The Conquest (4 page)

“How old is Lord Malgor?”

“Rhiannon!” her father said, his voice full of exasperation.

“Six and fifty, I believe,” Adelstan said, his gaze intent as though gauging her reaction.

Six and fifty!
Disappointment twisted in her belly. She had hoped for a younger man, someone closer to her own age.

Her spirits plummeted by the second. She was to marry an old man instead of a virile young warrior like the one sitting at her side. Her shock must have shown on her face, for Adelstan’s smile faltered, and she could even see a touch of sympathy in his beautiful green eyes.

She forced a smile, even though she felt like crying. The last thing she wanted was to marry a man older than her father. Nay, she wanted a young, virile man like Adelstan. A man who would make the blood boil within her veins—and make her yearn for all they could experience together, especially in the bedchamber.

Furious, Rhiannon turned to her father. “Did ye hear that, Father, my husband shall be older than ye.”

Her father’s face fell, and she stared at him for a long moment, refusing to drop her gaze. There were deep lines bracketing his mouth and eyes, and a permanent furrow between his brows. Would Malgor’s stomach also protrude well past his belt, and did he have thinning hair, or mayhap he was bald already?

She felt nauseous, the scent of mutton and cabbage making her stomach curl to her throat.

“Lord Malgor is an honorable man, Lady Rhiannon, and he is delighted you will be his wife,” Adelstan said, as though that would help her volatile emotions.

She didn’t have to look at her father to know he yearned to reach over and choke her.

Rhiannon picked up a grape and rolled it between her fingers, her gaze shifting around the hall. From the corner of her eye she could feel Adelstan watching her.

“Sir Adelstan, I do not detect a French accent,” her stepmother said, and the knight nodded.

“Aye, my lady, I am English. My father was a Saxon Earl, and Braemere Castle was our keep in the north of England.”

So he had been royalty…until King William had come. Rhiannon was not at all surprised. He had a noble presence. “It must have been difficult to watch your birthright go to another.”

He nodded. “It was. My parents were killed, and my sister and I were forced to flee to Scotland.”

“I am sorry, Adelstan,” Rhiannon said, touching his hand again, but this time briefly.

“As am I,” Deirdre said, a soft smile on her face as she watched Adelstan.

Rhiannon recognized the look. Her stepmother desired the English knight.

“I know how difficult it is to lose a parent, and to lose both must have been horrific,” Rhiannon said, folding her hands in her lap. “Was it Lord de Wulf who killed—”

“Rhiannon, it is a rude question.” Deirdre shook her head in exasperation.

“Nay, it is a legitimate question. It was not my liege, but another who killed my parents. A cruel, pompous man who cared little of the innocent lives he took. My only regret is having waited three years to kill him.” A nerve in his jaw pulsed.

“
Ye
killed him?”

A darkness came over his face, along with an untouchable pain that had her yearning to throw her arms around him and hold him tight. “Aye, I did.”

“So that is how ye came to live in Scotland?”

“Aye.”

“Will ye be living at Castle Almeron?” Deirdre asked, obviously working very hard to stay involved in the conversation. Rhiannon could sense her father’s agitation.

“Nay. My home is at Braemere—until I take a wife and gain my own fief.”

Rhiannon’s stomach dropped. “And shall ye marry soon, do ye think?”

“God’s breath, Rhiannon, will ye ever learn to hold your tongue? Ye have no right to ask such questions.” Her father looked to Adelstan. “Forgive my daughter for her impudence. As I mentioned earlier, she has little trouble speaking her mind.”

Heat raced up her neck to her cheeks. How dare her father talk about her as though she were not present? Though she wanted desperately to snap back, she knew her father’s temper too well. He was not opposed to slapping her across the face, and had done so a time or two, but never in front of others, especially the man who had come to claim her in her betrothed’s stead.

Rhiannon reached for another grape and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly, looking at the group of English soldiers who all watched her. One bold officer met her gaze.

As dark as Adlestan was light, the man exuded a confidence that was appealing, as well as a tad unnerving. They had brought a surprisingly small number of men with them, which told her one of two things…they were not overly concerned about her safety, or they were extremely skilled warriors.

She guessed it had to be the latter.

At the table behind the English officers, she noted a handsome woman with long, dark hair watching Adelstan intently. Indeed, as Rhiannon looked about, she saw that he had gained the attention of the majority of the women in the hall, which had to be the case everywhere he went. His beauty was a rarity, and she wondered if he had a woman waiting for him back at Braemere.

Her father had become still for the moment, obviously worried about his wife’s wandering eye, and an awkward silence followed.

Adelstan ate the venison with graceful fingers. His hands were large, and he wore no rings on his long fingers, but he did have a leather bracelet around his right wrist. Was it a gift from someone? A lover, perhaps? She wanted very much to reach out and touch it, but did not do so, knowing her father would likely come out of his skin.

“Since my betrothed is of advancing years, has he been married before?” Rhiannon asked Adelstan, making sure to keep her voice low so that the others could not hear.

Adelstan nodded. “Aye, he had a wife but she died many years ago.”

“How did she die?”

“Childbirth.”

Rhiannon swallowed hard and reached for her goblet.

“My sister has given birth four times, and all without difficulty.”

“She sounds like a strong woman.”

“Aye, she is.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, or in his smile. “I think the two of you will get on very well.”

“I hope to get the chance to meet her.”

“You shall. She and her husband will be attending your wedding.”

“I am happy to hear that,” she said with forced enthusiasm.

Machara, a servant, approached and filled their cups. Rhiannon noted the way she lingered in front of Adelstan, moving the trencher a little, and his plate as well.

Could the woman be any more obvious?

Rhiannon gave up on eating altogether and instead nursed her wine, enjoying its warming effects. It helped to soothe her tattered nerves and ease the strange jealousy when Machara returned to clear the table and proceeded to clean Adelstan’s hands as though he were a child.

Adelstan smiled at the woman, his gaze shifting over her.

He wanted Machara? Her gut twisted painfully.

As the tables below were moved to make room for dancing, Rhiannon could not help but think of Malgor, and wondered if he would even dance. Most of the older men, like her father, usually watched everyone else dance from their seats while they drank and conversed. Even now, it was the younger soldiers and women who took to the floor.

Rhiannon’s mother had loved to dance and had passed along that love to her.

“Mayhap ye would like to dance with Rhiannon, Sir Adelstan?” her father said, surprising her. No doubt he did so to make up for the fact she had grown silent as supper had progressed.

“Of course.” Adelstan turned to her. “It would be my honor.”

Rhiannon stood, took his hand, and wrapped her fingers around his long ones. His callused palm pressed against hers, no doubt hardened by long hours holding weapon and shield. The hands of a warrior. Oh, but to feel those rough hands on her body, touching her in places that even now grew hot and wet with a need that shocked her.

“I hope my dancing does not disappoint, Lady Rhiannon,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I admit that I am sorely out of practice.”

“Ye would never disappoint me, Adelstan. And please, when we are alone, I should like ye to call me Rhiannon. After all, we are friends, are we not?” Her thumb brushed against his.

His smile faltered as he looked at where their hands touched. Did he think her actions bold and unladylike? Did he guess that she wanted him?

She smiled up at him, dropping his hand as they parted ways and took their places in line with the other dancers. Her heart pounded hard as she stared at him, and he her, while waiting for the music to begin.

How she wished she could read his thoughts and know what he felt when he looked at her. When they had first met, he had commented about her unusual eyes and she had sensed an attraction. But perhaps he was one of those charming men who knew how to say the right thing and look at a woman just so.

Elspeth had once said that all a man must do is look at her a certain way and she knew he wanted to make love to her. Rhiannon had recognized such a look from Gerard every time she saw him at market, but what of Adelstan? Did she mistake desire for charm? After all, look at the way he watched Machara.

The music began and the thought disappeared as the steps brought them together. She was further intrigued because Adelstan could dance. Quite well, in fact, his steps fluid and graceful. They pressed their hands flat against each other, palm to palm, and a ripple of awareness rushed through her entire body.

How could she react so strongly to such a simple, innocent contact? She felt alive when she touched him, and she wanted—nay, yearned—to know more about him.

He smiled down at her, his green eyes sparkling, and she laughed gaily, happy he had come into her life. At least when she left Scotland, she would be leaving with him, someone she could build a friendship with.

But ye don’t want to be his friend. Ye want to be his lover.

Her pulse quickened when he took both her hands in his and they moved to the right, then to the left, their bodies touching, his arm brushing her breast, making the blood in her veins sing.

His scent enveloped her, a purely masculine smell that made her weak at the knees.

“You must be excited knowing you will be lady of your own fief very soon.”

“I would be happier knowing ye were staying on at Castle Almeron.”

He looked confused by her answer. “Why is that?”

“Because I like ye, Adelstan.” She smiled, seeing myriad of emotions play over his face.

“Ye were right. He
is
incredibly handsome. Not even handsome, but positively beautiful.”

Rhiannon put her finger to her lips, but Elspeth merely laughed under her breath. “Aye, and he has lovely broad shoulders and a high, tight arse. I can see why ye are smitten with him.”

“I am not smitten with him.”

Elspeth smiled coyly. “And yet we are following him? Ye are smitten, Rhiannon, even if ye will not admit it.”

Since meeting Adelstan last evening, Rhiannon could think of nothing but the tall, striking English soldier. She had kept Elspeth up half the night talking her ear off about him, relaying every bit of their conversation, and bragging about what a graceful dancer he had been.

After a few hours of sleep, Rhiannon had awoken, dressed, and kept a vigil by her chamber window, waiting for any sign of the handsome English knight to appear.

When she had finally caught sight of him exiting the tower and heading down the long staircase to the bailey below, her heart had jolted and she had rushed into action.

With cowls over their heads to hide their identities, she and Elspeth followed Adelstan to the stables, where he spent less than five minutes, and exited with horse in tow. He waved to the guard overhead in the gatehouse and stopped to talk for several minutes, before continuing on his way.

Rhiannon, dragging a complaining and tired Elspeth with her, walked into the stables, intent on catching up with Adelstan.

Antony, looking sleepy and disagreeable, immediately brightened upon seeing Elspeth, and it helped the maid’s spirits, too, apparently, for soon the two were locked in a heated embrace.

Rhiannon took Nessa, her stepmother’s favorite horse, out of spite, knowing the woman doted on the animal more than anything or anyone.

Not particularly fond of horse riding since witnessing a servant being trampled to death as a child, Rhiannon preferred instead to walk, much to her father’s censure. Now she wished she’d taken a more active interest.

With reins in hand, she walked out of the stables. “Elspeth, we must go.”

The maid gave Antony a final kiss.

“Are ye sure about this?” Elspeth asked, taking her by the hand. “What if he discovers us following him?”

“We will say we are out for a ride.”

“At this time of morning? He will never believe it.”

“I do not care, Elspeth. I want to do this. If ye do not want to go with me, then I understand.”

Elspeth glanced past Rhiannon’s shoulder to the road ahead, before meeting her gaze once more. “I shall go.”

Rhiannon hugged her. “Thank ye.” 

They crossed the bridge out of the castle, and could see him at a distance, riding at a slow gait.

They mounted the horse, a task that took longer than it should have. Elspeth was as unskilled with horses as Rhiannon, but somehow they managed. Her father always insisted a lady ride sidesaddle, and that was exactly why she rode astride now. At least in this position she had balance and felt more in control.

They rode for miles, and Rhiannon began to get anxious when Adelstan cut off toward the path that led to a pond surrounded by trees.

Tethering his horse, he walked to the pond’s bank, then reached behind his head and lifted his tunic off.

“Oh, my goodness, he’s lovely. Just lovely,” Elspeth whispered, an appreciative smile spreading over her face.

Rhiannon held her breath as Adelstan placed the tunic over a tree branch. She wondered if he took such care because of the extensive, delicate embroidery at the neck and sleeves. Someone had taken great pains to sew the design. She ignored the stab of jealousy at the thought of who that woman might be.