La Flamme (Historical Romance) (2 page)

2

The sudden blare of a trumpet broke the afternoon stillness. Fifty horsemen, riding two abreast, with King Charles at their head, emerged from the woods, their brightly colored banners snapping in the breeze.

The king's colorful standard of the lion was not a call to arms, but displayed in honor of the union of two powerful houses.

Sabine stood stiffly beside her mother and father, nervously clasping her hands. There was a dull ache in her heart as she watched the advancing riders, their giant warhorses thundering ever closer. She held on to the hope that Lord Blackthorn was not with the king, and therefore there would be no wedding.

As the cavalcade approached, she noticed the surly expression on her father's face. It had been difficult for him to yield to a king he so adamantly disliked and distrusted. What kind of marriage would they have if Garreth Blackthorn felt the same? she wondered.

The king dismounted, and Sabine dipped into a curtsy after being prompted by her mother. Her father, however, merely lowered his head. If the king noticed the lack of deference from Lord Woodbridge, he made no mention of it.

Sabine had not expected King Charles to cut such a dashing figure. He had an elegant beard and mustache, and looked handsome indeed as he stood imperiously before her father.

The king had a speech impediment and he spoke slowly and distinctly so he would not stammer. "Lord Woodbridge, this is indeed a glorious day for us all. It is time to lay aside our swords of distrust and pick up the banner of unity."

With a stoic expression, Lord Woodbridge turned to Sabine's mother. "Your Majesty, may I present my wife, Lady Woodbridge, and of course, my daughter, Lady Sabine."

"Your son is not present?" the king asked.

"You will have to excuse Lord Richard, Your Majesty," Sabine's father said. "Being only in his third year, he is napping, and unaware of the importance of this day."

"Quite so—quite so."

King Charles exchanged polite greetings with Sabine's mother. "My Lady, you are from France, as is my wife. The queen has long expressed a wish to meet you. I hope that it will be possible in the near future."

"I would be most happy to meet Her Majesty, Sire. Doubly so since she is from the country of my birth."

His expression became serious. "Then we shall arrange it." When he reached Sabine he took her hand and covered it with his, and the smile on his lips seemed genuine.

"It's hard to imagine that the fate of so many has been placed on such small shoulders."

Sabine tried to smile, but it came out as a sigh when she let out her pent-up breath. Nervously, she took several steps backward, and the king immediately became aware of her limp. To her surprise, his eyes softened with understanding.

"Lady Sabine, know you that I could not walk until I was in my seventh year because I was stricken by a congenital weakness?"

Her eyes rounded in surprise. "No, Your Majesty, I did not know that. I am so sorry."

He raised her hand to his lips. "Have no pity, Lady Sabine, because I am completely recovered. I overcame my impairment by strenuous exercise, and perhaps you shall also."

Before Sabine could answer, a shadow fell across her face, and she moved closer to her mother as a young nobleman dismounted and approached her father.

The stranger's dark eyes held a look of insolence as they swept over her family. With an expression of total indifference, his gaze lingered for a moment on Sabine's face.

Unlike most of the gentlemen present, including the king and her father, this man was clean-shaven. He wore tan breeches and a matching velvet doublet. His thigh-length boots were of the same color, and in contrast, he wore a rakish black hat with a green plume, which he removed as he bowed before the king.

This could only be Lord Blackthorn. Sabine stepped forward, trying to get a better look at him. The sun seemed to reflect off his shoulder-length, ebony hair. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His features were handsome, his eyes deep brown. He was too handsome, too arrogant. Sabine was terrified of being his wife.

King Charles spoke authoritatively. "The wedding will go forth as planned."

Sabine felt panic, knowing the moment she had dreaded was upon her. If only Garreth Blackthorn were not so fair of face, he would not expect her to be a beauty. Why couldn't he be ordinary?

At last, he stood before her. "So, My Lady, you and I are to be a pair."

She feared that she would see distaste in his eyes when he looked at her, but there was merely acceptance in the cold, brown depths.

"Are those tears because you must have me for husband, My Lady?"

She looked up at him earnestly. "No, Your Grace. I feel pity that you have so recently lost your father, and your sadness strikes at my heart."

His eyes did not waver, nor was there any warmth in them. He merely removed his leather gauntlet and held out his hand to her. "Come, let us get this thing done."

His dispassionate manner caused her to draw back. Then, knowing what was required of her, Sabine placed her hand on his sleeve and raised her chin. "As you wish, Your Grace."

When he led her forward, he became aware of her limp and slowed his steps so she could keep pace. Sabine searched his eyes. "Did no one tell you that I am lame, Your Grace?"

"No one told me anything about you." His voice was devoid of emotion, so she could not discern his feeling about her deformity.

"I was not born this way, but suffered a riding accident which resulted in a broken leg. Although a physician attended me, the leg did not heal properly." She did not tell him that her leg ached constantly and that when she was tired the limp was more pronounced.

King Charles presented him to her mother and father. "I understand you have not as yet met the bridegroom. This is His Grace, the duke of Balmarough."

Lord Woodbridge looked baffled. "Say you that he is the duke, when I know that his father carries that title?"

"My Lord, My Ladies," Garreth Blackthorn said, bowing slightly. "I can see how you might be confused. My family has met with a grave tragedy and my father is dead."

Lord Woodbridge was clearly dismayed. "When did this occur?"

The young duke raised his head. His dislike for Sabine's father was clearly reflected in his eyes, but there was no feeling in Garreth Blackthorn's voice as he replied. "Sorrowfully, my father has been ailing for some months, and died but three weeks past."

"Most unfortunate," Lady Woodbridge said, placing her hand on the new duke's. "Please know that you have our family's deepest sympathy."

"Thank you for your compassion, My Lady. My mother sends her regrets for her absence and asks that the marriage go forward since it was my father's dying wish."

Sabine sensed that he had only agreed to the marriage for that reason. She looked into his piercing eyes which appeared unfeeling, and yet she felt he was striving to hide his grief.

She felt such pity for Garreth Blackthorn that her eyes filled with tears. Surely it must be difficult for him to proceed with the wedding when his father had so recently died.

Lord Woodbridge looked undecided. "We would readily agree to postpone the marriage for a decent interval and allow you time to mourn your father."

"Tis of no matter," he said, his mouth set in a grim line. "The pity is that you are hardly out of the nursery. You should be amusing yourself with childish games, not dressed in that ridiculous gown that makes it appear that you're playing at being grown."

Sabine's spine stiffened. "My situation will one day be remedied—for I will surely grow older, Your Grace. But is there a remedy for your bad manners?"

His lips curved into a grim smile. "Not even married and already you give me a dressing-down. I see no wedded bliss for us, My Lady."

By now they had reached the glen that had been chosen for the ceremony. The wedding party stood beneath a grove of oak trees that arched together in a natural canopy. Lord Woodbridge had insisted that the family priest, Father Santini, perform the wedding mass, and the king had reluctantly agreed.

Sabine knelt beside Garreth Blackthorn, with her small hand in his, while she pledged her heart and her liege to the house of Balmarough. When Garreth slid a ring on her finger, she stared at the Balmarough crest, a dragon in flight, reflecting through a sparkling ruby. She felt hysterical laughter bubble up inside her when the ring almost slid off her slender finger.

Garreth Blackthorn stood and pulled her up beside him. She trembled with fright when he brushed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"I fear that you have the worst of the bargain, little Sabine, for I am now your legal husband."

His hand tightened about hers as he turned to Lord Woodbridge. "The agreement you made with my father is met, My Lord—the deed is done."

Bishop Laud, the Lord Mayor of London, who had organized the wedding celebration, appeared beside them, his face glowing. "A banquet has been set up in the large tent. Shall we all proceed to the feast that has so generously been provided by His Majesty?"

Garreth turned to the king. "I pray Your Majesty will understand when I beg to be excused from the festivities. There is much that requires my attention at home."

King Charles looked disapproving. "I prefer that you remain, young Garreth."

Sabine spoke up. "Please give him leave, Your Majesty. It must be difficult for him to celebrate with his father so newly deceased."

The king smiled. "I yield to the wisdom and compassion of your new wife, Garreth. We shall excuse you from the banquet—though some will view it as unconventional."

Garreth turned his attention back to the child he'd just married. "Will you walk with me? There is much I would say to you."

Sabine nodded and placed her hand on his extended arm. As they moved away from the noise of the crowd, Garreth shortened his long strides to match her slow limp.

"I know that you must be feeling frightened and resentful, Sabine, so I want to assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. As you know, you will go home with your parents until such time as you reach your sixteenth birthday. Only then will you move to Wolfeton Keep to be under the tutelage of my mother."

"Wolfeton Keep?"

"Tis my home." For the first time he smiled. "I believe you will like it."

She merely nodded, knowing that it didn't matter if she liked it or not. From this day forward, this man had the right to decide her future.

He mistook her silence for concern. "You do understand the terms of the wedding contract? You shan't be expected to be a true wife to me until you reach your eighteenth birthday."

Again she nodded. Her mother had explained this to her. When she would have turned away, Garreth took her hand and pulled her back to him.

"Little girl, you will not find me a demanding husband."

Suddenly, for reasons she did not fully understand, Sabine reached up to her hair, withdrew a crimson rose. "A token for your father," she said softly, and a tear rolled down her cheek and fell upon the petals of the rose.

As a heavy mist swirled about them, Garreth took the rose and tucked it into his doublet. "My father would have liked the gesture. Until we meet again, keep well."

At last, she found her voice. "When will I see you?"

He arched his dark brow. "Do you want to?"

"Perhaps, so I won't forget what you look like."

He smiled, and she felt her heart thump against her breasts. "Then you shall see me." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. "Grow strong and wise for the day when you will come to me, my little duchess."

Without another word, he turned and moved away from her.

Sabine Blackthorn, the duchess of Balmarough, watched her husband mount his giant warhorse and ride across the moor until he was out of sight. She felt very unlike a bride.

The banquet was an ordeal. Sabine was seated between the king, who was in a jovial mood, and her father, who was not. Several times her mother tried to mediate between the two men, but her attempts did not meet with success.

Sabine pushed the food around in her plate, feeling that if she took a bite, she would surely choke.

She glanced about at the people at each table—some she knew, many she did not since they were the bridegroom's friends and family. She was weary and only wanted to go to bed. At last the king rose, wished them well and departed—now Sabine could leave.

Lord and Lady Woodbridge were still conversing with the guests, when Sabine slipped away. She wanting only to get out of the heavy gown and lie down because her leg ached so wretchedly. She was approaching the clearing near her mother's tent, when the sound of voices reached her.

"The jest is on Garreth," a young courtier said with a laugh. "Imagine, married to a child, and a cripple at that. I could see nothing to admire in her. You are Garreth's cousin, Cortland, what do you think of the new duchess?"

"She brings great wealth with her," he said. "For such a dowry, I could join with a squint-eyed, pock-marked hag and call myself well-satisfied."