworn my allegiance to him.” Roger tugged his tunic over his head.
“Have you sworn away your judgment, too, then?”
“No!” he growled as he put on his belt.
“Neither did I when I made my marriage vows. I am mistress of this castle now, and I will be respected, by everyone. Including you, Sir Roger de Montmorency. And with that in mind, I tell you, if you touch me again as you did last night, you will rue it.”
Roger grabbed his boots and shook them at her. “I am the master here, woman, and you had best take care not to forget that! And if anyone rues anything, it is I who rue agreeing to marry you.” He came close, standing nearly nose to nose with her. “Rest assured, since the marriage is already consummated, I will not touch you again—until and when I am ready to. Then you had best submit, Lady Mina de Montmorency, because I will not allow you to refuse!”
Still holding his boots, Roger marched from the room.
Chapter Six
Slumping onto the last stair at the bottom of the tower, Roger shoved his bare feet into his boots. The action made his head throb, and with a disgruntled sigh, he rubbed his temples.
“What’s this?” Albert said, getting up from his place on a nearby bench where he had obviously slept. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has Sir Roger de Montmorency finally been defeated by a goblet of wine?”
“It must have been that imported wine of Reginald’s,” Roger growled in response.
Albert came closer. “Are you all right? You sound sicker than Bredon’s old dog. The poor thing died last night—and you look like you should have. I didn’t think you found your bride that attractive.”
“Where the devil is Bredon, anyway?” Roger asked. He hadn’t noticed the huntsman in the hall last night. However, he had not been paying strict attention to the guests, other than the baron. He had heard of the dog’s illness, and should have expressed some concern. Bredon was the finest huntsman in the land, partly because he doted on his dogs as if they were his children.
“He’s in the kennel, I expect.”
“He’ll mope in there all day if I let him. Some hunting might do both of us good. Can’t do me any harm. I should also see how the training of my newest gerfalcon goes. Fetch the falconer, too.”
Albert gazed at him shrewdly. “Do you really think you’re well enough to ride and hunt, Roger? You truly do look sick.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Albert,” Roger responded sarcastically to the knight’s genuine expression of concern. “Where is the baron?”
“I believe he’s in the inner ward waiting for his horse. He’s leaving soon, of that I’m sure.”
“Fine.” Roger hauled himself to his feet. “Be a friend, and find Bredon and Edred. Tell Bredon I’m sorry about the dog but I want to hunt, and see if Edred wants to try the new falcon, or use the tiercel. Then order the necessary preparations for the hunt.”
Albert didn’t obey at once. He stood awkwardly beside the stairs, adjusting his tunic unnecessarily.
“Well?”
“Aren’t you going to go to mass?” Albert asked.
“No. My head would burst in the stuffy confines of that chapel. I need to be in the open air.”
“What about Lady de Montmorency?”
Lady de Montmorency. Roger wanted to grumble that he didn’t have the first notion what to do about Lady de Montmorency. Instead, he said, “She’s still in bed. I imagine she can find plenty to do today without me underfoot.” Then, deciding that he had a reputation to uphold, he winked at Albert lasciviously. “If she gets out of bed at all.”
Looking somewhat relieved, Albert chuckled companionably and set off toward the kitchen corridor, presumably to find the huntsman and falconer. Roger watched him go, then with a grim and set expression went out into the inner ward. As Albert had reported, the baron was indeed there, pacing impatiently and glancing overhead at the sky. Roger squinted at it, too, and wondered if the clouds were leaving or arriving. He couldn’t quite tell.
His gaze returned to the baron, and he told himself his admiration for his overlord was wellfounded, whatever Mina Chilcott—de Montmorency—thought. It was his duty to be loyal and to obey. It was to his credit that the baron treated him as he did, and if the baron wanted to sleep with Hilda, that was his privilege, too.
Of course, Mina was right that Montmorency Castle was not a brothel and shouldn’t be treated as such, but it was not her place to upbraid the baron.
It was his, and he should have done it.
“Roger! How good to see you before I go!” the baron called out.
Roger hurried toward him. “I’m sorry you have to leave so soon after arriving,” he said. “Perhaps when you have completed your business in London, you can return.”
“Perhaps,” the baron said, “if your wife will allow me to set foot here again.”
“I assure you, my lord, that you will be only too welcome.”
“Don’t be so angry about it, Roger,” the baron said amicably, drawing Roger aside from his mounted men. “She was quite right, you know. I wish I could say that the wench addled my wits, but the truth is, I forgot myself and my manners.” He surveyed Roger shrewdly. “She is a very special woman, I think, Roger, although I suppose you have already discovered that for yourself. I truly envy you.” He ran his gaze over Roger again, and Roger tried not to scowl. He was no article on display in the marketplace!
“You had best take care to get more rest, Roger,” the baron said. “I rely on you, you know, and will take it amiss if you fall ill, for whatever reason.”
The baron was talking to him as if he were a child, not a nobleman, Roger thought indignantly.
“Now if only I could find a suitable wife for Reginald, eh? That won’t be easy, though. I mean, he’s not at all like you.”
Meaning that he was an easier prize to dispose of? Roger wondered. What was the baron doing, spending his days as some kind of noble matchmaker as if he were a gossiping old woman instead of a man who had won so many tournaments nobody could keep count?
A towheaded stable boy appeared leading the baron’s magnificent stallion, bearing fine accoutrements of red and silver. “Ah, ready at last,” the baron said before swinging into the saddle easily. “Thank you, Neslin. I bid you farewell, Roger. Give my good wishes to your c
harming bride.” He leaned down and spoke quietly. “If I had known Chilcott’s sister was such a fine woman, I might have been tempted to marry again myself.”
Roger didn’t have time to respond before Baron DeGuerre signaled his men and rode out of the gate, for which Roger was grateful. He feared he might have said something he would regret later. Nevertheless, he didn’t trouble to hide his frown as he watched him go. Could Mina have been right in saying that perhaps his overlord was not deserving of the unquestioning devotion and respect Roger bestowed upon him?
Mina didn’t know the baron as he did, Roger told himself. She had never served him, ridden with him, hunted with him, fought with him, wenched with him. Roger knew that the baron was one of the finest men he had ever met—brave, just, worthy of admiration and emulation.
For a moment, he was tempted to call the baron back and tell him to take Mina, if he found her so enticing. Let the baron deal with her inscrutable ways and sharp tongue and unfathomable moods. Let the baron try to decide if the sentiment that seemed to be in her kiss was genuine, or only a trick.
Maybe the baron wouldn’t care if he hurt her or not, and surely the baron wouldn’t feel unclean and impure for acting like little more than a loathsome beast on his wedding night.
He didn’t like having his world shaken to its foundation. Not again, not after it had taken him so long to rebuild it after the shattering experience of his parents’ untimely death and the breaking apart of his family.
“Oh, God help me, I’m dying!”
Roger spun around, grimaced with pain from his aching head and glared at Reginald Chilcott, who came staggering out of the hall as if he had been wounded in six different places. His hair hung limp and uncurled; his clothing was disheveled, and his hose bagged at the knees.
“What’s the matter?” Roger demanded unsympathetically.
“My head hurts, and my mouth is as dry as...as the bottom of a dry well, and my stomach feels—” He didn’t have to finish describing his stomach, because he was promptly sick all over his brightly painted leather boots.
“Dudley!” Roger bellowed.
The steward, his face wreathed with smiles now that the wedding feast was over and the baron gone, hurried out of the kitchen. “My lord?” His smile disintegrated when he saw Reginald Chilcott.
“Take Lord Chilcott inside and see that he’s attended to.”
“Yes, my lord,” Dudley murmured, turning paler. “I’ll fetch one of the servants at once.”
Mina appeared in the doorway, scanned the inner ward, ignored her husband and Dudley and rushed to Reginald’s side. “Come inside, Reginald,” she crooned.
To Roger, she had been as cold as the brook during the spring thaw. He would never have guessed she could sound so solicitous. And to think it was not for him, her husband, who had awakened far from well. If he had been kinder to her last night—God’s teeth, if he could only remember what he had done to her!—she might have been speaking in those soft dulcet tones to him.
No, she was his wife, the marriage consummated. He didn’t need her hushed words or kindhearted... pity. Yes, pity was what she was giving Reginald. Therefore, he did not need it, or her. Nor did he want her arm around him.
Roger marched stoically toward the stables, too annoyed to notice that his head was not aching quite so much. “I’m going hunting as soon as Albert finds Bredon,” he announced, ostensibly to Dudley.
Mina ignored him while she assisted Reginald back inside the hall.
Reginald groaned pitiably as Mina helped him into the hall, much more pathetically than Roger had that morning, although her husband had been paler and even somewhat green. However, she could find it in her heart to have pity for Reginald. He didn’t have the stomach for wine, as she had quickly discovered on his return. She bad considered that strange, since he had spent so much time in France, but not so strange when she realized the poor fellow was quite ignorant of his own weaknesses.
She got Reginald to the closest bench. Hilda came out of the kitchen corridor with a broom, clearly intending to clear away the rushes and the remains of last night’s feast before mass. She dropped the broom and hurried to Mina’s side.
Together they laid the enfeebled young man down. “God, just let me die in peace!” he moaned. “Send for Father Damien. I haven’t got much time.”
Mina had to smile, although she turned away to hide it. Every time Reginald drank too much, he was convinced he was on his deathbed. Reginald gave another groan and thankfully, Hilda was ready with a bucket. “Leave him to me, my lady,” she said quietly. “I’ll look after him.”
Mina nodded. She had had quite enough of tending to the ill, and she knew there was nothing seriously wrong with her half brother, just as she had known there was nothing seriously wrong with Roger. The effects of the drugged wine would soon wear off.
Suppressing a sigh, she got up to leave Reginald in Hilda’s competent hands when Hilda laid a detaining hand on her arm. “My lady!”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Thank you. For last night, I mean. With the baron. I...I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me.”
Mina tried not to blush with guilt. In truth, she had not been thinking of Hilda at all. She had been trying to show both the baron and Roger that she was now the mistress of the castle and expected to be treated with respect.
“And I wanted to tell you, my lady—” the conversation paused while Reginald used the bucket again “—that I won’t cause any trouble. Not that I think I could, you understand. That is, he’s your husband now, and I won’t go near him. You won’t send me away, will you, my lady?”
“Not unless you give me cause.”
“Oh, thank you, my lady. I won’t. I promise.” Her expression was still worried, but her eyes grew determined. “I hope Sir Roger will let Lud stay the reeve.”
“Who is Lud?”
“My brother.”
Payment for services rendered, no doubt, Mina thought. “Is he a good reeve?”
Hilda smiled broadly. “Oh, yes, my lady. I say it truthfully, even if he is my brother. Keeps everybody in line, he does, but nice, so they don’t get angry. It’s a gift he’s got, making everybody happy.”
Mina didn’t doubt that Hilda had something of a gift for keeping men happy, but she refrained from mentioning it. “If Lud is a good reeve, Sir Roger would not wish to have another, no doubt.”
“I think so, and so would most everybody.”
“Then you have nothing to fear from Sir Roger, or from me.”
Hilda grinned broadly, then frowned when Reginald groaned as if he had demons in his belly. “You go ahead now, my lady. I’ll take good care of him and get him up to his bed as soon as he’s able to walk.”
With a nod, Mina went outside. A brace of lymers and the smaller brachets strained at their leashes, held by a man she had not noticed before. The squat, grizzled fellow spoke to his charges as if they were soldiers under his command, cajoling some, berating others until the dogs grew quiet. In that time, she caught sight of squires and boys saddling horses in the stables, and several of the male wedding guests waiting with their hunting weapons. Mina suppressed a sigh that was both weary and disappointed, surmising that she would have to spend much of the morning with the men’s wives sewing or in idle chatter.
She dreaded such a day, because she had so little in common with most noblewomen. Her life had been too difficult, her days so much like those of a servant, that she suspected she would have more to share with Hilda than any of the fine ladies currently visiting. Fortunately, she understood most of them were leaving later today, or early tomorrow, so she would not have to put up with them long.
“My lady!” said a friendly voice behind her. “May I present Edred, your husband’s falconer.”
Mina turned to see Sir Albert coming from the kitchen stores nearby, a piece of bread in his hands. At his side walked a slender man of middle years with a large, hooded gerfalcon on his wrist.
“Sir Roger likes the best, my lady,” Edred replied with a nervous smile. “Best wishes on your wedding.”
Like Roger, Edred’s brown hair was long and touched his narrow shoulders. He sported what should have been a beard, although the growth looked rather erratic because of several scars on his face. Still, he seemed a pleasant fellow, and even rather in awe of her. Because she was Sir Roger’s wife? Mina fought to subdue a twinge of dissatisfaction. Wasn’t that what she had wanted? Surely it was expecting too much to be respected for herself alone.
“Thank you.” She turned to address Albert. A glance from the corner of her eye showed that Edred relaxed when she wasn’t looking directly at him. “I take it Roger is not attending mass?”
Albert shook his head as Edred sidled off toward the horses. “He says not, and I don’t suppose we’ll be back in time for the noon meal, either, so I decided to help myself to some food. Forgive my rudeness.”
She gave Albert a genuinely warm smile. He treated her with respect. He also asked for forgiveness and thanked her with sincere gratitude. She moved a little closer to Albert and said, “Edred seems a nervous fellow for a falconer. Does he not upset the birds?”
Albert chuckled. “Edred is only nervous around women, my lady. Around the hawks, he is a veritable Titan. Why, I’ve seen one claw his face nearly to ribbons, and he stood there as calm as we are now.”
“Albert!” Roger barked, and the friendly mood was shattered as they both faced Roger. He strode out of the stable, leading a magnificent black stallion. “What the hell are you doing? Get your horse.”
“At once, Roger,” Albert said, hesitating a moment to return Mina’s smile. “I understand a groom who is grumpy on the morning after is a good sign,” he whispered quickly.
Mina sighed as Albert walked briskly away and Roger mounted his high-spirited, prancing horse and headed toward the gate. There was no need for her to remain here, so she turned toward the chapel.