While Emma seemed a pleasant enough woman, he didn’t want a sickly wife. She might do very well for herself at court, and perhaps the physicians there could find a cure for her ills.
Which left Gwendolyn to become his wife. Not that he trusted her, either, but she was certainly the prudent choice.
He’d heard her name several times during his inspection of the castle, each time said with fondness and respect, as with Mistress Biggs when visiting the village. Gwendolyn knew the workings of the household, got on well with all. Good wifely qualities.
Nor would he find her abhorrent to take to bed. Indeed, peeling off her surcoat and chemise to unveil the swell of her breasts and softly rounded rump might give him a great deal of pleasure. The stir in his loins confirmed her physical appeal.
Alberic put the empty goblet on the table. Arms crossed behind his back, he faced the females.
Not a one of them would be pleased with what he was about to tell them, but not a one of them was disposed to like him anyway. At the moment, all considered him lower than a worm for his part in William’s death.
United against him, they might never fully believe he’d come by Camelen honorably, even if Garrett confirmed the tale. Separated, he would have a chance to convince one, Gwendolyn, that he wasn’t the devil incarnate.
“This seems a fitting time to tell you the whole of the king’s orders. When he gave me Camelen he bade me to hold it in his name, then gave instructions on what to do with Hugh de Leon’s remaining offspring. I will assume you are aware that on your father’s death you became royal wards.”
Nicole’s eyes narrowed, ready to disbelieve whatever he was about to say. In Emma he saw a hint of curiosity, a spark of the adventurous he wouldn’t have attributed to her before.
Gwendolyn crossed her arms, preparing to bend to the ill wind she sensed coming.
“He bade me take one of you as my wife, send one to his court, and give the last to the Church. Today’s events have convinced me it is time to follow through on those orders.”
“That is outrageous, my lord!” Emma declared.
“I do not believe you!” Nicole stated.
Gwendolyn looked to Garrett for salvation. “Did you hear the king give this order?”
“Nay, my lady. I was not close enough to hear all that was said, but I doubt not that such an order was given.”
Emma waved a hand in Alberic’s direction, though she spoke to Garrett. “You believe this outrage?”
“I have no reason not to, Lady Emma, especially when it is easily confirmed.”
“As you will do, Garrett, when you take Lady Emma to court.”
Emma rounded on him. “Court? The king’s court? Me?”
“I am sure the king has already informed Queen Matilda to expect a new handmaiden. Once you have confirmed the king’s orders, you may send word to your sisters.” Alberic then focused on Nicole. “Though just where this little one might be must still be decided. If any of you have preference for one abbey over another, pray let me know.”
Nicole’s eyes went as wide as platters. “Nay, not a nunnery,” she whined, then turned to Gwendolyn. “Do not let him send me away, Gwen! I swear I shall never touch another dagger in my lifetime!”
Gwendolyn must have heard her sister’s plea, but ignored it in favor of staring hard at him, having figured out she was to remain at Camelen, as his wife.
“Your plan is flawed, my lord. I cannot marry you because I am already betrothed.”
Damn.
He hadn’t expected a complication, and a prior betrothal bargain might well complicate matters.
“Betrothed to whom?”
“Madog ap Idwal of Powys.”
A Welshman? True, Gwendolyn was half Welsh, through her mother, a princess of Wales if the king’s tale was to be believed. But Gwendolyn was also half Norman; her father could have done far better for her.
Probably better than a Norman-English bastard.
Except the bastard was now a baron, and so of a rank worthy of her. Better than worthy.
The thought struck him that through the betrothal Hugh de Leon might have gained the support of a group of Welsh in the war against the king. But Alberic had never heard of ap Idwal, so he couldn’t be a high chieftain, and was therefore of little consequence.
“I have been through all of your father’s documents and saw no betrothal agreement.”
She seemed taken aback, but rallied quickly. “Whether a document is drawn up or no, I am certain my father and ap Idwal came to an understanding. The nuptials are to take place at summer’s end.”
Not an official bargain, then, and therefore not a complication.
“When the king gave me Camelen, all agreements your father might have made became void. Only those I care to keep are valid. Understanding or no, you will not be marrying ap Idwal.”
“But all is arranged! You cannot blithely disregard my father’s wishes!”
He most certainly could. Alberic dismissed a pang of ire that Gwendolyn protested so forcefully because she might care for this ap Idwal.
“Your father is dead, Gwendolyn. His wishes no longer matter.” She winced at his harshness, but he knew of no other way to force her to face the reality of her changed circumstances. “I am merely following the king’s orders and will brook no more argument!”
She dared open her mouth as if to do exactly that, then remained silent. But her expression spoke loudly; he hadn’t heard the last of her protest.
The large bell that hung in the bailey called all to the noon meal. He silently thanked the cook for her timely intervention.
He waved a dismissing hand. “Go for your meal. Tell Cook to begin serving. I will be down in a moment.”
Silently, all left except Gwendolyn. She stared at his hand, or rather his ring, for long moments before looking away.
“Gwendolyn, ’tis mine now.”
“So you told me the other night.”
“I wish to have the nuptials performed as soon as they can be arranged.”
She crossed her arms, making no secret of her displeasure. “A wedding ceremony and feast are already arranged for the end of summer. Will that do, my lord?”
He almost smiled at her attempt to delay the ceremony for months.
“I believe a sennight will do.”
Her already wide brown eyes widened farther. “A sennight? My gown is not yet begun, and there are invitations to send, and food to be purchased and prepared for the feast. Not possible.”
“Any one of your gowns would do. The storerooms are full. And I will allow no one inside the gate who is not loyal to either Camelen or the king.”
She huffed. “That does limit attendance, does it not?”
He knew he’d probably eliminated the whole of her relations, particularly those in Wales, but Camelen’s security must be maintained. Especially with a rogue archer on the loose.
“Limited attendance means less food to prepare.”
She tossed a hand in the air. “What of your family? Should you not be more considerate of them?”
His only “family” likely wouldn’t attend even if invited, so he wouldn’t bother.
“There is no one to invite.”
Her hand lowered slowly. “No one?”
“Not a one. Convenient, is it not? There is nothing to prevent us from exchanging vows one week from today.”
“Two weeks.”
“One.”
Several heartbeats passed before she asked, “Why me?”
“You have many qualities of a suitable wife. You are young, but not too young. Nor are you sickly, which—”
“You chose me because I am
healthy
?” she asked, incredulous.
“Well, that is important, but . . .”
Gwendolyn flounced out of the bedchamber, not bothering to hear the rest of his answer. Not that his other reasons would make her any happier.
Alberic splashed wine into the goblet, thinking all had gone well enough, under the circumstances. Emma seemed intrigued with the idea of going to court. Nicole was upset, but she was young and would adjust.
Gwendolyn wasn’t thrilled with the idea of marrying him and objected to the haste, but surely she would come to accept the marriage. After all, noble females were raised from the cradle to accept the decisions of the men who held authority over them, especially in the matter of marriage. Too, she hadn’t refused outright. Offered excuses, but not refused. A good sign.
And ’struth, he’d done his best to convey to servants, tenants, and soldiers alike that he planned to make Camelen prosper, calming many fears.
Aye, he intended Camelen should prosper. Gwendolyn was best equipped to help him. All he had to do was convince her.
Alberic smiled as he downed the wine, thinking of various persuasions a man could employ to win over a woman. Charm. Flattery. Gifts. Passion.
’Twould be a challenge and a joy to discover Gwendolyn de Leon’s weakness, exploit it, then have her melt into his arms.
G
WENDOLYN FLED ALL THE WAY
up to the battlements. She took a deep gulp of brisk spring air to clear Alberic’s absurd demands out of her head, and wipe the loneliness in his eyes from her memory.
He’d told her yesterday about losing his mother, and she allowed both of his parents might be . . . gone, as were hers. Had he no siblings? No uncle, aunt, or cousin? No friend to whom he wished to show off his new barony? No peer he considered worthy of an invitation?
Not a one.
Having grown up in the midst of a loving, boisterous family, Gwendolyn couldn’t imagine her life without them. She had myriad relatives, too, most of whom she hadn’t seen for some time because of the war. Still, she hadn’t felt the lack of their company too greatly because of the castle folk’s and tenants’ kindness to her.
No matter when and where she wed, she would be surrounded by people who cared for her and wished her well. That Alberic had no one . . .
bah!
There would be no wedding between Alberic of Chester and Gwendolyn de Leon, and so no cause for him to bemoan his lack. No cause for her to feel sorry for him, a softening toward the enemy that she could ill afford.
Whether a formal document existed or not, she was betrothed to Madog ap Idwal, the man chosen for her by her father, the man she would wed as soon as could be arranged.
Father had known the importance of her marrying a man she could love, and whose heart would be faithful to her in return. He’d been utterly convinced Madog ap Idwal suited Gwendolyn perfectly. The seal of the dragon was meant for such a man, not for an upstart knight chosen by the usurper king of England!
So why hadn’t her father and Madog made the betrothal bargain formal, put the terms of the agreement to parchment, or set the wedding date earlier? Had they done their duty, she wouldn’t now be fretting over marrying the wrong man and thus endangering the legacy. Neither of which she could allow to happen.
Why me?
God’s truth, she wished she hadn’t asked!
Alberic’s passing over Nicole as a wife she understood. Not only was Nicole very young but, sweet heaven above, she’d tried to kill him. But Alberic should have chosen Emma, the eldest of them, as his wife! Emma was pretty, and bright, and far more suited to be a baron’s wife despite her horrible but infrequent headaches. The insult couldn’t be borne!
Sweet mercy, she dare not feel compassion for the man who intended to send her sisters away from Camelen; who’d brushed off her betrothal as if a crumb of bread on his tunic.
The man who’d killed her brother. For that reason alone she must steel her heart against any sympathy for Alberic.
“My lady.”
Garrett’s softly spoken greeting startled her. So deeply had she been lost in thought she didn’t hear his approach.
“Garrett.”
He leaned against the cold stone, ignoring the lovely view in favor of studying her. “Lady Emma wonders where you are.”
“Has Nicole left off her wailing?”
“Mostly.”
“Then perhaps I will go into the hall . . . later.”
But not to eat. Given her upset, whatever she might put down would surely come up again.
They stood side by side in silence, Gwendolyn cognizant of how faithfully the elder knight had served her father, and aware of his many courtesies toward her and her siblings. Then he’d brought Alberic to Camelen, even agreed to serve as the usurper’s counselor, and betrayed them all thoroughly.
Her anger and frustration spilled over. “Nothing is as it should be!”
“Nothing has been as it should be since King Henry died and Stephen stole the throne. Why he believed he could take the kingdom without suffering resistance—”
“I care not for the kingdom! I mean here, at Camelen. Father and William are dead and now we have our own usurper! Dear God, Garrett, could you not have lost Alberic along the way?”
“I could have, but then we might have the king himself to deal with, and angry kings cause great havoc.”
“Alberic is no better. He killed William, did he not? And he proposes to dispense us without our consent, and expects us to obey like . . . like sheep to the shearing!”
“He has no choice.”
“So he says!”
Garrett’s deep sigh reflected her own feelings of powerlessness.
“Gwendolyn, I know you hurt. You all hurt, as do I. But you must know that Alberic did not set out to take William’s life. Your father . . . aw, hell.”
His hesitation gave her pause. Garrett didn’t want to tell her something he felt she should hear. To spare her further agony? So like Garrett. Emma was right; she shouldn’t be blaming him for their current coil.
“I beg pardon, Garrett. I know you are not responsible for the actions of others. Pray tell me, what of my father?”
Several heartbeats passed before he answered. “Sir Hugh was determined to break the siege, and thought eliminating the earl of Chester the best way to begin. He was sure that with Chester dead the three hundred knights in his force would go home, leaving the king’s army weakened. Hugh might have been right, but his obsession with killing Chester himself blinded him to all else. When he should have surrendered the field, he fought on, and when he fell, William took up his standard and refused to yield. God’s truth, Gwendolyn, Alberic happened to be the last to cross swords with your brother. He merely defended himself while protecting the life of . . . the earl, just as several of our men died trying to protect Hugh and William.”