The Hunted Bride Read online

  “But... I didn’t... he never put...” The heat rose into her cheeks faster than the words could form.

  “Then you’ll have no issue with the examination, will you?”

  She sank into her seat in horror. The idea of being prodded by an elderly nun, her crooked fingers poking inside... And then the truth would be known to all. “Lord Baliol does not care if I am chaste or not?”

  “He is willing to find out for himself. And, therefore, will save us the embarrassment of sending you to St. Winifred’s and having them make a mockery of your person. Naturally, your chastity will be confirmed by his lordship, and you will then have the opportunity to become better acquainted with Lord Baliol. He is keen to have you betrothed and the formality will assure you protection from gossip.”

  “Gossip.” She stared at the embers in the fireplace.

  “Sara will chaperone you. But as Lord Baliol’s bride to be, you can stay with him without shame. He’s prepared to teach you,” her father coughed nervously, “what a good wife should be.”

  She thought of the young knight lying in bed, his handsome head resting on a stack of pillows. “But, Geoffrey,” she pleaded. “I could nurse him.”

  Her father laughed. “You, a nurse? You’ll hate it. It will drive you to distraction with chamber pots and wiping his brow.”

  “Lord Baliol, what possible reason could he want me? We’ve only spoken twice, and both times were awkward.”

  “It seems you have affected him greatly, Matilda. He is a cold man, I agree, but perhaps you might warm his heart. He is also very rich.”

  Her father knew the bait needed, and how to twist her into making the wrong decision. It was he who had persuaded her to attend a convent for educational purposes and now she was paying for the mistake.

  “No, Father. Money is not the reason to marry. I bring my own dowry. I shall stay here until Geoffrey is better.”

  “This is not our home. It is the earl’s and his people are caring for Geoffrey. And I shall be going home tomorrow. You can’t stay here.”

  She leapt to her feet and threw the handkerchief onto the rushes. “I shan’t go. With Baliol. He’s... not worthy of me.”

  “Lord Baliol has served many kings and is greatly respected. You are perhaps not worthy of him. Have you no respect for my wishes? This is a good match, and the more I think upon it, the better it will be for your soul to have a strong husband, and not a young knight with no experience of battle or hard living. Now, this evening, in the chapel, you will attend your betrothal ceremony, on your knees by Lord Baliol’s side, and tomorrow you will leave with him.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then, your betrothal will go unblessed. The legal documents can be signed without you. It is a pre-matrimonial agreement, Matilda, you’re not bound to him forever, only until you marry, and if you refuse to wed, I shall accept he has not won your heart. For now, you are his.”

  She ran out of the room, along the narrow stone corridors, and stormed into Gervais’s chamber, which he shared with another visiting nobleman. Gervais was polishing his sword with a cloth. He placed the jewelled blade onto a nearby table and stared angrily at her. His companion, a redheaded knight with speckled cheeks, smirked.

  “Sir Cedric, forgive Lady Matilda’s intrusion. I shall prevail upon you to say not a word if I were to speak to her in private,” Gervais said.

  Cedric bowed and left the room, still smirking.

  “Fortunately, for you, for all his grinning, Cedric is an honourable knight and will not speak of your unescorted visit to a private chamber.” Before, they had met in open spaces, where any might stumble upon them. No more would he take risks now that he had made his intentions known.

  She opened and shut her mouth. Whatever she did was wrong, it seemed. She could not speak alone to Gervais today, but after tonight, he could do with her as he pleased. It was unfair. “I am not happy, sir.”

  “So I can see.” He smiled faintly. “Your father has informed you that I wish to marry you.” He leaned his legs against the table, crossed his arms, and surveyed her with a glint in his eyes.

  Matilda’s lips wobbled. Why did he have to look so magnificent? He had long limbs, broad shoulders, and a muscular neck. Dressed loosely in tunic and hose, he managed to hold onto elegance. He was comfortable in his body, and not some gangly youth who fell off his horse in the midst of a hunt.

  “Well?” he asked. “Am I to have your company this evening in the chapel?”

  Her knees quaked. “If I choose not to come, what will you think of me?”

  “I would be disappointed. It would be easier to have you ride by my side tomorrow, proudly. If necessary, I shall tie you to a horse and we will leave in the cloak of early morning so none may see your shame. It is your choice.”

  “You would abduct me, force me—”

  “I would honour the agreement I signed with your father.”

  “But what of me?”

  “My dear lady, you will have all that you need. I shall see you want for nothing. Your spoiling will continue, however, with this extravagance comes responsibilities. I shall be your lord. I shall command you, body and mind, and it will do you no harm to obey.”

  “I thought I would be Geoffrey’s.” She twisted her veil around her fingers. “Do my needs not matter? Or only yours?”

  “Geoffrey is going nowhere, I gather. He will still be here in three months. So, when the betrothal contract is completed, I shall return you, if that is what you wish, and if Geoffrey still wants you, then I can’t stop you marrying him. I shall forgo our marriage and accept it is your choice to love another man.”

  “You said you wanted to bed me. I know what you want from me, and it is not marriage.” She glared, and for the first time, his demeanour altered. He flinched, and she knew that he had made a mistake in letting his true feelings to the surface.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m yearning for you. I ache for your body. I wish to see you naked and beneath me. I shall satisfy myself with you, and I care not if some worthless priest has gone before me. Would Geoffrey be so forgiving in my place?”

  Matilda sank into a chair and crushed her legs together. Her nipples were heavy stones, roughed against the fabric of her shift and thankfully hidden from sight, like her sex, which was coursing with saturating dew. What was happening to her?

  “He will not have me after you have taken me. The choice is a deception to trick me into staying with you.” She buried her face in her hands.

  Gervais moved and knelt on one knee before her. He peeled away her hands and held her within his. “I do not like seeing you cry. But ask yourself this: if Geoffrey refuses you, does he really love you? If I were him, I would not care who has foreknowledge of your body. I have bedded many lasses in my years, mostly for my pleasure, and I fell in love with none of them. Yet, here I am, believing that you might be the one to break me. It is strange, I confess, Matilda, that you should have this effect on me, but you do. And yes, I will bed you, and it will be a wondrous, exhaustive coupling of two willing bodies. I promise you that it will be so. Consummation will predate our future marriage, but will not be legally binding, only proof that you are capable of bearing children, and for many men, that is a gift. The contract is clear, you may read it.”

  She blinked away the unshed tears. “Take away my fears, my lord. How will this betrothal change me for the better? Will I truly be myself, or what you desire? A shaped woman, kept, unchaste.”

  He examined her palm. “I kissed this hand because it is part of you, and I wish to know all of you as much. You might think of marriage as a fetter, a chain between you and me; it will free you to think otherwise. Bound to me, I shall break those links that keep your mind imprisoned. You harbour doubts, and that is the purpose of this betrothal, to show you I can change you. That I can change too. For I wish to learn about love, something you can teach me, I think.”

  “And what will I learn?”

  “To give, yield, and kn
ow joy.”

  “You threatened to spank me, humiliate me.” She withdrew her hand. “Remember?”

  “I believe those things will do you good.”

  She gaped. “Good? How? I shall feel pain and hate you for doing it.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Will you? Let me describe again how exactly I will punish you if you disobey me.”

  She didn’t want him to do this. It would unravel her, send her spiralling into a place that she feared. “No...”

  “Yes.” He rose to his feet and stood over her. With the tip of his finger, he tipped up her chin. “Listen.”

  “Please, sir. Don’t.” Her breasts rose and fell.

  “Stripped of clothes by my hands, if you refuse to undress—”

  “I will not undress for you—”

  She tried to turn her head away from his sharpening gaze. He held her chin steady in his palm.

  “Bare, you will lie over my knees, and part your legs.” He spoke softly, and with an edge that quickened her heartbeats.

  “You will have to hold me there,” she said curtly.

  “Then so be it. I shall press my hand upon your back and with the other, smack it across your arse, over and over, until your smooth globes are as crimson as your face is now. And I shall see your wetness, like your glistening eyes.”

  She shivered, almost violently. “It will hurt, you know it will bring me tears.”

  “And afterwards I shall wipe them away and kiss your lips.” He stroked his thumb along her jaw.

  “And that cruel stool?”

  “If you are good, then it will not be needed. If you cannot control your tongue, then further punishment will require you to present your arse for my attention. I find a red bottom quite satisfying. I do not enjoy making it so if I have to hold you down and administer a beating without your cooperation. Think upon that, sweet Tilda.”

  “Then I shall be forgiven?”

  “Always. I bear no grudges. We move on, to the next lesson and beyond, and each one will bring you closer to me.”

  “You’re very confident of your success, sir.”

  He lowered his hand and relaxed. “I am, aren’t I?” He grinned. “My confidence is not born out of arrogance, but optimism. I pray that I will be resilient and fair to you. That I will not waver, because if I do, I am not deserving of you. You have captured me, Matilda. It is you that has power over me. If you should run away, I shall fetch you back, but if at the end of the contract, you leave with my blessing, then who has the absolute power then? Not me.”

  She rose and walked to the deep window casing where the thick castle walls narrowed into a slot. Most of the light in the room came from the tapers burning on a stand. He waited, keeping his distance.

  “I will have to tell you about the priest.” Trust had been broken between her and that hypocrite; could she ever recover that confidence with another man? Perhaps being with Gervais was the only opportunity she had to find out. Then, at least, she had Geoffrey waiting in the wings if things went horribly wrong. Pray, she thought, that Geoffrey never found out how much she desired what Gervais was offering her.

  “When we reach my home,” Gervais said. “You will tell me then.”

  “And what if you are horrified by the truth?”

  “That is unlikely,” he said firmly.

  “I hope you’re right, because I’m putting great faith in your honour, sir. You might think the priest ruined me but going with you might leave me in a worse place.”

  “Then attend the chapel tonight. Save yourself the anguish of humiliation and allow our union to be blessed and beholden by witnesses.”

  Chapter Six

  They rode through an avenue of trees, clipping the edge of a vast forest. Side by side with a canopy over their heads, she and her new lord paraded through the small towns and villages until the landscape changed into craggy outcrops and steep hills. High above, on one of those escarpments, was Baliol castle, its crenelated walls rising to the skies. Against the dusky clouds, the dark walls were foreboding, as if to warn Matilda not to approach. She slowed her horse and glanced at Gervais. He was smiling softly, pleased to be home and keen to be there; he kicked his horse forward.

  Turning, he beckoned her to join him. “Come, its harsh walls are a legacy of another time; the chambers inside are comfortable and pleasantly furnished.”

  She returned to his side and they continued, climbing the path that led to the outer walls and the gatehouse, the complex of defensive building constructed from granite and flint stone, dusted with burnt charcoal and carrying the scars of siege weapons.

  “I rebuilt the curtain walls and parts of the barbican. The keep is intact and well-lit by windows,” he said proudly.

  “How long has it been in your family?”

  “It was never my family’s. The previous owners were traitors, and their lands were forfeited to the crown. I was gifted this land as a reward for services rendered to the king. I renamed it Baliol, altered the keep, and made it my chief home.”

  The betrothal ceremony had demonstrated to her that Gervais was thoughtful enough to take her shaking hand and stroke it with his thumb. He had let it go by the altar, allowing her to sink onto her knees by his side, and together they had listened to the Latin liturgy of a blessing, intoned by an ancient priest with appalling hearing. It suited them all that the Father was unlikely to remember the reason why he had blessed a betrothal attended by so few people: her father, Sara, and Gervais’s squire, Lionel, a man with jagged scars and apparently no tongue. How convenient.

  Gervais had helped her rise to her feet and kissed the back of her hand. If she had expected something more romantic, she’d been mistaken. He had disappeared into a side room with her father and signed a document; her signature had not been required. She was a chattel, bought and sold, it seemed, and now the property of Gervais for three months, and possibly longer. Possibly forever.

  After a small meal to celebrate the union, she had begged her father to visit Geoffrey.

  “No. He is sick. Leave the poor man alone. What good will it do for him to know that you are betrothed to another man,” her father had retorted.

  The pleas had been met with a stern stare from Lord Barre, but some sympathy from Gervais. “He will heal. The omens are good; he’s young. I know that I have competition for your heart, my dear, but Geoffrey has a head start. He’s known you for some years, I believe?”

  Since childhood, when they had played hide and seek in a maze of tall towers and deep cellars. He had cried when she hid in the darkest places, fearing to tread there. Why she remembered that now was oddly disconcerting. “We’ve only met a handful of times over that period.”

  “Still. I wish to win you without distractions.”

  The next day, with her luggage on a wagon, her maid moaning about the distance on horseback, they had left the earl’s magnificent fortress and begun their journey to the west, where the sea met the forests and cliffs.

  The servants of Baliol castle swarmed and greeted the convoy, which included the men-at-arms who had escorted them through the countryside. They were all soldiers under Gervais’s command and now too old to be good on the battlefield; they were rehomed in the castle barracks, and from that base, they hunted down robbers and poachers, protecting the villagers from the lawless elements.

  Gervais led her into the Great Hall of his keep. She gasped at the height of the roof, the oak beams and carvings. The armour hanging on the walls was decorated with banners. A display of power and wealth. What foreign wars had he fought to warrant such a great collection of weapons?

  He followed her gaze. “I was captain of a company under the duke. He bestowed upon me many privileges and honours. We remain friends.”

  The duke! Why wonder he had been granted the castle as a prize.

  “You must be very tired,” he said. “I shall take you to your bedchamber.” He handed his cloak to Lionel.

  “Will you... join me?” she asked quietly, aware
of the movement of servants around them, bringing in her luggage.

  He smiled. “I think you need your sleep. Tomorrow, you should prepare yourself for my examination. Once this is complete, we will know what path to take.”

  She felt the pit of her stomach knot. Perhaps the nuns might have been a better option. It was too late now; she was imprisoned in his castle and unlikely to find her way home without help.

  She curtsied. “Good night, my lord.”

  Her bedchamber was larger than the one in her father’s castle. The floor was thick with fresh rushes, the walls covered with rich tapestries, and the high bed sumptuously adorned with bedding and pillows.

  Sara pressed her hand down on the mattress. “Feathers, my lady, and wool. No straw for you,” she said enviously.

  Matilda was too tired to undress. She lay down, her head on the bolster, and before Sara could blow out the lights, she was asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  The morning brought strong sunlight through the slatted windows. Yawning, Matilda stretched and threw off the covers. Sara, with the help of another maid, was filling a copper tub placed by the rejuvenated fire. The steam rose into cool air. On the table was a tray of bread and cheese for breakfast.

  “His lordship says you are to bathe, eat, and be prepared. He’s sent a lily-white shift for you to wear.”

  “A shift? I have plenty.” She wandered over to the table and nibbled at the bread.

  “Not like this one.” Sara giggled. She held up the white knee-length shirt.

  “It’s torn.” Matilda laughed. “I’ll wear my own.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s not torn, it is split down the middle. There are laces.”

  Matilda moved closer to inspect. “But this is the front.”

  Sara’s face was crimson. The other maid was strangely quiet and undisturbed by the nature of the conversation.