Ransom My Heart (19 page)

Finnula nodded dazedly, then sat back, feeling limp. Well, of course he had to say he wanted to marry her, after all that! But he couldn't possibly mean it. He was only doing it out of honor. And Finnula wouldn't marry a man simply to assuage his sense of honor. She was going to do the right thing, and tell him it wasn't necessary. If she was with child, she'd simply go somewhere—to a convent, she supposed. She could tell everyone she'd gone on a pilgrimage to purify her soul. Though she rather doubted anyone would believe it. And she'd have the baby, and see that it was given to some childless couple, then come straight back home.

Oh, yes, better that than a loveless marriage—

“Finnula, what is the matter with you?” Brynn shook her gently from her reverie. “Aren't you happy, sweet? Don't you like him?”

Finnula looked at her eldest sister grimly. “Brynn,” she said. “I thought him a stranger…a hapless knight from Caterbury, and now I learn he's Lord Geoffrey's son? How am I supposed to feel?” Honestly, she'd never have bedded him if she'd known! Look at the mess she was in now!

“What difference does that make?” Camilla demanded. “He's still the loveliest man I've ever seen…”

“Men aren't lovely,” scoffed Patricia.

“Well, handsome, then. Oh, Finnula, think how different it will be to be lady of Stephensgate Manor with Lord Hugo, rather than his father, at your side. Why, he's not someone I'd begrudge a place in my bed—”

“Camilla, you are a bigger slut than Isabella Laroche,” Patricia declared.

“Finnula,” Brynn said, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. “Think on this. Was his masquerade such a heinous one? Who did it harm? No one. He seems to love you—” Finnula let out a snort. “Well, to care for you, anyway. Why else would he fight so for your hand?”

Finnula said nothing, just glared at the window, which showed that twilight had fallen outdoors. He'd fought so hard for her hand because he'd dishonored her, and he was only doing what, as her lord, he owed her. It was no less than she'd do for any serf of hers.

“'Tis true that if you wed him, there'll be sacrifices,” Brynn began, slowly.

“Aye,” Patricia agreed. “No more leather braies.”

“No more hunting,” Camilla said.

“No more disappearing for days on end on the back of Violet,” Christina said.

Finnula was certain she died a little, just listening to them.

“But think what you'll be getting in return,” Camilla cried, her gray eyes glittering. “Think what jewels and bliauts! Think of how lovely it will be to have servants to comb your hair and pour your bath and prepare your food! Why, you'll be the richest woman in Stephensgate—”

“Isabella Laroche will die of envy,” Patricia said, with relish.

“Oh, you've
got
to marry him, Finn,” Camilla said. “You'll learn to love him, honestly you will. Look at me and Gregory.”

Patricia snorted. “I'd hardly hold
that
up as an ideal marriage.”

“But it is. It began as a business arrangement. Gregory fell madly in love with me, and I agreed to marry him if he met certain stipulations—”

“Like that necklace?” Patricia asked, acidly.

“Why, yes,” Camilla replied, laying a hand on the ruby and pearl choker at her throat. “That was one of them. And little by little, Finnula, I've come to appreciate Gregory for his other qualities—”

“Like what?” Patricia laughed. “The man's old enough to be your—”

A thunderous shout broke through their bickering. It was Robert's voice, and he was calling, “Finnula! Finnula Crais, get down here at once!”

Finnula gazed up at her sisters with widened eyes. “Oh, no,” she cried. “Lord Hugo must have left. And now Robert's going to wring my neck! Quick—I must slip out the window—”

Christina hurried to the small window and bent to look out into the yard. “Nay, His Lordship's horse is still here.”

“He must want your answer to Lord Hugo's proposal,” Brynn said. “Oh, Finnula, you must go to him.”

But Finnula only sat back against the pillows, her face a mask of rebellious obstinacy. “I shan't,” she sniffed.

“Oh, Finn!”

But Finnula was adamant. “I'm not setting foot outside this room until that man is gone. And I mean it.”

Brynn and Camilla exchanged glances. “Finnula.” The eldest sister hesitated. “Are you quite certain nothing, er,
untoward
occurred whilst you were traveling with Lord Hugo?”

Finnula stared. “Why do you ask?” Did losing one's virginity show? Finnula had detected no change in Mellana's appearance, and she was pregnant!

“Well, it seems to me that you are unreasonably angry at him for lying to you. After all, 'twas not so strange a thing he did. Perhaps he never tells women that he is an earl, for fear 'twill make them, er, like him for his purse, and not himself—”

This sounded very like the conceited Sir Hugh—or Lord Hugo, as she now had to refer to him. How stupid, how blindly stupid she'd been! A man and his squire, returning from the Crusades, and headed for Stephensgate—
of course
she ought to have known it to be none other than the long-absent Lord Hugo. And then he'd changed his name just the tiniest bit—Hugo Fitzstephen to Hugh Fitzwilliam—and she still hadn't caught on!

And the story of his brother, none other than Henry, Lord Geoffrey's eldest and most beloved son. That was a well-known story in her village, and still she hadn't made the connection! Oh, he must think her the dimmest wench in the shire. She had even noticed something familiar about him at the spring, but never realized that the familiarity was due to Lord Hugo's slight resemblance to his father.

Well, he'd shown her what a silly, ignorant maid she was, and she thanked him for it. The next time she met a man, she'd be far less trusting.

“Finnula!” roared Robert, the timbre of his voice almost shaking the rafters.

“You had best go to him,” Finnula advised Brynn, “and tell him that although I am conscious of the great honor the earl has bestowed upon me, I have no intention of marrying him, and that Lord Hugo can just go home now.”

Brynn rose reluctantly. “Finnula, I think you're making a mistake. Do not allow pride to stand in the way of your happiness—”

“Thank you for the advice,” Finnula said stiffly. “But my happiness is right here, at the millhouse.”

Sighing, Brynn left the room to deliver Finnula's message. Patricia, who'd been pacing the small chamber, stopped in front of Mellana and said coldly, “Well, I hope you're happy. What could you have been thinking, sending Finnula out on such a ridiculous errand? Fetch you a man to ransom. Ha! I think you've spent entirely too much time in the company of that slut Isabella. I intend to tell Robert not to allow you to see her anymore. What do you have to say to that?”

“I do not care.” Mellana wept into her skirt. “I never want to see her again anyway.”

“Oh,
now
you come to your senses. You know, it's just fortunate for you, Mellana, that Finnula happened to kidnap a man with a sense of chivalry. Suppose she'd kidnapped someone like Reginald Laroche? Do you think she'd be entertaining marriage proposals from an earl? No, she'd have lost her maidenhead, and be with child now, probably—”

“Patricia!” Finnula cried. “Let Mel alone.”

“Well, you know 'tis true.”

Another shout rattled the house, and this time, it was accompanied by heavy footsteps on the stairs. Since the second floor of the millhouse was primarily the domain of the female Craises, they were unaccustomed to hearing masculine footsteps on the stairs, and all five of them froze, their eyes on the door.

“Finnula!”

This time, the thunderous bellowing of Finnula's name didn't come from their brother, Robert, but from Lord Hugo…and he appeared to be standing directly behind her bedroom door. Finnula exchanged astonished glances with her sisters, but didn't move.

“Finnula,” Lord Hugo growled menacingly. “Will you open this door, or do I have to knock it down?”

It was Mellana who hopped up from her chair in the corner and
hurried to the door, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with alarm. When she swung open the heavy portal to reveal a very irritated-looking Lord Hugo, she bobbed a graceful curtsy and babbled incoherently, “Oh, my lord, please don't be angry with Finnula. 'Tis all my fault. You see, I made her do it. She didn't want to, but I cried, and she—”

“Yes, you cry very prettily,” Lord Hugo observed dryly. “And you're quite right, it
is
all your fault, you and your Jack Mallory.”

Mellana gasped, her bright blue eyes flying accusingly to Finnula, who sat still as a statue on the bed.

“You told!” Mellana cried. “Oh, Finn, how could you?”

“Aye, she did tell,” Hugo said, and Finnula did not miss the smugness in his tone. “And lucky for you she did, or you wouldn't be receiving
this
right now, along with my blessings—” Lord Hugo dropped a fat purse of coins into the hands an astonished Mellana hastily extended.

“This should pay for your dowry and for a few other sundries. I suggested to Brother Robert that he find a place for your husband at the mill, since troubadouring is hardly steady work, and your Jack will need something a bit more regular, with the babe on the way—”

Mellana gasped again, and Patricia's nostrils flared.

“Mel!” she cried, outraged. “
You
—”

But Lord Hugo interrupted her. “Your brother, Robert, is waiting below, Mellana—I may call you that, may I not, as we are shortly to be related? Brother Robert would like a few words with you.”

Mellana was too frightened to start weeping again. Instead, clutching the bag of coins he'd given her to her chest, she crept from the room with her head ducked. When Hugo glanced at Finnula and saw her expression, he said lightly, “Never fear.
Brother Robert assured me he would never strike a pregnant woman.”

Finnula thought she'd had about as much as she could take. Scrambling from the bed, oblivious to the twisted bodice of her gown, she cried, “You blithering idiot! What did you tell Robert for? Now he'll make her life hell!”

“Better hers than yours, Finn.” Hugo glanced at Camilla and Patricia, who, with Christina, were staring at him as if he was something that had just crawled up from the depths of the watering trough—or tumbled down from the heavens. Finnula couldn't entirely read their expressions. But Hugo could, apparently.

“If you ladies will excuse us,” he said, bowing, “Finnula and I have some things that need discussing in private.”

“Oh, of course,” Camilla said, dipping a quick curtsy and darting toward the door. “Of course, my lord!”

“Please excuse us, my lord,” Christina breathed, moving less gracefully because of her pregnancy, but no less quickly.

Patricia was the last sister to leave, and she paused with her hand on the leather strap that served as a doorknob and looked slyly at Lord Hugo.

“Kiss her,” was Patricia's cryptic advice. “She'll come around.”

And then she shut the door firmly behind her.

Alone in her bedchamber with Lord Hugo, Finnula could not help feeling at a distinct disadvantage. She'd forgotten how physically intimidating the man was. Why, he had to stoop to avoid striking his head on the wooden ceiling beams, he was so tall. His massive frame seemed to take up far more room than all five of her sisters put together.

Hugo himself seemed aware of how awkward he looked in this vibrantly feminine room, and he glanced from the dried bouquets of roses hanging from the rafters to the curtains with raised eye
brows, though he said nothing. His amber gaze roved from her loosened hair to her bare feet, hesitating only at the low neckline of her dress, which, Finnula realized, only then had slipped to reveal more than was proper.

Reaching up quickly to adjust the bliaut's bodice, her cheeks flushing hotly, Finnula snapped, “I'd have thought you'd seen enough of me to satisfy you for one day.”

Hugo's grin was slow and suggestive. “But therein lies the rub, Finnula. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. That's why I think marriage the wisest answer—”

“Marriage?” Finnula turned away quickly, unwilling to let him see what effect his words had on her face. “I told you before I never wanted to be married again. Or weren't you listening?”

“And I would ask why a maid so intent on avoiding marriage would behave as you have in the past day or so.”

Finnula felt the warmth in her cheeks, which only seemed to grow, rather than ebbing, and avoided his eye with even more determination. “I couldn't help that,” she said.

“Couldn't help what? Making love with me?”

“Aye,” she admitted shamefacedly.

“Look at me, Finnula.”

She shook her head, keeping her face averted, her gaze on the yard outside, in which Sheriff de Brissac was laughing and clapping her brothers-in-law on the shoulders.

“Would you have married Hugh Fitzwilliam?” he asked.

Would she have married that irritating knight? The surprising answer was that she might have, if he'd asked. She shrugged.

“That's no answer.”

“'Tis all the answer I have,” Finnula snapped, turning angry eyes upon him. “I do not know. I cannot predict what might have been, any more than I can tell you what will be. But I will tell you
that I will never set foot in that house again, and so a marriage between us is impossible.”

“What house? You mean Stephensgate Manor?”

“Aye,” Finnula said, and couldn't help shuddering at the name. “The hours I spent there were the worst of my life. I swore when I was released I would never again cross that accursed threshold—”