Knight of Seduction (21 page)

“Climb in your carriage, Blodwin.  No one wishes to witness a scene.  Most particularly me.”

She was traveling in the other direction, to the convent where Anne had always yearned to live.  Blodwin would reside there in her place.  Blodwin would be shut away where none of them would have to deal with her ever again.

She attempted to approach Eustace, but the guards prevented her.  She marched to Hugh instead.

“I’ll get even with you,” she blustered.  “Some day, somehow, I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to me and mine.”

“As I told your son, you’re welcome to try.”  He flashed a lethal grin.  “But I don’t see how you’ll succeed.  Those convent walls are awfully thick and the gates locked tight.  You’ll never be released.”

A convent was a prison to the women sheltered there.  Many who entered sought asylum, sought peace from heartache or despair.  Others—such as Blodwin—were forced in against their will, and once they went in, they never came out.

Rosamunde appeared on the stairs and hastened down.  She would depart very soon, too, as Hugh delivered her to her husband.  She’d tried to dissuade him, had begged and pleaded and cried for him to relent, but what other choice did she have?

Marriage was the sole option for her, and she was being ridiculous to think that no spouse would be selected.  The matrimonial path was the road all females were expected to walk. 

“Mother,” she grouched, looking glum and resigned, “you’re making a fool of yourself, and everyone is watching.”

“Don’t you dare scold me,” Blodwin snapped.

“Leave with some dignity, would you?” Rosamunde said.

The train of men escorting Cadel and Eustace began to move, the horses plodding off.  Blodwin shrieked with dismay and fell to her knees, her arms held out in weepy supplication.

“Eustace!  Eustace, my darling!” she moaned.  “Don’t abandon me!”

The errant priest stiffened as if she’d thrown a rock at him, but he didn’t glance back.

Cadel didn’t turn, either, but then, Blodwin hadn’t said good-bye to him.  Only Eustace.  Only her deviant, corrupt priest.

“Mother!”  Rosamunde reproached.  “Get up and be silent.”

Dorag hustled over, and the two women grabbed Blodwin and wrestled her to her waiting carriage.

“You wicked daughter,” Blodwin chided.  “You wicked girl.  You would side with Hugh against me?  Against
me?
”

“Mother, cease your complaints.  No one cares to listen.”

“Don’t let him send me to the convent.  I want to go with
you
.  There should be space for me in your new home, with you and your husband.”

“With my…husband?”  At the prospect of having Blodwin join her when she was wed, Rosamunde was aghast.

“Yes,” Blodwin pressed.  “I’d like to live with you.”

“It wouldn’t be possible, Mother.  My husband would never agree.”

“Oh, you’re too, too cruel!”

Rosamunde ignored the barb, and she and Dorag lifted Blodwin into the coach.  The door was slammed and bolted behind her.  Blodwin poked her head out the window, eager to continue her protest, but Hugh nodded to the coachmen.  The driver cracked the whip, and they started off.

Very quickly, Blodwin was too far away for any of them to hear her.

“I apologize, Lord Hugh.” 

Rosamunde sounded sincerely contrite.  In the past few days, she’d definitely matured.  Anne’s flight from Morven had rattled her, and it seemed she was genuinely fond of her half-sister.

“No need for apologies, Rosamunde.”

“My mother has always been difficult.”

“I know.”

“She’s been under a lot of strain lately.”

“I realize that.”

There was a lengthy and awkward interval as all of them stood, watching the travelers depart.  Hugh tarried, anxious to see—with his own two eyes—that they were really gone and would no longer be around to plague him.  Or more importantly Anne.

As the last horse vanished from sight, as the dust settled on the road, he spun to go inside.

“How is Anne this morning?” Rosamunde asked, strolling with him.

“She’s fine,” he lied, having no idea how she was.  “Tired.”

“But she suffered no ill effects from her journey?”

“No.”

“I’m glad.”  Rosamunde smiled nervously.  “Might I speak with her today?”

“Perhaps—if she’s up to having visitors.”

He went into the keep and was openly glared at as he passed.  The rumors that he’d killed Anne had been quelled by her reappearance, but he hadn’t been forgiven for his behavior toward her.

People were disgusted over the prospect of having Charmaine at Morven.  They all recollected the drama and upheaval Bedelia had caused when Ranulf had consorted with her under Blodwin’s nose.

No one wanted a return to such household turmoil, and Hugh couldn’t blame them for being upset.

What had he been thinking?  How had he have imagined that he could wed, but carry on with his paramour and that his new bride wouldn’t mind?

He’d accused Anne of being insane, but he was the one who was mad.

As he crossed the great hall, Henry came over.

“Do you still wish to go through with it?” Henry inquired.

“Yes.  Give me a moment to talk to her, then I’ll bring her down.”

Henry grinned from ear to ear.  “I’ll assemble everyone.”

“Why are you smiling like a halfwit?”

“I believe, my Lord Hugh, that you’ve grown fond of your wife.  I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Just do as you’re told,” Hugh grumbled, “and keep your idiotic comments to yourself.”

Hugh stomped off, and as he trudged up the narrow stairs, he felt a hundred years old.  The damp nights of riding and searching for Anne had wreaked havoc on his aching bones.  He’d like to fill a tub with hot water and soak in it forever.  He’d like to hand a bottle of skin balm to her and have her rub it all over his body.  But in her current mood, he didn’t dare ask her.

They’d had a few pleasant weeks of matrimonial harmony.  Could they stumble back to that spot and start again?  Could they be friends?  Could they come to cherish one another? 

Could he convince her of how sorry he was?

Whenever he recalled how he’d found her in that barn, sleeping with strangers on a bed of straw, he flushed with shame.  How could he have wounded her so deeply that she’d run away?

He arrived at her door and waved away the guard who had been stationed there.  This was the state of his marriage.  He couldn’t leave his wife in her room unattended, lest he return later and discover her missing.  The realization exhausted him.

He waited until the guard traipsed down the stairs, ignoring his pitying glance that seemed to say: 
What’s to be done with her?

Hugh supposed most other husbands would have beaten her.  Or sent her off to the convent with Blodwin.  Or he could have simply locked her in the west tower until her attitude improved.

But despite her low opinion of him, he wasn’t that kind of man.

They would learn to get on, or he would die trying.

He raised his fist to knock, when he remembered that he didn’t need permission to enter.  Instead, he pushed the accursed thing open and marched in.

She was in a chair in the corner, posed like a weary Madonna.  She gazed over at him, appearing so young and lost and forlorn.

She was so altered from the girl he’d first met, the one who’d charmed him with her beauty, spirit, and vigor.  He’d caused this change.  He’d broken her.  What remained of the person she’d been?  He had to find out.

She’d loved him for a short while—he was certain of it—and he’d squandered that affection with his bungling disregard.

He was determined to win her esteem again.  He was determined to make her love him.

“Hello,” he said.

No reply.  She stared as if she was a deaf mute.

“You’ve been up here an awfully long time,” he said.  “Do you ever plan to come downstairs?”

Still no reply.

“Rosamunde would like to visit you.  She’s worried about how you’re faring.”

The mention of Rosamunde got her attention.  “She needn’t fret over me.”

“May she stop by and see for herself that you’re all right?”

She shrugged, as if nothing mattered anymore.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked.

“I’d have to care about you to be angry.”

“You don’t care?  Not even the tiniest bit?  You don’t possess a morsel of fondness?”

He grinned the grin that had never ceased to provoke a female grin in return, but she gaped as if she didn’t know who he was.

“I’m your husband”—at the word
husband,
she snorted with disgust—“so you must cherish and appreciate me.”

“According to whom?”

“According to me.”

She pulled her gaze from his and studied the floor.  “Please, Lord Hugh.  I’m not in the mood to spar.  Put me out of my misery and advise me of my punishment.  I’d like it to begin immediately so I can have some idea of when it will end.”

“Your punishment?”

“Yes.  I admit that I’ve humiliated you.  Will you beat me?  Will you lock me in the west tower?  If that is your desire, I am ready to go.”

She was crazed as the day was long.  How could she imagine he was the type to abuse her?  Had she learned so little of his character?

“What if I
did
lock you away?” he asked merely to hear her response.  “Once I let you out, would you behave any better?”

“Probably not.”

“It’s all your mother’s wild blood, flowing through your veins.  Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.  I’m exactly like her; Blodwin always said so.”

She sighed a mournful, somber sigh, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and he went over to the narrow window and peered out.  There wasn’t much to see, just the battlements and a small slice of the yard.

He’d hoped he might have a glimpse of the road off in the distance, that he might spot Blodwin’s carriage whisking her away, but there were too many hills preventing him.

“Well, the great news is”—he spun and smiled at her again—“that Blodwin has departed Morven, and she’s never coming back.  Neither is that reprobate, Father Eustace.  So I don’t give a bloody damn as to their views about your wicked blood, or your red hair, or anything else.  As far as I’m concerned, they can choke on their opinions.”

She frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Someone told me that your mother was a singer.”

She scowled, disturbed by his sudden change of subject, as if he might be playing a trick on her.

“Ah…yes, she was.”

“She danced and pranced about and sang hilarious, bawdy songs that made the dining hall reel with laughter.”

“I was very young, but yes, I remember some of it.”

He left his perch by the window and walked over to her.  “Can you sing, Anne?”

“I never do.”

“That’s not what I asked.  I don’t wish to know if you ever sing.  I wish to know if you
can
sing—like your mother.”

“Yes.”  She answered hesitantly, as if afraid to admit it.

“I’ve sent a letter to your uncles in Dumfries.”

“To tell them what?”

“I’ve invited them to stay with us.”

The first spark of interest flared in her eyes.

“Why would you have?”

“Because I thought it would make you happy.  Dorag said they were never allowed to visit for more than a week at a time.”

“No, they weren’t.”

“Apparently, Blodwin didn’t like them because they were your mother’s brothers.  She enjoyed hurting you by denying you any extended contact with them.”

“I always suspected that was the reason, but I never had any proof.”

“Well,
I
decided that if I kept them under my own roof, you might not feel the need to chase off after them.”

She shrugged again, but had no comment.

“I’ll let them remain at Morven on one condition,” he advised her.

“What is it?”

“Once they are here, you will perform with them.”

“Perform?”

“I will demand that you sing for me every night.”

“Out in the open?  Where everyone can hear?”

“Yes, and you’ll wear a bright yellow dress and no veil so I can see your beautiful hair—when it grows back, that is.”

She shook her head, skeptically assessing him.

 “What is wrong with you?” she finally said.

“I’ve come to my senses.”

“What senses?  What are you talking about?”

“I figured out what I want from you, how you can please me the most.”

“I don’t want to please you.  I want my punishment.”

  “I know, but it will have to wait.”  He reached out with his hand.  “Come with me.”

“To where?”

“I have something to show you.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m not interested in any surprises from you.  Are we going to the west tower?  Should I take some of my things?”

“No.”

“So…I’ll be back?”

“Yes.”

“Swear it to me.”

“I can’t swear.  I’m a liar, remember?”

“Yes, I definitely remember.”

“But I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“As if that could ever happen,” she muttered.

“We’ll see.”

“Yes, we will.”

“Don’t give up on me yet.”

He grabbed hold of her and tugged her to her feet.  They started out, and it was a sign of her fatigue that she didn’t argue.  She actually went along quite meekly, which he hated.  If he’d wanted to wed a docile puppet, he’d have picked Rosamunde to be his bride.

They walked down the stairs, through the great hall and out into the yard, and she noticed that the castle’s busiest spots were empty.  She frowned and glanced over her shoulder.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“I have no idea.  Perhaps—with no mistress to keep them in line—they’re all off lazing and loafing.”

Her frown deepened.  “They shouldn’t be slothful.”

“No, they shouldn’t.”

“They should serve you faithfully—whether I am present to instruct them or not.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

“They know better.  I trained them better.”

“Before you left, you told them they could run the castle however they wished.  I guess they’re just taking you at your word.”