Scoundrel of Dunborough (13 page)

Chapter Fourteen

H
is broadsword slapping against his thigh, Gerrard came striding across the yard toward them. The chandler, looking as if he might be sick and with good cause, backed away, for Gerrard was clearly, frighteningly outraged. Lewis staggered to his feet but didn’t seek to interfere, not did any of the onlookers.

Scowling, Gerrard pulled his sword from its sheath and placed the tip against the trembling chandler’s chest. “Now then, Norbert,” he said, his voice hard and remorseless, “what gives you the right to strike this woman?”

“I didn’t mean to hit her,” the chandler sniveled as he held his arms wide in surrender. “She got in the way.”

“Because he was going to hit his son again and that I will not permit,” Celeste explained, coming closer. She was angry at Norbert, yet sought to keep her tone moderate, lest her words enflame Gerrard’s temper more.

“He stole from my shop!” Norbert cried, looking desperately to the curious spectators for support. “If a father can’t discipline his own son—”

Not a single person came to his defense, nor did anyone regard him with empathy. Some began to go on their way, others stayed behind, clearly curious to see what would happen next. Norbert fell silent when he got no sympathy from anyone and saw the stern expression on Gerrard’s face. Perhaps the chandler hadn’t heard of Sir Blane’s methods of disciplining his sons. If he had not, Celeste had, and it was no wonder Gerrard sought to intervene when Norbert struck his son.

Swallowing hard, the trembling Norbert raised his hands higher in supplication. “I was angry and the lad needs to learn he can’t simply take things from the shop.”

Gerrard slowly lowered his sword, but didn’t sheathe it. “Shall I have him thrown in the dungeon and brought before the king’s justice?” he asked with cold deliberation.

Lewis turned as pale as snow.

“Gerrard, please,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, hoping he didn’t mean what he said.

He turned to regard her as if she were some lowly minion who dared to speak, not the woman he had embraced with passion. Or a nun.

His dark brows lowered, his lips a hard, thin line, Gerrard said, “If Norbert wishes to teach his son a lesson, how better than to show him the lawful consequences of theft?”

“I’m willing to pay for the candles,” she replied.

Still Gerrard’s expression did not change nor did he even seem to notice her hand upon his arm.

“I’m certain he’s learned and you can be merciful,” she pleaded, clutching him a little tighter, feeling the strength in his tense muscles.

Gerrard didn’t answer her. Instead, he addressed Lewis. “Have you learned it’s wrong to steal?”

“Yes!” the young man cried, falling on his knees and nearly in tears. “I have! I promise you I have!”

“And you, Norbert?” Gerrard demanded, glaring at the man. “Have you learned that you must never again strike a woman so long as you live in Dunborough?”

The chandler rapidly nodded his head and took a few steps back. “Yes!”

“Good,” Gerrard grimly replied, “because if you do, you will find yourself in the dungeon of Dunborough.”

Norbert looked as if he was about to swoon.

Celeste let go of Gerrard’s arm. “And if he strikes his son?” she asked.

Gerrard’s face still wore that same pitiless expression. “His son is his property until he comes of age.”

“Surely you, of all people—”

He held up his hand to silence her, and when he spoke, his steady scrutiny was on the pale young man. “Of course, should Lewis decide to leave his father’s house and seek employment elsewhere, there is no law to force him to stay.” His voice grew a little more compassionate and his expression less stern, like the Gerrard she wanted him to be. “The commander of a castle might be glad to have such a man in his service.”

Looking as if he’d been handed the keys to the kingdom, Lewis scrambled to his feet. Celeste felt as if her childhood hero had indeed returned, even if he was now more like his brother than the boy she remembered.

“I’d gladly be a soldier in your garrison, sir!” Lewis excitedly exclaimed.

Gerrard ran a measuring gaze over him and finally sheathed his sword. “Can you read and write?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. I have more need of a clerk than another soldier.”

Although his disappointment was obvious, Lewis nodded. “I’ll be happy to serve you any way I can.”

Norbert, however cowed, and perhaps because he was now several feet away, could not remain silent. “What am I to do without my son to help me?”

“That is not my concern,” Gerrard replied, his voice and visage ice-like once again. “I suggest you return to your shop and sell some more candles in case you find you need to a hire an assistant.” He raised his voice so that the remaining onlookers could hear. “Should I learn of any mistreatment of women or children in the village of Dunborough, that man will have to answer to me.”

Norbert looked as if he wanted to curse. However, he said nothing as he left the yard, pushing his way through the people still gathered at the gate.

Gerrard’s shoulders relaxed. “Go to the kitchen in the castle, Lewis,” he said, his voice calmer yet still firm, “and find Peg. Tell her you need a place to sleep and a cot for the night. And know you this—if you ever dare to steal from me, you will regret it.”

The young man flushed and nodded. “I won’t!”

“Then you may go.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Lewis turned to Celeste and smiled with more genuine happiness. “Thank you, Sister. If you hadn’t come when you did—”

“There’s no need to thank me,” she demurred, very aware of the powerful warrior standing nearby who had shown himself to be merciful and just. Even so, she was aware of the rage he’d displayed and knew the way a man could oppress his household.

“But I do thank you!” Lewis exclaimed. “I...”

He fell silent and blushed a deeper shade of red before hurrying off toward the castle through the now rapidly diminishing crowd.

“The rest of you should be about your business,” Gerrard declared, and the remaining bystanders dispersed, enabling her to see Gerrard’s snow-white horse tied to a post farther along the fence, with a light brown saddle horse beside it. For her, no doubt.

“Is there time to visit Martha today?” she asked warily.

“Yes, if you still wish it,” he replied, his expression revealing nothing of his innermost thoughts.

She wasn’t keen to get up on a horse and the day had already had its share of excitement, but she supposed the sooner she saw the maidservant, the sooner she might have the answers she wanted. “I do.”

Gerrard nodded and marched toward the gate while Lizabet hurried to put a cloak around Celeste’s shoulders. That done, Celeste had to trot after him, for he didn’t slacken his pace or wait for her.

“This is Daisy, your sister’s horse,” he said matter-of-factly when she joined him and as if nothing of any import had just happened. He patted the neck of the saddle horse standing placidly beside Gerrard’s prancing white beast. “I thought you would like her best.”

Daisy appeared gentle enough, especially compared to Gerrard’s horse, yet Celeste had rarely ridden. Those few times she had didn’t instill a feeling of confidence in her now. Nevertheless, mount and ride Daisy she must.

“Do you need help?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, even though that meant Gerrard would have to touch her. She was discovering that any time she touched him, or he touched her, her heart began to race and something surely sinful began to unfurl within her. She must control her wanton feelings, for she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get into the saddle without his assistance.

Fortunately, he didn’t actually touch her. He stood beside the mare and clasped his hands together to make a step for her. Then, as she gripped the saddle board, he hoisted her into the air. She learned it wasn’t a simple matter to get her leg over the back of the horse.

Nevertheless, she did it and, once seated, drew in a deep, tremulous breath.

“I take it you haven’t done much riding,” he said, stroking the mare’s neck. Again, she could tell nothing of what he was really thinking, much to her dismay. “Have no fear. Daisy is a very quiet, calm horse.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” she replied, trying to sound and appear just as calm and composed as he. “Shall we?”

She lifted the reins and as Daisy started forward at a walk, Gerrard mounted his stallion and came to ride beside her.

The last time she’d been on this road, she’d been going to Dunborough and sitting in the back of a cart belonging to a farmer. Certain features of the landscape had been familiar—the low rise to her right, the forest of pine to her left, the scent rich in the air, the little brook nearby and the path that led to it. She’d been anxious and cold, but more upset about Audrey’s death and wondering what she would find at Dunborough than concerned about her own comfort.

In spite of herself she’d also been thinking about Gerrard. If he was still there. If he was the generous, kindhearted, merry fellow she remembered, or the lascivious, selfish scoundrel Esmerelda had denounced. And if he was as good-looking as she recalled.

Celeste glanced at the man riding beside her. If anything, he was better looking than she’d imagined. Nor could she help noticing how his hips moved forward and back with his horse’s motion, the rocking movements bringing other worldly things to mind.

That they should not.

Had she not just witnessed an example of the kind of distress an angry man could cause? It would be better to be in a convent than subjected to a man’s rule.

They both knew what it was like to have a cruel parent. She at least had had Audrey, and he had had Roland, even if the brothers quarreled. Lewis had no one. “It’s kind of you to give Lewis a place in your household.”

This time when Gerrard answered, she could tell he was still angry. “I have no love for men who beat their sons, and Norbert’s an ugly little squint.”

Celeste considered telling Gerrard what she’d learned about Norbert’s opinion of Audrey, then decided against it. She didn’t want to rouse Gerrard’s temper any more today. “Still, it was generous of you, and I
will
thank you.”

“I’m not so generous as you seem to think. I need a clerk.”

“Be that as it may, you saved him.” As perhaps they’d both wished for a protector when they were little. “I’m sure he’s truly grateful, as am I.”

That brought a brief smile to Gerrard’s face. “Then I’m even more glad that I did it.”

She, too, smiled, feeling more at ease in his company. Too much at ease, perhaps, when she recalled the reason for their journey. She shouldn’t be lighthearted when they were going to seek answers about her sister’s death.

“Do you ever miss those days when we were children?” he abruptly asked.

“Sometimes,” she confessed, wondering if Gerrard was also remembering playing in these woods. She and Audrey had often sought refuge here, and she had enjoyed it even more when Gerrard joined them. “I miss Audrey very much. I suppose you might think that strange, when I’ve been away for so many years, but as long as I could think of her here, I didn’t feel so alone.”

He nodded and looked thoughtful. “Even when I believed I hated Roland, I would have mourned him deeply if anything had happened to him.”

“You are truly friends now?”

“More friend than foe,” he replied, “or he wouldn’t have named me garrison commander or offered me—”

She wondered why he’d stopped so abruptly until he turned to her and said, “He’s offered me Dunborough.”

Chapter Fifteen

C
eleste was so taken aback, she pulled too hard on the reins, making Daisy whinny.

“Careful, there!” Gerrard cautioned, reaching out to hold the mare’s bridle. “Daisy’s gentle, but she can be skittish.”

Celeste was glad for his controlling hand. She had come near to falling, both with surprise and the action of the mare.

“Did I hear you aright?” she asked. “Roland has offered you Dunborough?”

Gerrard nodded. “Yes. He has the estate of DeLac, thanks to his wife, so he’s willing to give me Dunborough. The king will have to approve, but Roland thinks John will be only too eager to ensure that my brother has less land and power.”

From what she’d heard about the king, she found that easier to believe than that Roland would willingly give up his right to their family’s estate.

Gerrard regarded her with grave solemnity. “It’s quite true, I assure you.”

Finally she believed him, and joy replaced her doubt. “So you will have your heart’s desire at last, Gerrard! I’m happy for you.”

“I haven’t yet decided whether I’ll accept Roland’s offer or not.”

She reined in again and, when he likewise halted Snow, regarded him with incredulity. “Why not?”

“It would mean being beholden to my brother for the rest of my life.”

“Your
pride
stands in the way?”

His expression hardened once again. “My pride, as you call it, is one of the few things I have I can call my own.”

“But... Dunborough, Gerrard!”

“Yes, Dunborough,” he muttered, urging his horse forward again. “And all that goes with it.”

They rode past a few more trees and large stones and paths leading from the road that she recognized. The pine trees ended and soon the moor would stretch out before them.

“I take it, then, you won’t quarrel with your brother anymore,” she ventured at last.

He sighed and then, to her surprise, he chuckled, a low, deep, soft sound as attractive as his voice. “I expect we’ll always quarrel about something. Goading Roland is the only way to get him to speak his mind. Otherwise, he’s like a statue, as you may recall.”

She did remember Roland’s reticence, and Gerrard’s answer would explain a great many of their quarrels. Nevertheless... “Surely there’s another way to get him to express his opinion.”

“If there is another way to make him reveal what he’s truly thinking, I have yet to find it.”

“You will one day, I’m sure of it.”

“You sound as if you care.”

“I do. I want you—and Roland—to be happy and live in peace with one another.”

He slid her a sidelong glance. “Roland is very happy. His wife has made him so.”

“Then perhaps when you are wed...”

She fell silent and stared straight ahead. She didn’t want to think of Gerrard married, with a wife to love.

“I’ll be happy?” he finished for her. “As happy as you’ll be in the convent?”

“I shall be very happy there,” she said firmly.

Because she would, once the mother superior was gone, she told herself.

Nevertheless, a change of subject seemed in order. “Is it much farther to Martha’s?”

“Just around the next bend.”

They rode in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts, until they came upon a fenced yard with a wide gate surrounding a small, squat stone cottage with a slate roof. A bench was by the door and a few chickens scratched in the dirt near a small coop.

“This is the place,” Gerrard said. Frowning, he hesitated a moment, then added, “I should warn you that Martha tends to get rather overwrought.”

“Perhaps, then, it would be best if I spoke to her alone,” Celeste suggested.

Gerrard’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure that would be wise. She can also get quite...fierce.”

“You think she might try to hurt me?” Celeste asked, her eyes widening.

“Who can say what a woman in that state will do?” he mused with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

“Very well,” Celeste replied, nodding. “We’ll speak to her together.”

Gerrard dismounted and looped Snow’s reins over the gatepost.

Celeste stayed where she was. The last time she’d ridden a horse, she’d been a child, and her father had lifted her to the ground.

Gerrard regarded her questioningly. “Have you changed your mind?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure how to get down.”

If Gerrard found that amusing, he mercifully didn’t show it. He simply said, “Put your hands on my shoulders and lean toward me as far as you can.”

She did and he reached up and grabbed her around the waist. “Now slide off. I’ll make sure you land safely.”

He held her up as she slipped from the saddle toward him and set her feet upon the ground.

He must be even stronger than she’d suspected.

Her hands were still on his shoulders; his were still around her waist. They were close enough to kiss.

She wanted to kiss him. He looked as if he wanted to kiss her but was awaiting her permission.

“Celeste, I—” he began, his voice soft, almost pleading.

“Gerrard,” she whispered. “Please...please don’t.”

If he kissed her again, she would not be able to resist. And then what? He had asked and promised her nothing.

He stepped back abruptly, his face as red as hers must be if the heat of shame within her was anything to go by.

He opened the gate without so much as a glance at her and immediately a huge and shaggy black dog came racing around from the back of the cottage, barking loudly, its teeth bared as if about to attack.

With a gasp Celeste moved behind Gerrard, who drew his sword.

An elderly man in an old, much-mended woolen tunic and breeches, his boots equally ancient, appeared at the door of the cottage. “Down, Blackie!” he cried, and at once the dog stopped barking and sat on its haunches. “Beg pardon, sir. He’s a trifle excitable, is Blackie.”

“A quality to be desired in a dog who guards your household,” Gerrard replied, sheathing his sword. The grim soldier was back, the yearning lover gone, perhaps forever.

As he must be
, Celeste thought as they crossed the yard, Celeste on the side of Gerrard farthest from the dog.

“This is Audrey D’Orleau’s sis—” Gerrard began.

“Why, it’s wee Celeste, isn’t it?” the old man interrupted with a wide, toothless smile. “Don’t you remember me?”

Of course! He was one of her father’s carters who took goods back and forth between Dunborough, York and London. He’d always had some little treat for her when he returned.

“Oh, Jack, it’s good to see you!” she cried, hurrying to press a kiss upon his wrinkled cheek.

Audrey’s maidservant must be his daughter. Celeste remembered Martha now, a timid, rather plain young woman.

“We’d like to speak to Martha, if we may,” Gerrard said from behind her.

Jack rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well, I dunno. This isn’t one of her better days.”

“We’ll try not to upset her,” Celeste said.

“And Celeste—Sister Augustine now—has to return to the convent soon.”

Gerrard was right, of course, and yet she wished he hadn’t said it.

“Very well, then, come in,” Jack said, stepping aside to make way for them to enter the dimly lit, one-room cottage.

It was neat and relatively tidy, but their eyes were immediately drawn to the woman hunched over on a stool near the glowing embers in the hearth. Her brown hair was disheveled, her gown loose but clean. Her cheeks were gaunt, too, as if she rarely ate. It was not poverty that was responsible for that state, Celeste realized, for her father was well fed, and there was smoked ham and baskets of beans in the cottage.

“Look here, Martha!” Jack cried with somewhat forced good cheer. “Here’s Celeste come to see you all the way from Saint Agatha’s. You remember Celeste.”

Martha raised her head, a look of happy surprise on her face, until she saw Gerrard. She jumped up, oversetting the stool, and pressed back against the wall as if she’d seen a ghost.

“I think, um, you’d better wait outside, sir,” Jack said under his breath.

Gerrard’s visage was so stern and unyielding, Celeste feared he was about to protest.

“Please wait outside, Gerrard,” she ordered with quiet, but firm, command. Martha was obviously afraid of him, and they’d get no answers from her in that state.

Although he looked far from pleased, Gerrard left the cottage.

“Now then, Martha, it’s all right,” Jack said, speaking as he would to a nervous horse. “Sit ye down by the fire again. Celeste wants a few words with you, that’s all.”

He took his daughter’s hand and led her back to the stool, where she sat obediently, as if she were a child.

“I’m sorry if we’ve upset you,” Celeste said, keeping her voice low and soothing, remembering how Sister Sylvester had spoken to the girls who’d arrived at the convent in obvious distress “If you like, I could come back another day.”

“He said—” Jack began.

She shook her head to silence him. “I have plenty of time.”

She knelt beside Martha. “I want to talk to you about my sister. I’ve been away so long, you see.”

She wouldn’t broach the subject of Audrey’s murder, at least not right away.

Yet that was clearly what was uppermost in Martha’s mind as she sat lacing and unlacing her thin, work-worn fingers clasped in her lap. “I knew he wasn’t right in the head,” she muttered. “I could tell by the way he looked at her. Like a dog begging for a bone.”

She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God help me! There was so much blood! He’d...he’d...”

Celeste put her arms around the distraught woman. Gerrard was right. She shouldn’t have come here. Poor Martha was too distressed to answer any questions. “Never mind what he did, what you saw. It’s over now, and he’s gone forever.”

The woman reared back and stared at her. “Is he? Do you think so?” she cried, getting more and more upset. “Or are they just sayin’ that? Drowned, they said. Dead in the river. Fell in, said some. Killed himself, said others. Maybe somebody pushed him. How do we know? How can his soul be at rest? What if his spirit comes back?” She jumped up and peered out the window. “What if he comes looking for
me
?”

Jack hurried to pour some wine in a cup. “Here, Martha, take this,” he said, putting it to her lips.

She drank as if she’d been lost in the desert for days.

Jack gave Celeste a woeful look over his daughter’s shoulder, as if he realized this wasn’t the best way to calm her, yet it was the best one he had.

Celeste was sure Sister Sylvester would have some better medicine, and when—if—she returned to Saint Agatha’s, she would ask her to send some here.

“Come, Martha, why don’t you lie down like a good girl,” her father suggested.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Celeste said, moving toward the door.

“No!” Martha declared, pushing her father out of the way. “I want you to know, in case...in case I die! Duncan wanted your sister and she never saw it. Never wanted to see it, because she was after richer men, like that Broderick and that Roland and even that Gerrard. But Gerrard never would have married her. He really wanted his brother’s wife, same as he wanted everything else Roland had.”

Celeste gasped and lifted her hand to her cheek as if the woman had punched her.

Because Martha was right. Gerrard had always wanted everything Roland had and usually found a way to either get it or take it. Why should he not have felt the same about a woman?

She wanted to believe that he’d changed, but maybe she was wrong. Perhaps she’d let her own lust and desire cloud her judgment, as other women had before her.

“So much greed! So much evil!” Martha moaned. “She was a
whore
, your sister, and she died like one!”

“It’s all right, Martha,” her father murmured as he put his arm around his daughter. “Best you go lie down.”

When he looked up again, Celeste was gone.

* * *

As Gerrard watched Celeste approach with quick strides, her cloak flaring out behind her and her face pale, he regretted bringing her here. He should have refused. He should have told her Martha was too upset by what had happened to make much sense, or that she had gone away.

And he should never touch Celeste, or even get too close to her. She was simply too tempting, too desirable. Even if she seemed to want him at times, if he took advantage of those moments, he would surely be damned forever, a creature of lust and depravity like his father.

But he could at least try to offer some comfort after what was surely an upsetting talk with Martha.

“Martha’s been distraught since your sister died,” he said when Celeste reached him.

“With good reason, I should say,” she snapped, her lips thin and her whole body tense. Celeste wasn’t distraught, she was angry, and she sounded like his father or his brothers when they’d chastised him. “What did Martha say to you?” he demanded.

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. But she did.

She raised her chin and regarded him with defiant disdain. “She said you wanted Roland’s wife.”

“And you believed her?” he charged. He, too, was angry, although in truth, her accusation cut him to the quick, especially since she so obviously believed it.

If he had any doubts about that, they faded when she added, “You always wanted whatever Roland had.”

Gerrard crossed his arms and grimly, firmly, sternly told her the truth. “Not anymore and never Mavis. I saw at once how it was between them. She cared very much for Roland and he for her. Although I envied him, I would never have tried to take her from him.” Gerrard’s frown deepened. “You didn’t used to believe everything you heard. Have you grown more gullible?”

“I have learned that often there is some truth in a rumor.”

“But most times there is not,” he retorted. Disgruntled and anxious to be gone, he linked his fingers and bent down to help her into the saddle. Without a word, looking just as peeved as he felt, she grabbed the saddle board and put her foot into his hands, then got onto the horse with a little less effort than before.

Lifting the reins to turn her horse back the way they had come, she punched her heels into Daisy’s side with more force than necessary.