Knight of Seduction (8 page)

Anne gasped.  Cadel had tried to poison him?  How had the plot been hatched?  How had it been discovered?  At that moment, Lord Hugh seemed all powerful, able to bluster through their lives with the impervious supremacy of an ancient god.  Had he the ability to read minds, too? 

Cadel would have to taste all of his food.  Cadel would have to check for poison.  Anne loathed Hugh but would never seek to have him killed.  Was Cadel insane, engaging in such a reckless misdeed?

She was weak with shock and disgust.  She’d known Blodwin could be cruel, but she’d never have deemed her capable of such a heinous crime.  And Blodwin would have been behind it.  Cadel wasn’t smart enough—or brave enough—to have acted on his own.

Blodwin was ready to explode, ready to castigate Hugh and defend herself as to any charges of perfidy, and Anne intervened again.

“Lord Hugh, it’s been such a long day, and I find myself famished.  May we begin?”

Hugh nodded to her.  There was a trio of musicians off in the corner, and he gestured for them to play their instruments.

A lively tune was commenced, a new trencher delivered to Hugh.  He offered it to Cadel, watching until he’d swallowed three large mouthfuls.  Only then did Hugh judge it safe.

He offered it to Anne, taking his first bite with her.  Anne flashed a tremulous smile to the crowd, and everyone started to eat.   

CHAPTER FIVE

Anne paced the floor of her new bedchamber.

Her old room had been little more than a cupboard, tucked under the stairs.  Her new room was Blodwin’s collection of rooms, her sitting room, her office where she kept the estate ledgers, her washing and dressing rooms.

Anne had not requested the change, and every time a noise sounded outside, she cringed, expecting Blodwin to march in and demand answers.

Anne had none to give her, except to say that Lord Hugh was a master at planning and preparation.  While the whole castle had been reveling down in the great hall, he’d had servants quietly removing Blodwin’s personal effects.

Oh, didn’t he understand what a ruckus it would cause?  Didn’t he understand how furious Blodwin would be? 

Blodwin would never graciously accept what he’d done.  Anne would pay the price for Hugh’s insult.  Where Anne and Blodwin were concerned, Anne had
always
paid the price.

She wanted to sneak away, and she’d tried once, but Hugh had a knight guarding the door.  She’d lied and told him she needed to fetch something, but he’d merely shaken his head and warned her that Hugh would arrive very soon.

So…she was waiting.

The wedding banquet had dragged on all afternoon and into the evening.  There had been mountains of food and drinking and dancing.  Hugh’s men had distributed gifts to every guest.

He’d firmly demonstrated his power over them, as well as the surprising depth of his wealth and his intent to share that prosperity with those who served him.

Lord Hugh had established himself as a man of legend, as a man to be admired and exalted.  If she had previously felt that no one would confront Hugh on her behalf, she now had to admit that they wouldn’t interfere merely because they were all in love with him.

 Should she try to complain about her forced marriage, people would think her mad.

She’d been exhausted by the entire ordeal, and Hugh had noted her fatigue.  He’d suggested she leave the party, whispering that she should slip out the back, that he would join her when he was able.

She’d crept away, grateful for her clandestine exit, grateful that there had been no gaggle of riotous drunkards to haul her up the stairs.  She’d seen brides carried off, with leering men tearing at their clothes while the girls cried and begged for mercy. 

If Hugh had allowed such a humiliating event to occur, Anne would have died of shame.  But her relief at escaping had been short-lived.  Two of his knights—were they everywhere?—had intercepted her as she’d fled the celebration. 

She’d planned to pack a bag and run away, but Hugh had seemed to suspect that she might.  She’d been escorted directly to Blodwin’s bedchamber—Anne’s bedchamber now—and she was basically imprisoned.

Her uncles still traveled the countryside with the troupe in which her mother had performed before her arrival at Morven.  They occasionally stopped at the castle when they were in the area.  If Anne could have gotten away, she would have journeyed to Dumfries, the town where they spent the summer, as she probably should have done years earlier.

They were renowned, and eventually, she would have located them.  Her relatives would have hidden her.  Her relatives would have kept her safe from Hugh of Manche, the king’s butcher.

Instead, she was without a friend in the world, alone and weary and frightened out of her wits.  Lord Hugh was coming to consummate the marriage, but she had no idea what that entailed.  She didn’t
want
to know.

She wanted to be an unwed girl again—as she’d been just that morning—with no greater worry than what clothes to wear.  She didn’t want to be a wife, didn’t want to be Hugh’s wife, didn’t want to be mistress of his castle, where she would constantly battle Blodwin for control.

Footsteps sounded in the hall.  There were murmured words, then Blodwin entered.  Several maids and Father Eustace trailed after her.

“I never asked for any of this,” Anne blurted out before Blodwin could comment.  “I didn’t ask to wed him.  I didn’t ask for these rooms.  I feel as if a tide has swept me away, and I’m drowning.  Can you save me?”

Blodwin scoffed, taking Anne’s arm and leading her into the bedchamber.

“Wait here,” she advised the hovering maids.  “I’ll call for you in a moment.”

She shut the door in their curious faces, then whipped around to Anne. 

“I have talked to Lord Hugh,” she said.

“Yes?”  Anne suffered a brief flurry of excitement, but it was quickly quashed by Blodwin’s dour expression.

“He will not change his mind about his marriage to you.  He insists we proceed with the bedding.”

“But I don’t want this, Blodwin!  I didn’t even speak the vows.  His cousin spoke them for me.  How can Hugh get away with it?  There must be some way to stop him.”

“Stop him?” Blodwin snorted.

“Yes.  He’s not a god; he can be thwarted.”

“How?”

“Help me escape.  Steal me away from Morven.  I swear I’ll never return.”

“It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?”

“It’s never too late.  Sneak me away, and I’ll never look back.  You’ve always wished me gone.  This is your chance.”

“Hugh will be here shortly.  He expects to find you undressed and on the bed.  If you’re not there, he’ll guess that it was I who aided you, and I refuse to have him vent his wrath on me.  Unlike my stupid, dead husband, I’m rather partial to keeping my head attached to my shoulders.” 

“We must foil him.”

“Why are you complaining so much?”

“What do you mean?”

“I
mean
it’s interesting how you’ve managed to snag everything for yourself.  Just as your mother did all those years ago.”

“I’ve snagged nothing!  I didn’t seek any of this.”

“Save your excuses for someone who will believe them.  You’re Bedelia’s daughter.  I assumed that her blood ran deep in you, and after this perfidy, my suspicions are confirmed.”

“I didn’t do this to you, Blodwin.  I didn’t set my cap for Lord Hugh.  Ask Rosamunde.  She’ll tell you.”

“You bathed him!”

“He made me.”

“A likely story—coming as it is from Bedelia’s spawn.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.  I was hoping you were here to assist me or to calm my fears.  I’m sufficiently distraught, and you’re making it worse.  Why don’t you go?”

“I told Lord Hugh that I would prepare you for the bedding.”

“You’ve failed me in the only way that mattered, so I have no further need of you.”

“No, I’ll strip you and wash you as is required by my role in this household.”

“I can wash myself.”

“I won’t let you.  I choose to stay and watch the consummation as is my right as your stepmother and guardian.  I choose to watch as he holds you down and ruts away between your virginal thighs.”

Anne wasn’t entirely clear on what would occur when Hugh arrived, but Blodwin’s comment was crude and insulting, and the premier benefit to Anne’s position as Hugh’s wife was that she no longer had to put up with Blodwin.

She stomped to the door, yanked it open, and shoved Blodwin out.  The group of housemaids had lingered, trying to eavesdrop on their quarrel.

“All of you are excused,” Anne said.  “Please go, and take Blodwin with you.”

There were exchanged frowns, then Father Eustace scolded, “You being foolish, child.  As usual.  I must pray with you.  I must bless your womb so that you give Lord Hugh many, many children.”

“My womb is fine,” Anne snapped.

A servant, an older woman named Dorag, who’d always been kind to Anne, stepped forward.  “Let us stay, Lady Anne.  How about if it’s simply Megrine and myself?  This can be an upsetting time for a bride.  Let us help you.”

Megrine added, “Wouldn’t you like to look pretty for Lord Hugh?  I can comb out your hair.”

Anne gnawed on her bottom lip, fuming, then relented.  “All right.  Just the two of you.  No one else is to bother me.”

She returned to the bedchamber, with Dorag and Megrine hurrying after her.  They closed the door, and Anne spun to them.  To her disgust, she felt like weeping.

“What’s this?” Dorag asked on seeing Anne’s stricken expression.  “Tears?  We’ll not have any crying.  Not with a handsome stallion like Hugh coming to your bed.”

“I don’t want him,” Anne miserably wailed.

“Not want Lord Hugh?  Let’s not even think it.”

“I don’t know what I am to do.”

“Well, Lord Hugh will show you, and I’m sure he’ll be quite adept at explaining himself.  I’m betting he’s ridden a few mares in his life.”  She leaned in and winked.  “Which means you’re a very lucky girl.”

Megrine chuckled.  “No fumbling, bumbling bridegroom for you, Lady Anne.  It’s much better when the fellow has some experience.”

“If you’re confused about anything,” Dorag said, “ask him what he wants.  He’ll tell you.”

She produced a small flask from under her skirt, along with a tiny cup.  She pulled the cork and poured a dark liquid into the cup, then handed it to Anne.

“What is it?” Anne inquired.

“It’s wine with a bit of my special bride’s powder mixed in.  It will relax you; you won’t be so distressed.”

Anne studied it, then shrugged.  She was anxious to the point of being ill and was desperate to calm herself.

With no argument or hesitation, she tossed down the contents, and Dorag poured her a second dose.  She downed that, too, as Dorag and Megrine smiled shrewd smiles.

“Now then,” Dorag said, “let’s get you ready for your husband.”

The two women went to work, chatting about nothing as they efficiently stripped off Anne’s clothes.  Megrine had brought a jug of warm, fragrant water—it smelled like roses—and she emptied it into a bowl. 

They dipped cloths and swabbed Anne’s skin, their soft strokes making her ripple with sensation.  They washed her nipples over and over, until they were sharp tips.  Her pulse pounded in them, and they ached in a new and exotic way.

The potion Dorag had mixed in her wine was quickly taking effect.  Anne’s limbs were relaxing, her body warming.  Colors seemed brighter, noises more intense.  Her torso felt alive, begging to be touched.

She was happy and not the least bit worried about Hugh or anything else.

Megrine untied her braid, then combed through the lengthy tresses over and over until they were flowing down Anne’s back in a silky wave.  As Megrine toiled with her hair, Dorag added a rouge to her lips, a line of black coal to her eyelids. 

“My, my,” Dorag murmured.  She stepped away and grinned. 

Megrine joined her, and they assessed Anne, preening with pride at how well they’d done their job.  Anne, for her part, being overly intoxicated by the wine, suffered no shame at her nakedness and no urge to hide herself. 

“You’re a beautiful bride, Lady Anne,” Dorag beamed.  “Lord Hugh will be very pleased.”

“And very, very lusty at the sight of you,” Megrine agreed.  They giggled with merriment.

“Will it be awful?” Anne asked.

“Awful!” Dorag huffed.  “Who told you such a thing?  That witch, Blodwin, I’m guessing.”  She clucked like an outraged hen.  “It will be marvelous, Anne, and you’ll grow to love Hugh for it.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Dorag patted Anne’s shoulder.  “Now then, we’d usually put you up on the bed, naked and shivering as the day you were born, but we have a gift from your husband.”

Dorag gestured to Megrine, and she produced a package Anne hadn’t noticed when they’d arrived.  She opened it and found a robe sewn from a red fabric she’d never seen before. 

“My goodness,” Anne gushed, “it’s magnificent.  Where did he get it?”

  “He didn’t say,” Dorag replied, “but I’m supposing he brought it from the Holy Land or one of those other countries where he’s traveled so frequently.”

“This gift means,” Megrine said, “that he was pondering you on the entire journey home.”

Dorag slipped Anne’s arms into the robe, and Megrine tugged on the belt.

“So, Anne,” Dorag pointed out, “your husband is not the beast he’s proclaimed to be.  He’s kept the drunken revelers out of your bedchamber, and he’s allowed you to cover yourself so that you’re not overly embarrassed.”

“He’ll turn out to be a fine man,” Megrine concurred.

“Thank you.”  Anne smiled at them.

“You’re welcome,” they responded in unison.

Anne hugged them tightly. 

“I wish my mother was here,” she whispered.

“She’s here in spirit,” Dorag whispered back, “and she’d be so proud of you.”

Dorag led her to a chair, settled her down, then offered her a final cup of her bride’s wine.  Anne drank it, then the pair left.

She snuggled down to wait, still nervous, but no longer afraid.

*          *          *          *

“Kneel down and remove your robe.”