Lord of Hearts Read online

  He nodded to the chieftain, hoping his smile did not appear as forced and stiff as the rest of him felt.

  “A wedding it is, then,” Caradoc pronounced.

  Gerard spent the rest of the evening in a near daze. There was more drinking and dancing, but he struggled to focus what was going on around him. He was very relieved when it came time to retire. Caradoc offered him the use of the guest bedchamber, but he told the chieftain he’d rather bed down with the rest of his men. He needed time to think. To get used to this startling turn of events.

  It was late when he and his rather drunken companions made their way through the gusty, swirling sleet to the barracks. Gerard gradually fell back until he was walking beside Guy de Mortain. When they reached the long, low building, he pulled the knight aside. Guy was the only man accompanying him he could truly call a friend. They’d both served at Valmar Castle for years.

  Guy’s dark eyes immediately probed his. “You’re to be wed to a beautiful Welsh princess. Yet you look as grim as a man planning his own funeral.”

  “She doesn’t want to wed me. Indeed, she called me a filthy Sais. I’m not certain what the term means. Englishman. Foreigner. Something like that.”

  Guy’s eyebrows shot up. Then he shrugged. “She’s probably as shocked as you were. It appears her father gave no warning of what he intended. Not to mention, she probably expected her wedding to be much different. A grand, festive affair with all her kin in attendance.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. I truly believe she despises me.”

  “How can she despise you? She doesn’t know you. Give her time, she’ll come around.”

  Guy clearly didn’t understand why he was distressed. He wasn’t a bastard. He hadn’t spent his life being disparaged and ridiculed. Although no one mocked or dismissed Gerard these days. He’d risen high enough that his illegitimate birth didn’t matter. Still, the memories of the early years lingered. When he was very young and growing up in the village, it hadn’t been so bad. But when he went to serve as a page and then a squire at Valmar Castle, the jeers and jibes from the other boys had been relentless. It had taken years of hard work and dedication to prove himself and silence the taunts. He’d thought he’d moved beyond feeling shame over his heritage. But the sneering remarks he’d overheard in the garderobe had brought it all back.

  “You think I should go through with it? Even knowing she’s very displeased with the match?”

  “Have you a choice? Caradoc made it clear he thinks this is an important part of the agreement with de Cressy. Must be some sort of barbaric Welsh tradition. Bind you to him with a blood bond so you’ll think twice about betraying him.”

  Gerard felt a stab of anger. “De Cressy’s offer is an honorable one. That Caradoc insists on this wedding shows a lack of faith in my overlord. We both know Fawkes is a man of his word.”

  Guy’s mouth quirked. “But Caradoc doesn’t know that. He’s used to dealing with his traitorous countrymen, who turn on each other all the time. Not that our race is much better. King John would have happily paid someone to murder his brother so he could claim the throne. You’d think he’d be happy now that’s he’s got what he wanted. But, nay, he’ll never be content until he’s gotten revenge on everyone who’s ever disparaged him.” Guy’s expression turned grim.

  Gerard didn’t want to talk politics. His focus was on his impending marriage. Guy was right. He should be content. Marared ferch Caradoc was beautiful. He’d never dreamed of having a wife so lovely. Yet, if she never unthawed, the marriage would be miserable.

  What a foolish thought. Few marriages were love matches. He’d come so far and fulfilled so many of his dreams, he should not let such silly fancies poison his success.

  “You’re right. ’Tis nothing to worry over.” He motioned toward the barracks doorway. “We should get some sleep. ’Twill be another long day tomorrow.”

  *

  Marared ducked into the hall. The sleet on her cloak immediately began to melt. She hung the garment on a pole near the hearth before hurrying past the guests and servants sleeping on benches. Down the corridor, she entered the women’s bower. Aoife got up from the bed they shared. Although her brown eyes gleaned with intensity, she spoke quietly, in deference to the other women sleeping in the room. “I’m so glad you’re back. I feared you’d done something utterly foolish.”

  “Such as running away?” Marared also spoke softly. She pulled her clammy gown over her head and smoothed down her shift. “I certainly thought of doing so.”

  “What stopped you?”

  Marared sat down on a stool to remove her boots. “The weather. The fact that there is nowhere I can go without taking my horse and alerting the guards at the gate. And there is the matter that if I run off now, my father would be humiliated.”

  “So, you’re going through with the wedding?”

  “I have no choice. I can’t defy Da. Not in front of all his clients and allies. I’m trapped, like a coney in a snare.” She straightened and then turned so Aoife could brush out her hair. “I’m certain I’ll find a way to wriggle free, but it may take a while. In the meantime, I’ll be yoked to that wretched Sais.”

  “At least Gerard of Malmsbury is fairly young and not ill-favored.”

  Marared let out a huff of exasperation. “I don’t care what he looks like. He’s the enemy.”

  *

  Gerard stood next to his wife-to-be, feeling even more uncomfortable in his blue velvet tunic than he had the night before. Despite breaking his fast with a hearty meal of bread and cold venison, his stomach felt hollow and sour. He’d been glad there had been more meetings with Caradoc and his allies to fill up the day. It had given him something to focus on besides the upcoming wedding.

  But now the moment was here. His bride stood rigidly beside him. As the priest prompted her, she repeated her vows in a clear, strong voice, promising to love, obey and honor him. He did the same. Caradoc motioned that it was time for Gerard to give Marared the ring, the family heirloom the chieftain insisted should be part of their vows.

  As soon as she saw it, Marared’s pale face flushed with color and she jerked back. Caradoc was immediately beside her. “Cariad bach, your mother would have wanted you to have it this day.”

  Gerard held his breath. Marared gradually recovered her composure and held out her hand. Gerard sought to place the ring on her middle finger.

  Again, Caradoc intervened. “Nay. It goes on the third finger, the one from which the blood flows directly to the heart.”

  Gerard did as Caradoc asked, although it seemed absurd. The chieftain might have been in love with his dead wife when he gave her the ring, but there were clearly no such tender feelings binding Gerard with this woman.

  The priest pronounced them wed and Gerard leaned to kiss Marared. After a dry, passionless touching of mouths, they drew apart. The icy hostility in her eyes made all his doubts come rushing back. Blessed Jesu, what had he gotten himself into?

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Another extravagant meal. There was more wine as well as mead, the cloyingly sweet drink the Welsh seemed to favor. Caradoc and his allies all toasted them. Then Gerard’s men drunkenly took up the duty of honoring the couple.

  Gerard pretended to imbibe from the beautiful, enameled cup that Maelgwn, Marared’s brother and Caradoc’s heir, had forced into his hand, but he actually drank very little. His whole body was tight with tension. He didn’t feel like a man who had taken a wife, but a man about to engage in warfare. He must keep his wits about him.

  It wasn’t long until Caradoc suggested it was time for the couple to retire. He led them to the back portion of the keep where the guest bedchamber was located. When they reached the door, he looked at Marared. “Do you need one of the women to help you undress?”

  “I can manage quite well on my own.” She shot Gerard a hostile glance, then opened the heavy oaken door and went in.

  Caradoc cleared his throat. “Despite my eagerness for this we
dding, I want you to know my daughter is precious to me. If you hurt her in any way, the treaty we’ve agreed upon will be voided.” He glanced up at Gerard, his expression grim in the flickering cresset lights. “If you do any wrong to her, I’ll find a way to make you pay. You can be certain of that.”

  Gerard didn’t know whether to be insulted or exasperated. He wanted to tell Caradoc that as far as he was concerned, he was more in need of protection than the man’s daughter. For all he knew, his bride might attempt to kill him while he slept. But years of service had taught him diplomacy. He bowed to Caradoc. “I will deal with your daughter as if she is the finest, most valuable gift I’ve ever received. Indeed, she is certainly the most beautiful one.”

  Caradoc continued to watch him, blue eyes assessing. Then his host regained his hearty, blustering nature and slapped Gerard hard on the back. “You needn’t cosset her too much. Marared is half-Welsh and half-Irish. You won’t find a hardier, more resilient bloodline than that.”

  Gerard did not find this information comforting in the least. The Welsh and Irish races were both famed for their tenacity and bravery in battle.

  *

  As Malmsbury entered the room, Marared regarded him warily. It was all very well to swear she would never share this man’s bed, but now she must defy him face-to-face. He had a legal right to her body. What would he do when she refused to disrobe or let him touch her? Would he strike her? Lay hands on her and force her?

  She couldn’t help glancing at the tiny white scar that slashed across one of his cheekbones. The mark reminded her that this was a knight, a battle-tested warrior. For all her bold words, there was no way she could best him physically. But if he took her maidenhead by force, she would have reason to hate him all the more. She would never accept this marriage.

  After staring at her for long seconds, he finally spoke. “You obviously had no desire for this marriage. I am sorry for that.”

  Marared felt her eyes widen in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to begin this way. “Desire this marriage? Nay, I did not. I had hoped to marry a man of my own people. I certainly did not want to wed a—”

  “Stupid Sais…whom you believe to be hung like a fieldmouse?”

  Despite herself, Marared flushed. It was one thing to taunt an unknown enemy. Another to hear her insults repeated by the man who was now her legal husband.

  He smiled, although she doubted he was amused. “I can assure you that I am neither stupid nor poorly endowed. I would be happy to prove it, in fact.”

  Marared took a step back. “’Twas only a silly jest.”

  He took two steps nearer, looking very serious and determined. Marared could feel her heart jumping in her chest like a panicked deer. Her mouth went dry.

  “Or do you dislike me because I have no mustache and my hair is cropped?” He drew a hand through his short, wavy brown hair. “My hair will grow. I could also stop shaving if I thought such trivial matters were the true source of your animosity.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. Was he suggesting he was willing to change his appearance to please her?

  “What else do you despise about me? Did I not hear you also disparage the manners of my countrymen, suggesting we are clumsy, graceless dancers? That may be true. I don’t know. I’ve never learned to dance.”

  The thought came to Marared that if he did learn, she doubted very much he would be clumsy at it. He struck her as a man who did everything well.

  “The fact is, you don’t know anything about me. Nor do I know you. Your father took me by surprise. I thought we’d marry a few weeks hence. I expected to have some opportunity to converse with you before…” His gaze raked her body. “…Before we would be intimate.”

  The bedchamber seemed to have shrunk down to nothing. She was acutely aware of him. Of his maleness. Of the power in his big body. Of the implacable will in his hazel eyes. She took a step back, preparing for the worst.

  He watched her, the tension between them building moment by moment. Then his fierce mien softened. “I never expected to take to wife a woman I’ve scarce said two words to, except for our vows. I could use a little time to get used to the idea of this marriage. I’m willing to propose a truce. For tonight at least.”

  “A truce?” Her voice was a croak.

  “Aye, a truce in this battle you wage with me. I’m willing to put off the bedding…for tonight.” He smiled again, faintly. “You’ll have to remain in doubt as to my sexual attributes a while longer.”

  She could not believe what she was hearing. Was it a trick?

  “If your father expects us to produce a bloody sheet on the morrow, there are ways to arrange that. We’ll keep our agreement a secret. Between you and I alone.”

  His words suggested an intimate pact between them. Ridiculous. He was her enemy. All they were doing was putting off the inevitable confrontation. In some strange way she was disappointed. She’d geared up for this battle and now it was delayed. “For how long?” she demanded. “How long until you deem it time to consummate the marriage?”

  Ten heartbeats passed. “We can’t put it off forever. You are clearly old enough for bedding. And there are the legal issues to consider. No matter what we pretend with your father, the marriage is not valid until I…come into your body.”

  Come into your body. The words evoked a strange, shivery feeling inside her. But that was absurd. She despised this man, for all that he was pleasant to look upon. And not nearly as disagreeable as she’d anticipated. What was behind his offer? Was he genuinely trying to be courteous? Or, was it some sort of ruse? Maybe he wanted to ensure the marriage remained invalid so he could escape the agreement with her father. But that made no sense.

  She repressed a sigh. Her head ached, and she truly was exhausted. Maintaining her furious rancor took a great deal of effort. “A truce. I’ll agree for now, with the final terms to be discussed later.” She narrowed her eyes at him, wanting to make certain he knew this was only a temporary lull in the battle. “I’ll sleep in the bed, and you may have the floor.” She went to the bed, jerked off the thick wool coverlet and threw it at him.

  After taking off her slippers, she climbed in bed. A pity she was wearing her best gown; the velvet would probably be ruined by sleeping in it. But she refused to strip down to her linen shift. The thought of sharing a bedchamber with this big, virile stranger was unnerving enough without being half-naked as well. She snuggled down into the remaining blankets and allowed herself to let out a weary breath.

  *

  By the saints, his wife was a shrew, Gerard thought, as regarded his wife lying in the bed with her face turned away from him. He’d attempted to be gracious and considerate and she’d flung his courtesy in his face, much as she’d tossed him the coverlet. Did she really expect him to sleep on the scratchy, rush-covered floor? He’d endured much worse. But her haughty manner riled him, pricking his pride as the stiff floor rushes would prick his body. He’d given her his word he would not touch her and the bed was more than large enough for two.

  Was it that she did not trust him? Or that she loathed him so much she didn’t want him near? The thought stung. The few women he’d bedded had seemed to find no fault with his appearance. He could not believe she considered him repulsive. Indeed, she should be pleased she was not married to some balding, fat-bellied old man.

  The wench didn’t know how good she had it. Not every man would be so understanding. Most would have taken it as their due to bed her. They would not have been put off, even temporarily.

  Considering it that way, his decision seemed foolish. The marriage must be consummated to be valid, so why was he taking this risk? Was it because he felt sorry for her? Or did his decision to call a truce stem from the vague fear that if she let loose with her viper tongue, he would find himself provoked into doing something he would regret later? Although he didn’t have an especially quick temper, a man could endure only so much.

  And how did she perceive his forbearance? Did she scorn him f
or being weak? A hellcat like her might expect to be forced, and only respect a man who compelled her to do his will. Had he given her cause to think him malleable and weak?

  This woman seemed to have gotten the upper hand already, putting him on the defensive. And he had backed down, telling himself he was being kind and courteous.

  He went to the bed. “Move over.” She turned to look at him, her eyes wary and watchful. “I said we would have a truce. That doesn’t mean you can dictate all the terms. The bed can easily accommodate both of us.”

  She heaved a huge sigh and made a great show of moving to the other side of the bed. Gerard tried to decide how much to disrobe. She was still fully clothed. If he stripped down to his braies, it might make her think he meant renege on their bargain and force himself on her in the night.

  He removed his boots, but left on his remaining garments. His court tunic was heavy and the braid adorning it thick and scratchy, but with only the wool coverlet she’d allowed him, he might well get cold in the night if he took it off. The way she’d gathered all the other bedding around her made it clear she didn’t mean to share. He picked up the coverlet, climbed into bed and spread the blanket over him.

  As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Marared as she’d appeared the day before. The enticing curves the thin wool of her gown had revealed. The grace with which she moved. He thought of her wavy, red-gold hair, like a gleaming sunset reflected in a turbulent river. How her creamy skin would feel like the finest silk beneath his fingers. He thought of her taunting rosy mouth, which seemed to demand to be silenced with deep, probing kisses.

  A shudder of pure lust swept through him, and he wondered why he was obsessing over a woman. Normally, he thought little of the charms of the fairer sex. He always had more important things to focus on. Acquitting himself well as a squire and then as a knight. Doing his duty and impressing his overlord.

  Why did this woman entice him so strongly? Was it because he knew she was his, and he had every right to bed her? Or was it because she was so fiery, so fierce, so like an enemy to be conquered? There would be an undeniable thrill in making such a woman sigh and moan with pleasure.