Chapter 12 #4
“Oh? What thing?”
“Oh, what thing!” she repeated bitterly. “Marriage.” She sipped more wine, staring into the fire. “You must understand, I had other plans. It is my homeland. I know it, I love it. You are a usurper.”
“I am a warrior,” he said huskily. “Such a land needs a warrior.”
“There are other warriors,” she murmured.
Then she forced her eyes to his and made a great effort to be civil.
“Perhaps we can learn to be civil to one another. The fortress is a very big place. We can fulfill the king’s wishes, and keep our own souls.
You’ll have your chambers, I’ll have mine. It can work, we can do it.”
He watched her incredulously. He stood, placing his chalice on the rough stone mantel. He turned and looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “No.”
She stood, wobbling a little as she rose, staring back at him. “What do you mean, no?”
“No. I’ll not have such a marriage.”
“But …” She let her voice trail; then she inhaled deeply. “You have a mistress, a woman whom you love.”
“Aye, and thanks to your refusal, I could marry her if I choose.”
“The people would despise you.”
“Ah, but I am a patient and reasonable man. In time, they would not. Now, you, my lady, you had other plans so you say. Have you taken a lover?”
Her cheeks flushed to a rose color and her lashes fluttered and fell.
“You know that there is someone else I wanted.”
“Well, then, have him.”
Her lashes rose, her eyes met his. “You say that you are a reasonable man. You have been clever. You’ve delighted Anne and Daro, and my uncle now believes that you are the right man to be laird of my property. Fine. We need only stay out of one another’s way—”
“No, Mellyora. It will not be that way. If you want this young man, have him, but you’ll not have me as well.”
“But—but,” she stuttered, “you said—”
“I said no. First, milady, I told you that you must ask me—and nicely—to wed you. You’ve not made any real requests—you’ve certainly not been nice—and you’ve attempted to dictate what you’ll have.”
“I’ve been reasonable under the circumstances—” she protested.
He shook his head, both amused and determined. “The circumstances are that you’re at my mercy. An interesting position after all the trouble you’ve caused. So ask me nicely. And I’ll consider your request.”
Pale as ash now, she stared at him, speech refusing to flow from her.
She spun around ready to exit the cottage, but he caught her arm and dragged her back, amazed himself at the savage determination that suddenly filled him.
She was not going to best him. He would not allow her to complicate his life.
“Humility, my love, is an excellent quality. A touch of it will do you very well.”
She cast her head back, hating him with her eyes.
“You are a despicable Norman lackey, no matter what clothes you wear, no matter how you speak.”
“That’s not nice at all,” he said politely, but a warning was in his tone and grip.
She lowered her head, bit her lower lip, and stared back at him, her eyes still on fire. “Indeed, noble sir! Will you be ever so kind as to marry me and allow me to remain on my own birthright?”
“Better,” he said, his eyes as hard on hers as the touch of his hands. “Not exactly humble, but better.”
“Well?” she cried.
“Never.”
“What?” she cried, outraged. She tried to jerk free from his touch. He pulled her closer.
“Maybe. But not on your terms.”
“Oh, God, if you’ll just listen—”
“No, milady, you listen. A marriage, legal and binding, creates legal issue. I will have sons. So you will marry me, you will be my wife, and there will be no bargains, terms, or conditions. It will be as I say.”
He felt her shaking, and he almost felt sorry for her. Almost He could too easily remember her very real attempt to kill him tonight—even if she claimed she had thought herself facing a different enemy.
“Well,” he repeated harshly.
“Aye …” she whispered, barely finding breath.
“Aye—what, milady?”
“Aye, it will be as you say!” she snapped angrily.
“Fine.” He released her, and turned away from her. “I wish to leave by midmorning. The wedding is planned for the following day—king and countrymen in attendance. Go and get what sleep you can.”
“Aye, m’laird, just as you say, m’laird!” she cried, spinning away from him. She stumbled, as if afraid he would reach out and touch her again. He did not. He let her go. Yet as he did so, he suddenly realized that he, too, was shaking.
It would not be a terrible hardship, taking her as his wife. Indeed, anticipation grew hotly within him, and he was disturbed to realize just how much he did long to touch her again.
He’d have to watch his back, every minute of his life, he warned himself harshly.
Aye …
Indeed, he’d have to take care. But he was suddenly anxious to have her as his wife, whether she chose to be friend or foe, and whether he found himself forced to house her in a tower, dungeon, or cell.
After all, he didn’t care where he visited with his bride. As he had feared, it seemed that battle had begun.