A Bit of Heaven on Earth
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Authors: Lauren Linwood
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A BIT OF HEAVEN ON EARTH
LAUREN LINWOOD
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
A BIT OF HEAVEN ON EARTH
Copyright©2014
LAUREN LINWOOD
Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-61935-638-6
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PROLOGUE
England, 1347
Elizabeth of Aldwyn plopped down upon the hearth, stretching out her long legs as she carefully concealed the breeches she wore under her borrowed kirtle. She yawned wearily, tired from her day of riding and exploring. The fire warmed her back and would hopefully dry her auburn hair, heavy from the summer shower she’d been caught in that afternoon. She ran a hand through her thick mass of curls, using her fingers to pull any knots free.
“I will have
no more
of this, Elizabeth,” her father roared. “You ignore me at your peril.”
She steeled herself for their usual argument. “Then quit parading suitors before me.” She tossed her head, the wild auburn curls spilling about her shoulders. “’Tis a waste of their time and yours, not to mention mine.”
She ignored his murderous glare and continued slipping her fingers through her tangled locks, hoping a servant would interrupt her father with a situation that needed his immediate attention. If so, she could slip away from the Great Hall and avoid this entire conversation.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Instead, her father began pacing the room, his voice bellowing as she imagined it did on the battlefield when he shouted out orders to his loyal knights. She thought it loud enough that possible King Edward in London might be able to hear of her wrongdoing.
Fayne paused in front of her. “You think you can control your hair? I would but wish I could tame those devilish red locks. ‘Twould be a start to taming you.”
“My hair has as much brown as red in it, Father.”
He threw his hands up in despair. “That’s not the point, Elizabeth. I swear it’s the Devil Himself in you causing you to act the way you do.”
Though she knew where the conversation headed, she couldn’t help her retort. “And besides my shade of hair, what fault do you find with my behavior?”
Fayne fisted his hands at his sides and took a deep breath. “You cannot run off every time I summon an eligible man to Aldwyn.”
“Why not?”
Her father began harping again, his long strides carrying him back and forth across the Great Hall. Elizabeth tuned out his lengthy tirade. After ten and seven years, she knew her list of transgressions from heart and could recite them from memory. On any given day, her father’s litany of her misconduct might go on for hours. It usually began with the fact that she was too headstrong. Unmanageable. Stubborn. Willful.
Then he’d move on and claim that she’d run wild, as if she were some hound that should be bent to a strange master’s will. Fayne always managed to point out that no suitor pleased her. Ever. Elizabeth took secret pride in the fact that two had even asked to be released from their betrothal to her because of her strong will.
But his next words did not fall on deaf ears.
“. . . so in that case I have no choice, Daughter. I will force you into a convent and wash my hands of you.”
She smiled sweetly, ready to meet any challenge he threw her way.
“Then I shall merely plot my escape. Run away.” She placed her elbows upon her knees, resting her chin upon her fists. “Admit it, Father. I am incorrigible. You cannot make me do anything, especially find a convent that would want me. I would surmise that within a week the good nuns and their mother abbess would push me outside and lock the gates to keep me from returning to their fold.”
She stood and dusted the front of her man’s dark brown tunic, one she had swiped from where it lay drying in the sun. She left a gold coin in its place, knowing the owner would come out the better in the trade.
Fayne looked at her solemnly. “Just as I thought you would say. Which is why I now produce this.”
Elizabeth watched warily as he walked to an oak chest and lifted its lid. He removed a thick scroll. She knew exactly what that meant.
“Sweet Jesu, Father. Not another betrothal contract?”
“Hush,” he commanded. “This time you’ll see a marriage through. ‘Tis to a much older man. He will settle you down. He has had two previous wives and already has three children by them, though the eldest died last year in the French wars. He will know how to discipline such wayward behavior. Hopefully, he’ll get you with child and keep you that way for the next dozen years or more. Lots of babes will take all these wild notions from your head.”
“Wild notions? Simply because I refuse to behave like a simpering—”
“Watch what you say, Elizabeth. Do not tread lightly on Thera’s memory.”
She frowned. “I do not tread upon my mother’s memory. I have no memory of her. How can I blacken what I have no knowledge of?”
But Elizabeth did know. Thera, from the descriptions she gleaned from servants over the years, had been full of sweetness and light, attending to Fayne’s every whim. From an early age, Elizabeth knew she would never live up to what her gentle mother had been, so why begin to try?
Instead, she’d become the exact opposite. She was unladylike, volatile, and had a stubborn streak combined with a will of iron. She believed she would make an excellent commander on the battlefield. Quick-witted, able to size up people in a matter of seconds, she’d been at war with her father for her entire life.
Usually on the winning side.
Why would she wish to have another, older man aim to tame her, breaking her spirit like that of a lively horse? No, thank you. She was happy having already bent her father to her will. At least most of the time. He would get over this latest idea of fancy. Eventually, she would make him see that marriage was not a part of what she wanted.
“Bloody hell,” Elizabeth swore softly under her breath.
Now married, she sat at the head table in her wedding finery. Her father must have planned this marriage for quite some time, for her cote-hardie and sideless surcoat had been made from the finest of silks. The rich scarlet and gold of both had delicate embroidery so intricate, she knew that a skilled seamstress had labored many months over its completion. Even her jeweled belt could be seen as a work of art, its golden chains embellished with rubies and freshwater pearls. No expense had been spared for this wedding attire. She viewed it and her generous dowry as a bribe from her father to her new husband. Fayne of Aldwyn dressed his daughter up as a rare prize, but he was more than happy another man now took her off his hands. With the distance between Aldwyn and Kentwood, she doubted after today that she would ever see her father again.
The interminable feast progressed as slowly as the labor of a woman’s first babe. She’d lost count of the number of courses served over the last few hours. Duck, venison, roasted pig and goose, stewed apples and plums, cheeses and cakes abounded.
Many were her favorite foods. She supposed her father had passed word along to the Kentwood kitchens, trying to appease her in no small way. She did love to eat. But not today.
Her wedding day.
She glanced from the corner of her eye to the old nobleman seated next to her.
Her
husband
. He was well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a thatch of thick, white hair to match his equally white beard. She couldn’t place his age although she’d recognized his name the moment she heard it.
Aldred
.
Aldred of Kentwood. A legend throughout England for his warrior’s skills and cunning. Troubadours sang of his valor and victories as if he were a god. She doubted if there was a single person in all of England who hadn’t heard of his prowess on the battlefield.
Yet this gallant soldier, a favorite of King Edward, must be at least three score, maybe more. Her groom, who used a walking stick to lean upon as he got around, was much older than any suitor her father presented in the past, and it worried her beyond measure.
Elizabeth wished both Aldred and her father would fall over dead on the spot. She wondered idly if she would be entitled to any of Kentwood’s wealth if that small miracle occurred in the next few minutes.
Fayne had outsmarted her, after all. Instead of the wedding party arriving at Aldwyn and the marriage taking place from the bride’s home, her father had brought her to Kentwood and this elderly bridegroom with the help of Aldwyn’s healer. She would love to know what had been placed in her drink at the evening meal. She’d lost two full days’ time after consuming it.
She awakened miles away from home with heavy limbs and a throbbing headache. What little she’d seen of the property from her window was impressive, she admitted to herself, but she did not want to be at Kentwood. Did not want to be married to an old goat. Couldn’t begin to imagine what awaited her upstairs in the marriage bed.
She shuddered and reached for her goblet. Maybe the wine would dull her senses. Or mayhap if she drank enough of it, she’d have no recollection of what would take place this night.
Suddenly a hand rested upon her wrist. “I would guess you have had enough, my dear.”
Elizabeth finally looked into the eyes of her new husband for the first time. Aldred. His voice was gentle, but the stern look he gave her was enough to make her set the golden cup down. She bit her lip in frustration. This was going to be far more challenging than she’d thought. Aldred might be advanced in years, but steely resolve ran through him. She was sure of it.
