The Norman's Heart

“Of course, my lady,” the wench said, her air of insolence noticeably diminished. Mina heard the men approaching, but she did not look at them or say anything.

Instead, she followed the maidservant, who tossed her long, honey brown hair and led the way toward the stairs leading upward to what Mina assumed was the upper hall.

Once away from the crowd, Mina smiled to herself, for she was certain that whatever else she had accomplished in the hall, she had shown the mighty Sir Roger de Montmorency that she could not be completely cowed.

As Roger walked back to his place with Reginald Chilcott at his side, he watched his future bride glide toward the stairs behind Hilda. She had not waited to be excused, or even said a farewell. God’s blood, what kind of woman had he agreed to marry?

“Sit down and eat,” he growled at the overdressed Reginald, who blushed noticeably, his face turning nearly as red as his scarlet tunic. His elaborate garments were quite a contrast to the severely plain gown his relative had worn. Either Mina Chilcott was not nearly as vain as her half brother, or her garments were merely an extension of her frigid personality.

His almost brother-in-law cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mina is...she is not an easy person sometimes, Sir Roger,” he explained haltingly, “but she was most competent in managing my father’s estate in his final years when he was not able to do so himself. Perhaps once you are married, she will...mellow?” he finished hopefully.

Roger thought it highly unlikely that a woman of Mina Chilcott’s coloring and temperament could ever be made to “mellow.” He caught Albert’s censorious eye and pushed some particularly savory venison in a rich, spicy sauce toward the younger nobleman. “Please, eat.”

With a grateful smile, Reginald started consuming an astonishing amount for one of such slender build. Mercifully it seemed that Reginald would rather eat than talk. Albert, too, stayed quiet, and most of the guests talked softly among themselves.

At last Reginald belched delicately and said, “A very fine meal, my lord. My compliments to your cook. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I, too, shall retire.”

“If you wish, I shall have someone bring you some mulled wine to your bedchamber,” his host offered with more graciousness, since Reginald was leaving. Roger signaled for Dudley to come toward the table.

Reginald’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes, Sir Roger. I would like that. Thank you very much.”

Roger kept his amusement to himself, though it seemed the young fool was taking an offer of mulled wine in much the same way another man would take an offer of a vast estate.

“Excuse me, Sir Roger,” Reginald continued as he rose to follow Dudley. “Thank you.” Reginald and Dudley headed toward the stairs, with Reginald pausing to greet some of the guests on his way out of the hall.

When they were gone, Roger took a large gulp of his wine.

“That was an interesting display of childishness, Roger,” Albert noted dryly, “although I was pleased and surprised to see that you were not totally without some manners.”

“Is it childish to make it plain that I do not care to have my meals interrupted for any reason? Is it childish to expect to be informed of a delay? Nor do I consider it childish to be less than impressed when a person I do not know dares to chastise me in my own hall about my tenants and my bridges.”

“I’ve warned you often enough about that bridge. Besides, they are your guests.”

“Bridge or not, they were late.”

“If the bridge is out, they couldn’t have sent a messenger on ahead.”

“So they should have stayed at an inn.”

“She said she was anxious to meet you.”

Roger’s only response to this observation was a derisive grunt as he reached for more wine.

“Granted she’s not very attractive, but there is a certain something—”

“She’s a shrew. Or a harpy. Call her what you will. I hate red hair and blemished skin.”

“She knew she was in the right, and she acted like it,” Albert said firmly as he eyed his companion. “I found her rather refreshing. And those are freckles, not blemishes, and there were only ten.”

“You counted?” Roger raised one eyebrow speculatively. “If you think her such a prize, why don’t you marry her?”

Albert flushed and looked away. “You know why not. Besides, you made the bargain, not me.”

“With that buffoon Reginald. I must have been mad.”

“You could always break it off.”

“It is a tempting thought.”

“She has a fine body,” Albert noted while his attention wandered to the huntsman, Bredon, who was tossing bones to his favorite hounds. The dogs yapped and scrambled through the rushes for the tasty titbits.

“A fine body she displayed to the entire hall,” Roger replied, still sounding annoyed. In actuality, he was recalling her exquisite shape. Indeed, she might have been nude, the way that soaking gown clung to her body, with her nipples puckered from the chill.

“It could be worse, you know,” Albert said. “She could be much uglier.”

“She could be much prettier, too.” Roger shoved back his chair and stood up. “With courtesy in mind, I believe I shall see that my guests have been attended to properly. Is Dudley back yet?”

“Here, my lord!” the steward replied, rushing forward.

“Where did you put them?”

“The two new chambers in the upper hall, my lord.”

“Good. Now have something to eat and get yourself dry or you’ll catch your death. I have no desire to find myself another steward.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Ignoring the rest of his guests, Roger strode toward the stairs leading to the new upper hall, added within the past year. His castle was not a large one, but he had been expanding it since he had come of age and been confirmed as lord dependent upon swearing fealty to Baron DeGuerre.

His plans had not included marrying the half-Saxon half sister of Reginald Chilcott. To be sure, Reginald was willing to be generous to get her off his hands, but Roger didn’t doubt that with his looks and reputation, he could have married a very wealthy, influential woman instead of this red-haired termagant.

Did she think him as foolish as Reginald, to be tricked by that little act of ostensible contrition? He had seen the determined, haughty look in her eyes as she came toward him in the hall. Those big green eyes of hers said everything: that she was a stubborn, arrogant creature who had been insulted and meant to let him know it. It had only been toward the last that she affected the docile woman’s role.

She would soon discover that he was not so easily fooled, although he had to admit that she had been wise enough to be subtle with her criticism.

But God’s teeth! She was not the type of wife he wanted. He wanted lineage, wealth, beauty and submissiveness. He wanted a wife who would understand who ruled this castle.

Of course, there would be compensations for such obedience, not the least of which would be provided by her husband’s prowess in the nuptial bed. Every woman Sir Roger de Montmorency had ever made love to had said he was the best.

Mina Chilcott would have to learn that he would not countenance another such performance as she had given tonight, and the lesson might as well start immediately.

Roger took the short flight of stairs toward the upper chambers two at a time and strode along the narrow corridor, the resounding thump of his boots on the wooden floor sounding like a drumbeat heralding the start of battle.

As for Mina Chilcott’s compensation, that would have to wait.

Chapter Two

Roger rapped once on the door to his betrothed’s bedchamber, then shoved it open. He had not bothered to check the preparations for this guest chamber, but a quick glance assured him that all was ready and quite comfortable, from the brazier that provided some warmth against the chill to the new tapestries on the walls and the thick coverings on the bed. He had even purchased a carpet for this room, an almost unheard-of luxury that he intended to have moved to his own bedchamber after the wedding.

Hilda stood inside. She half turned and giggled when she saw who was in the doorway. Roger looked past Hilda to encounter the frosty gaze of his bride. Clad only in her wet white shift, Mina Chilcott glared at him while she reached for her gown, which had been laid out to dry on the only chair. He had thought her soaking gown had displayed her body outrageously; he instantly realized that a wet linen shift was truly next to nothing. He could see the pink tinge of her nipples and the reddish triangle between her legs.

He suddenly realized he had never made love with a redheaded woman, and the idea was not completely distasteful to him.

Mina grabbed hold of her gown and held it against herself in a futile and late attempt at modesty. “Sir, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” she demanded.

Roger forced his expression to remain impassive as he returned his gaze to her face. His bride was not as unattractive as she had appeared before, now that she was no longer chilled. Her skin was smooth and pale, pink tinged with a blush that hid her freckles. Her drying hair no longer hung limply about her slender shoulders, but waved and curled about her heart-shaped face. Her eyes, which had looked green in the hall, appeared bluish gray in the flickering light of the candles. They dominated her features and offset the luscious fullness of her lips. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his judgment of her.

“Hilda, go below,” he ordered, his tone tempered by his continuing appraisal of the woman who was to be his wife.

With a toss of her head, Hilda obeyed. However, she came much closer to him than necessary on her way to the door as if to remind him of the countless nights of mutual pleasure they had shared. Unfortunately for Hilda, he had already decided to end their liaison. For one thing, as aptly demonstrated by her departure, the serving wench was becoming far too impertinent. For another, once he vowed to be faithful to his wife, he had every intention of abiding by his pledge. His honor would not allow him to do otherwise, even if he didn’t particularly care for the woman. He simply would not break any vow, for any reason.

“Sir Roger, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” Mina Chilcott repeated, her tone calmer and her eyes much more enigmatic than they had been at their first meeting, or even moments before.

Sir Roger de Montmorency was reminded that he had intended to put his betrothed firmly and forever in her place. He was used to unquestioning obedience, respect or fear, and his wife was not going to be any different. “Perhaps I came to assure myself that my servants were attending to you properly,” he said. “You implied that I was somewhat remiss in my supervision.”

She held the dress a little higher. “Hilda seems quite competent. In a number of ways, I suppose,” the young woman finished casually, although there was a brief flicker of condemnation in her eyes that Roger did not like.

He walked toward her slowly and deliberately. “I am the master here,” he said in a commanding tone that was not a shout, but deep and resonating, nonetheless. “I will do as I wish, within the bounds of honor, and it is not for you to criticize, ever. When you are my wife, you would do well to remember that I am used to obedience. I will accept nothing less.”

“And I am used to being chastised, Sir Roger,” she answered quite calmly. “For the present, I am neither your lackey nor your wife, so I ask you again, will you please have the goodness to leave?” Then, to Sir Roger de Montmorency’s considerable chagrin, Mina Chilcott had the effrontery to turn her back to him.

His anger turned to shock when he saw the marred flesh above the neckline of her shift. The white, silky skin was covered with long, thin scars, as if from a lash or a switch. For a moment, he was speechless at the thought that anyone could have inflicted such damage on this woman. Any woman. “Who did that to you?” he demanded hoarsely.

“A man who wanted me to obey,” she replied matter-of-factly, twisting to look at him over her shoulder. Her face was expressionless, except for her remarkable eyes. They were full of defiance, and such resilient inner strength that he could not quite believe those flashing blue gray eyes belonged to a mere woman. “Good night, Sir Roger,” she said.

Astonished by what he had seen, and not quite sure what to say, Roger left the room, slamming the door behind him.

A deep shudder of released tension shook Mina’s body as she slowly lowered her arms and threw the gown back over the chair. She rubbed her arms to restore some warmth after clutching the cold, wet gown. Still shivering, she stoked the coals in the brazier, fighting the memories from her past, especially the horrible years after her beloved mother’s death, which always brought a chill to her.

She slipped out of her damp shift and hung it over the chair, as well. Taking the heavy coverlet from the bed, she wrapped it around herself and went to the narrow window, where she looked out at the rainy night. Clouds now completely obscured the moon, and everything beyond the nearest wall was in darkness.

This castle was not at all what she had expected, considering the awestruck way Reginald spoke of Sir Roger. Her half brother was forever reminding her what a favorite her betrothed was with the powerful Baron DeGuerre and how long the de Montmorencys had held this land. She had expected something much more impressive than this simple structure with only one round curtain wall and the interior buildings lining the walls. Indeed, when they had first entered the inner ward, she had thought they were merely in the outer wards, not the courtyard.

As she watched the moon appear at the edge of a cloud, it occurred to her that if there was anything impressive about Montmorency Castle, it was the master, not the place itself.

Sir Roger de Montmorency was not quite what she had anticipated, either. He was as vain and arrogant as any man, but in his case, not without some cause. Nor was it a surprise that he expected unwavering obedience.

She sighed softly. She was used to such expectations, which did not mean she intended to give in to them. Or to him. For too long she had been at the mercy of others. She had learned to endure in silence and to pray for the day when she would be free.

But what freedom was there for an unmarried woman? None, she had discovered after her father’s death, and even less respect. She was merely a valueless commodity to be disposed of in marriage with the least trouble possible, or sent to the seclusion of a convent.

Marriage had seemed by far the lesser of two evils. As a nobleman’s wife, she would at least share in the respect due her husband.

Sir Roger obviously demanded and commanded a great deal of respect, so her plans were being fulfilled in one way. However, it remained to be seen if he could earn such a response from her. Thus far, she didn’t find that likely.

Still, things could be worse, she reflected as she walked back to the brazier. Sir Roger had ambition, another quality she had wanted in a spouse. It had to be ambition that would cause him to join with the Chilcotts, whose greatest asset was not wealth or power but the value of their ancient name. She was ambitious, too, or at least eager to better her lot.

She could also appreciate her future husband’s self-control, perhaps better than any other noblewoman. Despite his anger, Sir Roger had not hit her. Her father would have beaten her for considerably less aggravation, but then, her father often beat her for nothing at all.

A greater mystery, perhaps, was what Sir Roger made of his bride. She had angered him, and he had understood all too well that she acted not as she truly felt in the hall below, but as might be expected of a woman in her position. It was something new to discover that somebody had seen through her deception.

She recalled the unexpected tone in Sir Roger’s voice when he asked who had scarred her back. He had sounded angry, yet it was a different kind of anger, as if he wanted to punish the person responsible.

Or was it pity? She frowned and crossed her arms. She didn’t want or need pity. She wanted a place in the world. And she wanted respect.

Mina went toward the bed. She surveyed the linens and lightly brushed her hand over the fine coverings. Her gaze roved over the other furnishings, simple but finely made, chosen with a discerning eye. The hour was growing late, and she suddenly realized she was exhausted. She blew out the candles and prepared to get under the covers.

Then she heard a woman’s giggle and a man’s low voice in the corridor. Sir Roger’s voice, she thought. Curious and quite used to listening at doors to avoid future trouble, she got out of bed, drew the coverlet around herself again and opened the door a crack, peering along the corridor. Someone had taken the torch from the iron bracket outside her door and doused it in a nearby bucket of sand, so the only light was provided by another torch flickering near the spiral stairs.

Mina could discern two shapes, one a woman with her back against the wall, the other, larger one obviously a man—and obviously Sir Roger. The woman laughed, low and guttural, as she slid her slender arms up his muscular ones. “I thought you were planning to do without,” she whispered, and Mina recognized Hilda’s sultry voice.

Sir Roger’s bride turned away and closed the door softly, her mouth a hard, grim line.

Roger removed Hilda’s hands from his shoulders. “No,” he said quietly but firmly. “It’s finished between us.”

Hilda gasped, and even in the darkness he could see the panic in her eyes.

He suspected she had been waiting for him, to see where she stood now that he was to be married. He had no intention of punishing a woman who had pleased him by sending her away from her home. “You need have no fear,” he said. “You may remain as a servant in the hall.”

“I can’t, my lord!” Hilda protested, starting to weep and covering her face with her hands. “She’ll not allow it! She hates me already, I think. The looks she gives me! She knows about us, or guesses—and rightly, too, as you well know. I’ll have to leave here!”

Roger grasped Hilda’s upper arms and waited until she uncovered her tear-streaked face. He spoke slowly and deliberately, so that she would hear his sincerity. “I say that you may remain in this castle. You are a good woman, Hilda, and a fine servant. No one may force you to leave. Do you understand?” He thought of the stern condemnation he himself had received from Mina Chilcott’s censorious eyes. He let go of Hilda and stepped away. “Nevertheless, you had best keep your distance from me in the future.”

Hilda nodded and smiled tremulously. “I...I will, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” A little of Hilda’s usually seductive manner asserted itself. “We had some good times, didn’t we, Sir Roger? If she don’t treat you right—”

“I will be faithful to my wife, Hilda.”

“Yes, my lord. I should have known.” She sighed again as she turned to walk away. “I hope you’ll be happy, my lord.”

Roger didn’t answer. What was there to say?

“Would you be so kind as to order an escort for me?” Mina asked Sir Roger as she joined the men at the high table the next morning to break the fast. The mass had been mercifully brief, yet something of a trial, for Father Damien mumbled and even fell asleep at one point.

A seat had been left vacant for her beside Sir Roger, she noted, which was an improvement from the previous evening. Sir Albert sat beside the empty chair, and again she was warmed by his pleasant countenance and kind smile. Reginald sat to Sir Roger’s left, and seemed rather overwhelmed by his host, to judge by the constant ingratiating grin on his face.

As for Sir Roger, she did not really know what his expression might be, because she did not deign to look at him after the first glimpse, which had made her blush and remember all too well the last time she had seen him, when he’d been enjoying his lustful rendezvous with the serving wench. Apparently she was more ashamed of his conduct than he.

The unbridled arrogance of the man, to practically make love with another woman right outside his betrothed’s bedchamber door! She would be relieved to be away from him.

“I wish to ride out today,” she announced, “since the storm has ceased. We were unable to see the land around the castle last night in the rain and the dark.”

“I cannot waste my time riding about the countryside,” Sir Roger said brusquely and not unexpectedly. “I have business to attend to.”

Mina was glad the hall was not as crowded as last night. She didn’t particularly want everyone to see the curt manner with which Sir Roger treated her. “Of course,” she answered with seeming affability. Truly, she didn’t desire any company. She wanted to get away by herself, as she often did when she was dispirited, which had to be because of the tiring journey in yesterday’s rain and the unfamiliar bed, nothing else. “You must oversee the repairs to the bridge,” she continued just as pleasantly, “as well as any other edifices that may have crumbled in the storm.”

Hilda sauntered by the table and set a platter of bread and fruit in front of her. “And perhaps you are tired,” Mina added innocently.

Sir Roger gave her a black and questioning look, and Hilda scurried away. Mina kept a sly, triumphant smile from her face as she took an apple and bit into it, enjoying the sweetness and juiciness of it.

“I will be happy to—” Sir Albert started to offer.

“I need you,” Sir Roger interrupted.

“I thank you for your concern, Sir Albert,” Mina said with a smile, “but I am quite comfortable going out alone.” She daintily dipped her fingers in a bowl of scented water beside Sir Roger and delicately wiped them on her napkin before rising. “Good day, gentlemen. I shall look forward to your gracious company at the evening meal, when I have returned from my ride.”

“I will not provide an escort,” Sir Roger reiterated.

“I understood you the first time, sir,” she replied evenly. She caught sight of Reginald, who was desperately shaking his head and winking as he tried to warn her to acquiesce to Sir Roger’s wishes.

She could easily ignore her half brother.

Sir Roger shot a glance at Reginald, who flushed bright red and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mina, perhaps it would be better if you were to stay here today. It was a long and difficult journey, and the rest will do you good.”

“How kind of you to think of my well-being, Reginald. I appreciate it all the more for its rarity. Now I bid you a good day,” she replied, curtsying with maidenly modesty.

Roger wasn’t deceived. He saw her slightly stubborn smile and the hard gleam of determination in her eyes.

He recognized that look on her face. The best knights had it, for it revealed an unyielding desire to win in any situation. Inflexible fortitude was an admirable quality in a nobleman—but certainly not in a woman. There was only one kind of desire he wanted in a woman.

Then Mina Chilcott swept out of the hall without so much as a backward glance. God’s blessed blood, she was like no woman he had ever met before. Thank God.

Reginald cleared his throat again. “There, you see, my lord,” he said eagerly. “She can be reasonable.”

“Good,” Roger replied, but he was far from convinced that Mina Chilcott had any intention of obeying either him or Reginald. That smile, that superior little smile—the man who had trained him in the arts of war had always smiled like that when he expected Roger to fail, and that smile had too often proved prophetic. He had come to hate that smile of Fitzroy’s very much.

“If you excuse me, my lord,” Reginald said, “I have not much of an appetite this morning.” He got up and wandered in the general direction of the outer door, then into the courtyard.

“If he consumes that much when he has little appetite, I fear for the contents of my larder,” Roger said sarcastically.