Chapter 8 #2
Immediately she knew it wasn’t wise. He wore a short-sleeved tunic, so she touched his hot, hard flesh. Knowing she’d turned bright red, she made herself stroke it. “I will be completely happy to marry him, Felice.”
At least the effect was right. Felice was looking between Claire’s hand and face, frowning slightly, clearly wavering.
Claire made herself keep stroking the arm despite an awareness, like pepper on the tongue, of power there, burning power such as she’d never known, leashed beneath her fingertips. She licked her lips. “My conscience couldn’t rest, Felice, for thinking that I had stolen such a husband from you.”
Felice looked up at him, and licked her lips, too. Claire wished she could see his face. Smile, she silently begged him. Don’t scowl. She’s beautiful. You want her.
Then she turned her wishes on her aunt. Come on, Felice. He’s no monster. He’s handsome and powerful, and he’s making my knees shake. You want him. You know you do.
Knowing that everything hung by a thread of doubt, she leaned back, moving her body sensuously against his.
“Lady Claire,” he whispered, “be careful what fires you start on a dry day.” And he pressed against her moving body, pressed with a distinctly hard piece of his anatomy.
Claire instinctively stiffened and pushed away from him.
Perhaps it was that, or perhaps her act hadn’t been good enough, but Felice’s indecision fled. She scowled even more firmly than before. “You’re welcome to him. Just you wait until you discover what he’s really like, Claire. You won’t be so pleased with yourself then!”
“Felice!”
But the door slammed shut.
Claire stared at the solid oak that marked her fate.
She was going to have to marry Renald de Lisle, and the sizzling sensation around them just made her all the more terrified. Here in the open, fully clothed, he made her feel naked.
Dazed, she let him turn her in his arms. “Completely happy,” he murmured, taking possession of her with his dark eyes. “Lady Claire, you give me hope of heaven.”
He meant bed. She pulled back. Uselessly. “I said that to try to persuade her!”
“Lies?”
“Lies!” she threw at him. “Beat me for it if you want. I couldn’t hate you more.” And yet she still shivered with the effects of being held so tightly in his arms.
He smiled. “I think first I’ll try to save your soul by making your words true.”
“What?”
He let her go. “By making you completely happy.”
Claire gave a laugh that sounded wild, and brushed off her clothes, wishing she could brush his effect away like creases and dust.
“We will be happy, my lady, when you accept your fate.”
“Accept you? You’re a mercenary and a tourney fighter. You just admitted it without a hint of conscience!”
“Perhaps I have done my penance.”
She frowned at him, balked. True. Penance wiped out sins. “Have you?”
“That, my lady, is between me, my confessor, and God. Come,” he said, directing her toward the horses, “let us return to our home.”
Our home.
With her aunts secure in the convent, there was no one else left to marry the invading wolf. Claire went as if in a dream, not yet ready to accept that there was no escape.
That she was shortly going to be entirely in this man’s power.
In fact, when Summerbourne came into sight, for the briefest moment, Claire saw it as a refuge. It was her familiar home in all its pleasantness, wooden walls and thatched roofs blending in with the summer countryside all around, all humming with the activity of growth and prosperity.
It seemed so normal that she could almost imagine her parents there, ready to advise and protect. Then tears stung. Her father was gone, and her mother was willing to throw her daughter to the wolves.
The wolf riding beside her hadn’t troubled her with words until now. “It is a fine place, Lady Claire, and together we can keep it so.”
There was no escape, not without sacrificing her family. “Will you do that? Will you promise that at least you will cherish Summerbourne?”
His jaw tightened. “I intend to cherish both my wife and Summerbourne, and my children in time. For a man like me, such things are doubly precious.”
He kneed his horse on, and Claire followed, trying to take some comfort from his words. But what would such a land-hungry man do to gain his dream? What had he done?
War. Tourney. Bloodshed.
He’d admitted it.
He gave orders to break the camp, then led the way between the gates. Claire’s mother was waiting and hurried forward. “I heard that Felice and Amice had disappeared! Are they safe?”
Claire slid off her horse before he could help her. “They’re at St. Frideswide’s. I tried to—” She halted, unwilling to be cruel about him or Felice. “I tried to make Felice see that Lord Renald would be a comfortable husband, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“So it is settled?” Lady Murielle looked anxiously between them and gave him a placating smile. Claire wished she wouldn’t do that. They might all be in his power. They didn’t have to grovel. She made a sudden, firm decision. She would never grovel to him.
“It is for the best,” said Lady Murielle, putting her arm around Claire and leading her into the manor house. “We’ll all still be in our home, and—”
“My ladies.”
His voice halted them and made them turn. “It is the king’s will that this be dealt with speedily. Please give my clerk a list of those you would want at the betrothal, but only people who can be here by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” her mother gasped.
“It’s too soon,” Claire stated, chin high.
He brushed aside her pitiful rebellion. “We have already delayed, my lady. We plight our troth tomorrow. Whether you have guests here or not is entirely up to you.”
Claire might have argued further, but her mother pulled her into the hall. “Claire! You heard. It’s the king’s order. Don’t anger him now. Especially if he’s to be your husband.”
“He’s a tyrant!”
“All the more reason to be meek. Humor him, dear, and he’ll come around.” Her mother patted her hand. “He seems a reasonable man. After all, he could insist on the betrothal now, without any guests or celebration.”
“I might prefer it. It would be more fitting so soon after Father’s death. The documents are ready.”
“No!” Lady Murielle wailed. “Claire, I will not have my only daughter betrothed without a single neighbor to stand as witness.”
Claire stared at her. “But Father—”
“Don’t lecture me, Claire! Clarence would have wanted your bridals to be joyous, you know he would.”
It was true, but to Claire this all felt wrong. “Perhaps a quiet affair, then.”
“No.” She’d never known her mother could be so stubborn. “We will do it properly. Come. Let’s send out messages, and then we’ll start to work on the feast. Such a lot of work, and Amice and Felice locked away …”
She was towing Claire past Lady Agnes, and Claire forced a halt to ask, “Gran, is there no way out?”
“Where’s Felice?”
Claire explained the situation.
“Then no,” said her grandmother. “There’s no way out. He has to marry one of you.”
“Which is what you wanted.”
Lady Agnes seemed as impervious as de Lisle to her attacks. “Aye. And it’ll be for the best.”
Her mother put an arm around her. “Come along, dear. Your grandmother is right. It will all be for the best. Felice would not take care of everyone as you will.”
But her mother’s gaze was on Thomas, sprawled on the floor, sulking. Claire wished he’d at least look grateful for her sacrifice. “You should be about your duties,” she said, ashamed of the tartness in her voice.
He shrugged. “No one’s told me what to do.”
“What about earlier? They were looking for you.”
“I don’t have to be at their beck and call day and night.”
“That’s exactly what you have to be!”
He sat up, jaw set. “Well, I won’t!”
“Of course he won’t,” said Lady Murielle. “Really, Claire. He’s a lord’s son, not a serf.”
Claire looked at her brother. “If I marry de Lisle, it will be for my family, especially for you. But you will have to do your part. You’ll have to prepare to make your own way in the world.”
“It’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair that I have to marry the man. I’ll be stuck with him forever while you’ll be able to make a new life for yourself.”
He did look a bit guilty at that. “I’ll learn about swords and things.”
“You’ll learn what you’re told to learn. And that includes service and the law.”
“That dull stuff.”
“Thomas, they’ll beat you if you don’t do as you’re told, and don’t think I’ll be able to stop them. You’ve already taxed Lord Renald’s patience.”
“And this is only for a little while, dearest,” Claire’s mother said to her son. “Once Claire is married to Lord Renald, I’m sure she will persuade him to make more suitable provision for you.”
Claire wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation. Everyone seemed to think that if she just married this man, the world would go on as before.
“If he mistreats either of you,” said Lady Agnes, “we’ll deal with him.”
“Deal with him?” Claire whirled on her grandmother, sure everyone was going mad. “You’ll bring the king down on us!”
Lady Agnes chuckled. “You’ve all gone soft in the head living under Clarence, dear sweet boy that he was. Women have always had ways of handling men as long as they stick together.” Her eyes shifted to behind Claire. “Fair warning, lad.”
Claire turned to see that de Lisle had entered the hall.
“I have no intention of mistreating anyone,” he said shortly. “Lady Murielle, do you have that list of names? No? Please provide it. Thomas.”
Claire jumped almost as much as her brother did, bouncing to his feet.
“Attend me.” With that brusque command, de Lisle walked into her father’s office. Lady Murielle put out a hand as if to stop her son leaving, but then let it fall.
After looking around in hope of help, Thomas slouched after de Lisle.
“Sweet Mary protect him,” Lady Murielle whispered.
“Mother! Thomas puts on that oppressed manner when asked to do anything he doesn’t like!”
“At least my child is still here. I can stand between him and cruelty.”
Claire wished her mother would remember that she had another child here.
“It’s a cruel world, Murielle,” Lady Agnes snapped. “It’s time the boy learned to deal with it.”
Lady Murielle glared at her mother-in-law. “I suppose you want the poor boy beaten five times a day.”
“Only if he deserves it.” Lady Agnes turned on Claire. “You need a good whipping too, girl, making such a fuss about nothing. Stop putting on a mourning face.”
“But I am mourning,” Claire almost screamed. “Have you forgotten?”
“No. But Clarence’s death isn’t this man’s fault. He’s comely and courteous—what more do you want?”
“Warmth. Honor. Sensitivity!” Claire covered her face with her hands. “I just don’t want to marry him.” She turned to Lady Murielle. “Mother, you understand, don’t you?”
Her mother wrapped an arm around her, patting her shoulder.
“Of course, dear. This has been a terrible few weeks, and the pain of your father’s death is still sharp for all of us.
But life must go on. I agree with your grandmother.
If a husband had to be imposed upon you, fate could have thrown you a far worse one than this. ”
And, added Claire to herself, if the price of Thomas’s future is to throw you to a hungry wolf, so be it.
She reminded herself that this merely proved how desperate the situation was.
De Lisle was being so moderate that it was easy to forget that the world had changed.
None of them had a place here by right anymore.
None of them had a possession by right, either—not a garment or a morsel of food.
Certainly no ornaments, instruments, and books.
Unless she married him.
She had to do it, and it wasn’t her way to play the martyr.
She took a moment to steady herself, then found a smile. “Certainly he does not seem to be a bad man. So, what do we do?”
“Good girl.” Her mother smiled with relief. “First we must give him those names. We can’t have a betrothal without all our good neighbors.”
“I have writing materials in the maidens’ chamber.”
“Excellent.” As they climbed the stairs, her mother said, “We must decide what you will wear for the ceremonies, too.”
Claire thought briefly, longingly, of dull clothes and ashes, but it would be pointless. She was fiercely glad, however, about her hair. Nothing could mend that and traditionally a bride wore her hair uncovered.
At least all the hastily assembled guests would know she did not go lightly to her dire fate.