Chosen for the Marriage Bed (3 page)

‘Anne. I have not seen you since…’ Since he had wed Gwladys, when his eyes had been only for his beautiful wife and he had seen Anne still as a little maid. No longer so. ‘Since before you grew up!’ Richard, disgusted by his lack of a suitable greeting, surveyed Robert’s sister, whose head now reached quite neatly to his shoulder.

‘I have grown up. I am now old enough to be wed.’ The heavy lashes veiled the brilliant eyes, the perfect lips curved ingenuously. ‘I persuaded my brother to bring me. I thought your new bride might like some company. Of her own age. Although I think she is a good few years older than I.’

‘That was kind of you.’

‘Of course. We must make her welcome, even if she is a Yorkist and older than most new brides.’ Anne tilted her chin with an appealing flash of green eyes.

Richard’s glance sharpened, but the girl’s face shone with innocuous pleasure. Her hand still on his sleeve tightened its hold with quick pressure from pretty white fingers. Even her hands were Gwladys’s—small and slender, made for jewelled rings. Richard bent his head and kissed Anne’s cheeks in a cousinly salute.

‘Welcome to Ledenshall, Anne.’

‘I had to bring her.’ Robert’s grimace was rueful. Horses and men-at-arms had all finally vanished in the direction of warmth and comfort, the baggage disappearing into the living accommodation with smooth-running efficiency. The cousins, after admiring the quality of the Malinder horse flesh, followed into the Great Hall.

‘No matter.’ Lord Richard signalled to a hovering maid-servant to replenish the ale and bring bread and meat.

‘My sister threatened to come on her own if I did not escort her, and pestered our mother until she agreed. Anne can be a nuisance when she’s bored or denied.’ Robert stripped off gloves and cloak, cast them on a bench, and began to unbuckle his sword. He cursed fluently at his clumsy and icy fingers where painful feeling was beginning to return. ‘She lacks female company of her own age, I suppose. And with the promise of a wedding on the horizon—well, I had to bring her.’ He stamped his feet and winced. ‘Poor weather for travelling!’

‘She’ll have enough company and more over the forth coming days.’ Having recovered from the initial shock on seeing the girl, Richard had thrust his discomfort to the back of his mind. He poured ale into a tankard and handed it to Robert, who took it and drank deep with appreciation. Steam began to rise from his damp clothes and boots.

‘That’s better.’ He groaned and ran a hand over his wind-scoured face.

The serving maid bustled in with platters of food and added logs to the fire with an arch look at the newcomer. The hound sank once more with a sigh to its place by the hearth, now that the excitement of arrival was over.

‘A quiet journey?’

‘Very.’ Robert wiped the back of a large hand over his mouth. ‘The Welsh seem to be lying low, for once. And the weather, of course. No one’s stirring.’

‘Come and take the weight off your feet.’

Robert grunted his appreciation, was silent for a moment as he drank, still hugging the fire. Then, having thawed out to his sat is faction, he threw himself into a chair with graceless ease and propped his feet on the opposite settle. ‘Tell me all. You’re to align yourself with the de Lacys, in spite of Maude’s death.’

‘Yes. Sir John’s niece.’

Richard stared into his ale. The name of Elizabeth de Lacy had been swiftly substituted for that of Maude in the betrothal contracts. In the interests of peace in the March, the proposed Malinder–de Lacy marriage would stand if he, Richard Malinder, would agree. Richard exhaled slowly. It was very difficult to like Sir John, a man driven by self-seeking ambition. As for Master Capel, his obsidian eyes had gleamed with conspiratorial interest through out the proceedings. The man might have remained silent, care fully deferential, but there was about him some thing that touched Richard’s spine with a slither of distaste.

‘I suppose you know what you are about.’ The lift in Robert’s voice made just a question of the statement.

‘Yes, I do.’ Richard’s brows rose, but he kept the tone light. ‘And, yes, I’ve heard the gossip, but there can’t be so much wrong with the girl. I didn’t want her—swore I wouldn’t take her, but I’ve changed my mind. Sir John’s enthusiastic and I see no reason for delay.’

‘As long as you keep your eyes and ears open to de Lacy intentions,’ Robert advised, suddenly serious. ‘Watch your back, Richard. Sir John must have an ulterior motive—he always does. When’s it to be?’

‘Soon. It’s intended that she—Elizabeth de Lacy—travel here directly from Llanwardine Priory. She’s well born, of an age to be wed and raised to be a competent chatelaine. I need just such a wife because I need an heir. And she’s extraordinarily well dowered.’ Richard eyed his cousin, an unexpected flicker of amusement in the cold depths of his eyes, then strode across the room, flung open the lid of a heavy oak coffer, to rummage to the bottom to extract a roll of ancient and tattered vellum. Now he smoothed it out, anchored it with tankards and his own poignard. Then, hands splayed on the table top, he bent to study its content with reference to one of the sheets of the marriage contract.

‘Come and look at this, Rob.’

It was a roughly drawn plan in coloured inks, now much faded, of the extent of the Malinder possessions. It was formidable when seen in a swathe of indigo blue. There were the lands of the Black Malinders, forming a substantially solid block through the east and central March with Ledenshall situated towards its western rim. And there the acquisitions of their cousins of the red hair, principally into South Wales. The Malinders were a powerful family.

‘It’s formidable,’ Robert agreed. ‘Black and Red Malinders together.’

‘It is. And thus understandable why de Lacy should fear our influence and wish to clasp hands with the Malinders. But look at the girl’s dowry. Sir John said that the titles came to her from her mother’s family, the Vaughans of Tretower, a family with strong connections in the March. So she would bring with her that estate there.’ Richard referred to the stipulated estates on the contract and pointed at the location of the lands on the plan. ‘And there. And also there. As well as this stretch of land.’ He ran his finger along the proposed estates that the bride would bring with her, splaying his hand over them thoughtfully when he had traced the full extent. ‘I would say that Sir John chose them most care fully.’

Robert nodded. If Elizabeth’s lands were subsumed into the Malinder holdings, Richard’s land owner ship would sweep in an impressive block, almost unbroken, along the March. ‘More than generous.’

‘Too generous?’ Richard pushed himself upright and allowed the vellum to re-roll, scooping it up and replacing it in the coffer. He then sat on the lid, forearms braced on thighs to pin his cousin with a speculative stare. ‘It would appear to me to be fool hardy in the extreme. To consolidate
my
power in the central March at the expense of his own. Sir John’s no fool. So why has he done it? Because he values my charm and place at his table as a member of his family?’

Robert grunted. ‘I can think of nothing less likely.’

‘Nor I. He’s very keen to draw me in. This offer is far more advantageous to me than when I agreed to wed Maude. So why?’

‘Is it simply that he’s keen to get the girl off de Lacy hands?’

‘No. Not that.’ Richard pushed impatient fingers through his hair to clasp his hands behind his head and lean back against the wall. He frowned down at his crossed ankles as if they would give him the answer to the riddle. ‘He’s given too much away. If the problem is the girl, why not simply leave her in Llanwardine Priory where she’s an irritant to no one but the Lady Prioress? No. Sir John has some scheme in mind that demands an alliance with me. Is it simply that I don’t look too closely at what he’s up to in the March? He could have bought my compliance with much less—I’ve no overt quarrel with Sir John unless he steps on my toes, in spite of his allegiance to York. So there’s some thing here that I’m not seeing.’ The sun caught a sharp glint in Richard’s eyes as he turned his head. ‘To my mind, Sir John sees Elizabeth and her estates as the bait in a trap.’

‘With you as the unsuspecting rat?’ Robert hitched a hip against the table, emptied the tankard.

‘Hmm. Not so unsuspecting. But what’s the trap? That’s what I can’t see.’

‘As I said—watch your back, Richard.’

Richard’s reply was cool and contemplative. ‘So I shall. Because another question is, do you suppose that the bait—the cheese to catch the rat, Elizabeth de Lacy herself—is an innocent party to this? Or is the undesirable Elizabeth part and parcel of Sir John’s dark and devious scheming?’

Richard let his own question hang in his mind. He had no liking for such murky doings, and yet there were definite advantages to this match. A high-born wife with an enviable parcel of land. As long as he kept his wits about him he would be in no danger. So the girl was neither amenable nor passingly attractive. Would it matter so much? As long as she could hold the reins at Ledenshall in his absence and bear Malinder sons, then she would be an acceptable wife.

‘I’m just surprised you would even seek an alliance with a family that would over throw King Henry and raise up the Duke of York in his stead,’ Robert remarked.

‘To my mind it could be to an advantage, Rob. Better to have some small window through which to spy into the intent of our enemies than to be taken by surprise. So if Sir John is in truth plotting against me…’

‘Elizabeth de Lacy is to be that window.’

‘Then why not?’

‘Then the girl has my sympathies.’ Robert held out his tankard. ‘An object of intrigue from both sides of the alliance.’

Richard stood to refill Robert’s empty cup with a rueful smile. ‘I doubt it will ever come to that. Enough of this. The contract is signed. The lady seems to consider marriage to me at least preferable to life as a nun or to the embrace of Owain Thomas. I should feel duly flattered and honoured!’ A touch of steel in eye and voice. ‘As long as she realises that once she has crossed this thresh old her loyalty will be to me and not to her family. I will not tolerate any desire to cleave to de Lacy politics.’

Robert raised his tankard. ‘Then, if you are set on it, let’s drink to the success of the enterprise.’

And Richard raised his tankard. ‘Amen to that! To my fruitful union with Elizabeth de Lacy.’

Chapter Three

E
lizabeth arrived at her new home in the middle of a thunder storm. The expected guests erupted without ceremony, horses and riders, into the outer court yard in a chaotic flurry of hooves and mud and a downpour of rain. Richard turned his face up to the heavens. Grey clouds pressed down. If he had been a man of superstition, he thought, he would have seen this as a sign of ill omen. All he needed was a pair of passing ravens to croak their disapproval.

Then the gates creaked and thudded shut behind them. Servants emerged to see to the comfort of the travellers. Two young men, unrecognisable in cloaks and hoods, issued orders. Elizabeth de Lacy’s brothers, Richard decided. They swung down from their horses and would have gone to the aid of the women, but Richard forestalled them. His eye had sought and found the younger of the two female forms, well muffled against the storm. As a gesture of greeting he waded through the wet to help his betrothed to dismount.

‘Come, lady. Hardly the welcome I would have wished for you. Let me help you…’

She did not reply. Her face was shadowed by her deep hood. He stood beside her weary horse, raised his arms to place his hands firmly around her waist to lift her down from the saddle. Only to be answered by a sharp hiss from within her cloak. A flash of dark fur and lethal claws. A shallow but bloody scratch appeared along the length of Richard’s hand.

Startled into immobility, Richard stared at the blood, his hiss of surprise as much as pain echoing that of the cat sheltered within the folds of Elizabeth’s cloak. He looked up, to find two pairs of eyes fixed on him. One feline and definitely displeased, golden and un blinking from the confines of the cloak. The other dark and watching him equally intently from within the hood, as a wild animal might watch a hunter, he thought, from the safety of its lair. Wary, uncertain, but with a strong streak of defiance, both mistress and cat surveyed him.

Elizabeth de Lacy found her voice first. ‘Forgive me, my lord. You surprised her.’

Richard’s words of welcome had dissolved in the deluge.
‘I
surprised
her
? You’re travelling from Llanwardine with a
cat
in your lap?’

‘I had to bring her. There was no other way.’

For a long moment their gazes held, his astonished, hers defensive. Then Elizabeth blinked the rain from her lashes and the contact was broken.

‘Never mind,’ Richard forestalled any further conversation as thunder rolled overhead. ‘Let’s all get in out of this infernal weather. Including that animal. If you could prevent her from mauling me further, I would help you down.’

Grasping Elizabeth de Lacy firmly—and the struggling cat—he lifted and deposited her on her feet, aware of her lightness, relieved when the girl thrust the cat into the arms of her serving woman. So Richard took her arm to lead her into the Hall where there would be a small reception awaiting them. He was conscious of her drawing back, a definite reluctance, but why? She had seemed neither shy nor lacking in confidence in that first brief connection. Her eyes had met and held his with not a little self-worth, so why hang back now? This was not the reaction of a forth right, head strong young woman, as Elizabeth de Lacy had been painted. Richard Malinder frowned. She would be his wife and Lady of Ledenshall so he would not allow her to succumb to foolish reticence, but pulled her forwards into the light and warmth. Servants removed and carried off sodden cloaks. A fire was burning towards which all gravitated. Wine was brought.

For better or worse, his bride had come home.

But first things first. Richard sought out Elizabeth’s elder brother in the throng. It was not difficult. The de Lacy stature and colouring was clearly marked on both of Sir John’s nephews. Richard drew Lewis, a rangy young man in his early twenties with a not-quite-hostile expression on his face, aside. Now was the time to build some bridges between the two families.

‘I owe you my thanks for escorting your sister here.’ Richard clasped the hand of Lewis de Lacy, forcing a courteous exchange.

‘I was given no choice, my lord. Sir John ordered it.’

‘But you are safely here. A bad day for such a lengthy journey.’ Both were uncomfortably aware of the political divide between Malinder and de Lacy, but for the occasion it was pushed aside by tacit and common consent. ‘Some refreshment, I think.’ Richard beckoned one of the maids, who promptly handed a tankard to the young man.

Lewis accepted and drank, dry humour surfacing under the influence of the warmth and ale. ‘My sister will be relieved to have arrived. Postponing the journey was not some thing we discussed. I doubt I could have persuaded her to remain at Llanwardine another night. Perhaps I should introduce you formally,’ he suggested.

‘I have had a painful meeting already!’ Richard responded to the humour, pleased to see the boy relax, and flexed his hand where the scratch stung. ‘I’ll live. Not sure about the cat though.’

‘Ha! Vicious and unpredictable—but much loved by Mistress Bringsty and so un touchable.’

‘Do you say?’ Richard smiled.

‘I
would not risk it! But Elizabeth is more amenable than the cat,’ Lewis ventured, before adding with a quick and engaging grin, ‘or most of the time. But I would watch Mistress Bringsty, if I were you.’

Richard’s brows snapped into a dark bar as he followed the direction of Lewis’s glance across the room towards the woman who stood at Elizabeth de Lacy’s shoulder in a position of support and protection. Then his mouth curved and his eyes warmed in reply. ‘The voice of experience. I’m grateful for the warning.’ He began to move in the direction of the two women, until a hand grasped his sleeve.

‘One thing I must say. And I dare say you won’t like it, Malinder.’ Richard turned, seeing that Lewis was serious again, tense as if needing to draw on inner depths, but determined none the less. ‘Elizabeth will deny it, but her life has not been an easy one. Our father, Philip de Lacy, had no affection for any of us, whilst Sir John sees her as a means to an end. It was des pi cable to send her to Llanwardine. Elizabeth deserves some contentment, some measure of happiness. She’s had precious little in her life so far.’ His bright level gaze held Richard’s, suddenly older than his years. ‘If you hurt her—I’ll hunt you down, Malinder or no.’

Richard looked at the impassioned features, unconcerned with the threat, astounding in itself, more taken with the fierce loyalty of the young man and the glimpse that had been unexpectedly opened into Elizabeth de Lacy’s previous existence. He found that he liked Lewis de Lacy no worse for that fierce loyalty.

‘The lady will receive all consideration at my hands. I can free her from de Lacy control, if that’s what you mean. I hope she can be happy and content here.’ He kept the tone light as he felt the heat of the fire in Lewis’s regard.

Then Lewis nodded. ‘That’s what I want for her. So come and meet her. Elizabeth…’ Lewis walked to her, touched her arm. She turned slowly to face the two men. And so Richard Malinder gained his first true impression of his bride.

His inner and very candid reaction to her appalled him.

A drowned rat would have presented a more appealing picture. Despite the heavy cloak, she was soaked to the skin with unflattering consequences. The dark gown, not a nun’s habit, but no more attractive with its sodden folds and mired hem, clung to her figure, clammy and revealing. She was tall—her eyes almost on a level with his—but too thin, too angular. He noted her wrists as she held a mug of steaming ale, the bones pressing against translucent skin, the sharp collar bones where the neckline of her gown revealed them. The drenched wimple clung to her head and framed a face notable for its hollow cheeks and thin, straight nose. Her hair was completely covered by the unflattering cloth. Her skin was sallow, colourless, the faintest smudge of mud on one cheek where she had wiped away the rain. She looked stretched and strained from lack of sleep. Her mouth might be full with a generous lower lip, probably enhanced by a smile if she was ever moved to give one, but instead it was taut and uncurving. Dark unfathomable eyes watched him warily, the brows, beautifully arched, raised a little. She awaited his response with what? A certain confidence? Or a deep disquiet, well concealed? Whatever feelings she hid, she was not a prepossessing presence.

As he approached, and as Elizabeth de Lacy turned to acknowledge him for the first time, Richard saw her eyes widen, a flash of light in their depths. Her fingers tightened on her cup, high colour slashing across her sharp cheek bones, her colourless lips parted as if she would express some immediate thought. Then she pressed them together, at the same time veiling her thoughts with a down-sweep of lashes.

Her reaction to him—was it shock? Fear? What was she thinking?

But then that question was obliterated by a slight movement to one side of Elizabeth. Richard’s attention was caught. Anne Malinder had approached to stand quietly there, as if to give Elizabeth some companionable support on this tense occasion. Gowned in rich blue damask, a profusion of braided red-gold hair covered with a transparent veil and delicately tinted cheeks, she was rounded and feminine and astonishingly pretty. A fleeting image again leapt unbidden into his mind, of Gwladys, who had also enjoyed wearing blue. It provided an unfortunate and terrible comparison with Richard’s new bride.

His heart sank.

Richard, his manners impeccable, deliberately turned his eyes from Anne and back to Elizabeth de Lacy, careful to show none of his inner turmoil. Taking her hand, long fingered and cold, he found himself wondering whether there was any warm blood to be found anywhere in her body.

‘Welcome to Ledenshall, Elizabeth de Lacy.’

He raised her hand to his lips in a brief formal salute. Her fingers were as icy against his mouth as he had suspected, the skin roughened, the knuckles ugly and swollen.

Recovered from whatever had disturbed her, Elizabeth inclined her head, the tiniest of movements. ‘Thank you, my lord Malinder. I am honoured by your desire to wed me.’ Her eyes remained direct beneath his searching gaze. ‘I am most pleased to be here.’ Her voice surprised him a little. Low and soft, it had a husky depth that was most appealing. His heart sank even further. It was the most attractive part about her as far as he could tell.

Elizabeth allowed herself time to admire the room that would be her own. Timber-ceilinged, plaster-walled, painted in floral patterns now faded into delicate soft colours with the years, a patterned tiled floor—it all wrapped her round in an aura of wealth and comfort. A fire burned in the stone fire place and beeswax candles had been lit in tall candlesticks to push back the shadows. The bed—oh, glory!—had patterned silk curtains and tester, the canopy attached by tasselled cords to the ceiling beams. After the deprivations of Llanwardine, she could imagine the sheer luxury of lying there, beneath the silk cover where she could see the luxury of a feather mattress and cool linen sheets. An oak chest, a box chair, a stand with pewter ware. Elizabeth took it all in with a silent sigh of delight. The Malinder house hold had taken pains to make her feel welcomed. The bands of tension around Elizabeth’s heart loosened a little; her fingers, which had been clenched into fists at her sides, slowly opened.

Before she could express her thanks, her attention was truly caught because there before the fire stood a bound wooden tub. And buckets of steaming water brought in by servants. Elizabeth looked at it longingly, with unspeakable gratitude, as she tugged at her gown where it clung unpleasantly to her hips. Her appearance on her arrival could not have been worse. She hated to think what she looked like. She
knew
what she looked like. What a shock it must have been for Richard Malinder to see his betrothed for the first time, as if she had just been dragged from a river. At least she could only improve. A cynical twist touched the corner of her lips, quickly hidden as she recalled her first unfortunate reaction.

Richard Malinder was definitely the man of the scrying bowl. The same astonishingly attractive features, the same fall of black hair. And when those grey eyes had looked at her she had felt her bones melt, and was almost compelled by some inner force to reach out a hand to touch him. Not that she had, but surely he was everything a woman could want in her husband if physical beauty mattered.

How tragic that she could not match him with a beauty of her own.

Yet she must remember. Elizabeth, unaware, frowned at her new surroundings. He was a Lancastrian, and there fore her enemy. It would be unwise to be seduced by the magnificence of a man’s face. And what was it that Jane had said in warning? Two dark men, one friend, one enemy.

If Richard Malinder was to prove to be her enemy, then she must be on her guard.

She had seen the tightening of his muscles when he approached her, until good manners had forced him to play the gallant. It was the moment she had been dreading. She had to summon all her inner re sources to present a blank and unresponsive exterior, anything but reveal the fear in her heart. And he was so cold and formal—he must dislike the match more than she thought. A pity she had nothing to recommend her to change his mind. Not compared with the decorative little cousin who was even now watching her, head tilted, with a slyly amused light in her eyes.

Elizabeth’s meagre belongings had already been brought in. Never had a bride from so powerful a family been so poorly prepared. Jane Bringsty deposited the cat, which took up a position on a corded box and watched the proceedings with half-veiled hostile eyes. Then as warmth pervaded, it stretched and began to wash its damp fur with intense concentration. If only it could be as easy for her to settle into these new surroundings.

Jane Bringsty, aided by a suspiciously willing Anne, began to open the packages on the bed, intent on discovering a suitable gown. An impossibility, Elizabeth acknowledged, knowing the contents. Meanwhile with cold stiff fingers she unpinned and removed the heavy wimple. As she held the coarse cloth in her hands, Elizabeth sensed and heard the reaction. And knew why. She herself had grown used to it—almost.