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- Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
Alaric's Song England, 1154. To end the blood feud between the Merclifs and Cardels, King Henry orders handsome, self-reliant Alaric Merclif to marry Helena Cardel. Can she trust Alaric, her enemy? Even more, can any man accept her scars and choose to love her? Away from Here Quebec, 1641. A tragic death and a tangled web of deceit force Catherine Compeaux to marry Stephen Marot against her wishes. Now she's on a ship heading to new France with the man she hates, while her love, Gaston, remains behind. Chained to Your Heart London, 1864. Falsely accused of stealing, Katherine Brady is locked in notorious Newgate prison. Her only hope is agreeing to travel to Australia, to start a new life. The catch is, single women have to marry first, and Big Red the prisoner everyone is terrified of seems her only option.
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Surprised by Love
Broadstreet Publishing
2745 Chicory Road
Racine, WI 53403
Broadstreetpublishing.com
Published in partnership with OakTara Publishers, www.oaktara.com
Cover design by Yvonne Parks at www.pearcreative.ca
Cover and interior design © 2014 by OakTara Publishers
Cover images © thinkstockphotos.ca: Beaulieu Palace House/John Watson, 105674230; Majestic monarch butterfly on beautiful pink bougainvillea flowers/Santhosh Kumar, 17055383
Surprised by Love, edition copyright © 2014, OakTara Publishers. Individual novels:
Alaric’s Song, © 2014, 2008, Susan Lowenberg. Author photo © Susan Lowenberg.
Away from Here, © 2014, 2008, D.M. Snelling. Author photo © D.M. Snelling.
Chained to Your Heart, © 2014, 2008, Collie Maggie. Author photo © 2008 by Lifetouch Church Directories and Portraits. Used by permission. Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in professional reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-9915-8 ▪ ISBN-10: 1-4245-9915-6
eISBN-13: 978-1-4245-9911-0 ▪ eISBN-10: 1-4245-9911-3
Surprised by Love is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the authors’ imagination. The perspective, opinions, and worldview represented by this book are those of the authors and are not intended to be a reflection or endorsement of the publishers’ views.
Printed in the U.S.A.
Contents
Book One: Alaric’s Song
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
About the Author
Book Two: Away from Here
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Book Three: Chained to Your Heart
Chapter 1 Kathryn Elizabeth Brady
Chapter 2 Blood Red
Chapter 3 Victoria
Chapter 4 Sentenced
Chapter 5 Matrimony
Chapter 6 Freedom
Chapter 7 Broken
Chapter 8 Home
Chapter 9 Struggles
Chapter 10 Bon Voyage
Chapter 11 Mary Willow
Chapter 12 The Kiss
Chapter 13 Family
Chapter 14 Christmas Eve
Chapter 15 Changes
Chapter 16 Sally Mae
Chapter 17 Good-byes
Chapter 18 Awestruck
Chapter 19 Voyage
Chapter 20 Murder
Chapter 21 Fallen
Chapter 22 Hardship
Chapter 23 Valley of the Shadow of Death
Chapter 24 Promises Ahead
Epilogue
About the Author
ALARIC’S SONG
Susan Lowenberg
Helena stared in disbelief at Alaric’s extraordinarily handsome face. The ebony hair under his white fur cap was unfashionably long and framed his chiseled chin. His tall, muscular body was clothed in a fine wool mantle that was the same brilliant blue shade as his eyes.
He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen….
My heartfelt gratitude goes to my husband, Tony,
and my sister, Pamela, for their love, unfailing support,
and continual encouragement.
I am indebted to Richard J. Foster, for his teachings
in Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth
(San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1998).
1
England
December 1154
“Lord Merclif, the king will see you now.”
Alaric followed the servant through the crowded hall, trying to ignore the buzz of the courtiers’ chatter flapping against his ears. He mounted the stairs, making a conscious effort to hold himself back and not outpace his guide. The interminable waiting had shredded his patience, and he was anxious to finally discover why the king had summoned him to Palatine Castle.
When the herald announced him, Alaric bowed low to his sovereign. Henry dominated the chamber, even though he was not physically imposing. Just the reverse, in fact. The short, stocky king was simply and carelessly dressed in loose-fitting gray breeches and a yellow woolen tunic, as if he had just returned from hunting. This was the first time Alaric had seen Henry, who had been crowned in October after the death of King Stephen.
Straightening, Alaric narrowed his eyes as he met Cardel’s glance. The earl’s corpulent body was draped in a deep red tunic, decorated with rich, intricate embroidery. One would think he was the king and not Henry, Alaric thought. The smug expression on Cardel’s face gave him pause. What lies had the earl been feeding the king? He should have known his neighbor would be behind the king’s unexpected demand for his presence. Alaric lifted an eyebrow and gave Cardel a mockingly polite nod. He scanned the rest of the solar, noticing several other noblemen in attendance.
“Merclif, Cardel has made some very serious accusations against you.” Henry paced the room. “Cardel, repeat what you just told me.” He waved his hand toward Alaric.
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Cardel’s unctuous, toadying voice caused Alaric to tighten his hands into fists. “Merclif beat my youngest son to within an inch of his life. It took Percy almost three months to recover, and he still walks with a pronounced limp. Merclif acted in a fit of uncontrollable rage, without any provocation. Merclif is clearly a danger to the peace and stability of the Mersted Valley. Your Majesty, I humbly request that you confiscate Merclif Castle and lands and give them to Percy as recompense for the harm Lord Merclif did to him.”
Henry paused near a table set at the side of the solar and picked up a white knight from a chessboard, tossing it idly from one hand to the other as he moved toward Alaric. “Merclif, what say you to these accusations?”
“Sire, I came across Percy abusing the young daughter of one of my villeins. He had severely beaten the girl. I do admit that I then thrashed Percy, but I only used the same amount of force he had used to subdue the girl. When I left him, he was able to walk and to ride back to Cardel Castle on his own. The girl was not so fortunate. She died two days later.”
“Well, Cardel,” Henry drawled as he paced to the table again, carefully setting the chess piece down. He picked up a black knight as he advanced toward Cardel. “Seems to me your son’s beating is just recompense for the death of Merclif’s villein. I see no cause for any action on my part.”
“Your Majesty.” Cardel’s voice was smooth and silky, but Alaric could detect by the twitching of his fleshy jowls that his enemy was not so sanguine about his case now. “This is not the first time Merclif has harmed my sons or my property. His knights have trampled my fields, his villeins have stolen my sheep, and he killed my best hunting dog. His vicious falcon almost gouged out the eye of my eldest son, Gerald.”
Henry paced back to the table, tossed the piece he held on to the chessboard, and continued his wandering path around the chamber. Alaric felt the king’s sharp gray eyes on him.
“What say you to these accusations, Merclif?”
“Sire,” Alaric spoke softly, making a conscious effort to rein in his anger, “my knights rode through Cardel’s fields to retrieve the horses his knights had purloined from me. My villeins did not steal Cardel’s sheep but were simply reclaiming their own animals taken by Cardel’s men. Cardel’s hunting dog was on my land, terrorizing my people, so I was forced to dispose of it. And as for my falcon, she was retrieving the game she had brought down, which Gerald was trying to poach.”
Henry completed another circuit of the room, reaching the side table again where he picked up the white queen. As he twirled the queen in his nimble fingers, he paced into the center of the solar, between the two men. “Cardel, whence comes your title and lands?” Henry cocked his head slightly to his right shoulder.
“Your Majesty, King Stephen granted me the title of earl and the license to build my castle.”
Henry turned to look at Alaric. “And you, Merclif?”
“Sire, your grandfather, King Henry the First, granted the Merclif lands and title to my great-grandfather.”
“I have been informed by my advisors that this feud between Cardel and Merclif has been going on for years. The feud will end now,” Henry said, the look on his freckled face unyielding. “Cardel, you have a daughter of marriageable age, do you not?”
“Aye, I do, your Majesty.” Cardel shifted his weight.
“Merclif, you will wed Cardel’s daughter on Twelfth Night. In this way the two warring families will be made into one peaceful family.” Henry made his pronouncement as he paced back to the table and set down the queen.
Alaric clenched his jaw to keep back the protest he longed to utter. How could he marry the daughter of his enemy? What possible chance would either of them have to make a forced marriage work?
“Wyham.”
“Aye, Sire.”
A middle-aged man who had been standing quietly at the side of the chamber stepped forward with an easy grace. Wyham was tall and lean. The gray hair at his temple framed his patrician face and contributed to his suave, distinguished appearance.
“You will travel back to Merclif with the baron and witness the marriage between Cardel’s daughter and Merclif.” Henry picked up a knife from the side table. “Cardel,” he said, pointing the knife at the earl, “you will provide a dowry for your daughter.”
Cardel’s flaccid, florid face turned even redder when Henry named the figure. “Aye, your Majesty,” he agreed. The earl glared at Alaric, his rage and enmity unmistakable.
Feeling as if his own face were carved in stone, Alaric returned Cardel’s look before shifting his attention back to the king.
The king paced into the center of the room and pointed the knife at Alaric’s chest. “Merclif, you will provide a feast for the wedding and host your new father-in-law and your new brothers-in-law.”
Alaric stood rigid, his hands closed into fists by his sides. “Aye, your Majesty.”
“Now, both of you be gone from here,” Henry commanded. With a detached, deliberated move, he threw the knife toward the table, embedding it in the wooden surface.
Alaric pulled his horse to a halt at the top of the hill. He took a deep breath of the frigid air and soaked in his first view of Merclif. Even the sullen, gray sky could not overcast his pleasure in the sight of the castle crowning the hill in front of him. The Mersted River, the source of security and prosperity for his family, flowed at the base of the castle mound. His great-grandfather, when building the castle, had made use of the natural defenses provided by the river by diverting it into the moat surrounding the hill. All was secure and quiet. The drawbridge was upright, just as Alaric had ordered it to be kept during his absence, and he could make out the movements of the guards on the crenellations atop the taller, inner curtain wall.
Calmness settled over him. He had been restless and agitated during the trip back from London. Plans and strategies had been scurrying around in his brain, like rats battling for supremacy. He had marshaled each idea, evaluated, weighed, and finally discarded each as unworkable, leaving him with no alternative other than marriage to his enemy’s daughter. Gerald and Percy took after their father and had inherited his greed, his depravity, and his malevolent ways. It was too much to hope that the girl had not done so as well.
How could he bring such a menace into the serenity of Merclif? He had no choice. The threat Cardel’s daughter posed to Merclif was outweighed by the destruction the king could inflict on Merclif if his commands were not obeyed.
Alaric heard the pounding of horses’ hooves behind him as Wyham and his entourage, along with the two Merclif guards who had accompanied him to London, caught up with him. After informing Wyham that he would ride ahead to prepare the castle to receive him and giving instructions to the guards, Alaric kicked Geneir’s flank, setting the horse in motion. He crested the bluff and galloped toward home. The cold wind bit his bare cheeks, the powerful horse thundered beneath him, and the rich smell of the dirt flying from Geneir’s pounding hooves filled his senses.
At his command the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. Alaric nudged his horse into a walk and passed through the outer gate. As Hugh came forward to meet him, Alaric swung his leg over the back of the horse and dismounted. Although his castellan was nearing fifty, there was not an inch of fat on his broad, muscular frame. His weathered face was creased, every one of his wrinkles a testament to the number of times he had laughed with unguarded pleasure or squinted into the sun.
“Welcome home, milord,” Hugh called.
“Thank you, Hugh. ’Tis good to be home.”
Alaric clasped Hugh’s forearm in greeting. He was at least a head taller than the older man, but he had never felt that he overshadowed the seasoned warrior. Both men turned and headed toward the stables, with Alaric leading Geneir by the reins.
“Were there any problems while I was gone?”
“Nay. ’Tis been a peaceful fortnight. How was your audience with the king?”
Alaric’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “I should have known Cardel was behind the summons. Come to the solar after supper, and I shall explain everything to you and Mother.”
“Aye, milord. I was just going to inspect the guards, so I will see you later at supper.” Hugh bowed and left Alaric’s side.
At the stables, Alaric greeted the groom and turned his horse over to the man’s care. With one final pat on Geneir’s nose, Alaric left and strode rapidly through the inner gate toward the donjon. The weak winter sunlight was inexorably vanishing into twilight. There was little activity in the inner bailey, as most of the villeins had returned home for the night. The huge, square, stone donjon dominated the large inner bailey and was built into the northeast side of the inner curtain wall. The door of the donjon was thrown open at his approach. Alaric thanked the guard on duty and entered the great hall, where preparations were underway for supper. He greeted each servant by name when the maids smiled at him and curtsied to him as he strode toward the great fireplace where his mother awaited him.
“Alaric.” Margaret held out her hands to him. “’Tis glad I am you are safely home.”
He took both her hands in his and bent to drop a light kiss on each of her cheeks. “Thank you, Mother. I am happy to be home.” Alaric released her hands and stepped back. “I have brought a visitor with me, an emissary from the king. He will arrive shortly.”
Margaret’s brilliant blue eyes met his with serenity. “I shall instruct Renwold to prepare a chamber for him. You had best go greet our guest.”
“Aye, Mother.”
Alaric smiled at her and bowed, before turning and walking back to the door. He waited on the top of the steps as the guards ushered Wyham forward. “Welcome to Merclif, milord,” Alaric said.
He bowed and stood back so the couturier could enter the hall. Glancing around with pride, he tried to see his beloved home as a stranger might. The servants bustling around were well fed and cheerful. The fine white linens and the silver on the lords’ table were proof of Merclif’s wealth. The fire in the large fireplace dominating the west side and the giant, colorful, tapestries hanging on either side were ample evidence of Merclif’s warmth and hospitality.
Alaric looked at Wyham in time to see the stunned expression on the baron’s usually impassive face and knew the cause without turning—his mother’s beauty had felled another victim. Smiling in amusement, Alaric turned to watch her approach. Margaret’s clear, unblemished skin glowed with vitality and cordiality. Her striking blue eyes were kind and welcoming. The small amount of her ebony hair that peeked out from beneath her wimple was only slightly freckled with gray.
“Milord, may I introduce to you my mother, Lady Margaret. Mother, this is Robert, Lord Wyham.”
Margaret placed her hand in Wyham’s. “Welcome to Merclif, milord. ’Tis an honor to have you here.”
“Milady, the pleasure is all mine.” Wyham gracefully brought Margaret’s hand to his lips and lightly dropped a kiss on the back of it before releasing her.
Alaric had never seen such an extravagant gesture and supposed it must be something they did at Court. He shook his head slightly. Such effete ways were beyond his ken.
“Milord, you must be weary after your long journey,” Margaret said. “Renwold will show you to your chamber.” She indicated the steward hovering behind her. “Please relax and refresh yourself.”
“Thank you, milady, I shall.” Wyham bowed and followed Renwold.
“I also must wash this dirt away,” Alaric said.
“Alaric, I am anxious to hear about your audience with the king.”
“I have much to tell you and Belwick. Come to the solar after supper, and I shall tell you both my news.”
The heat from the brazier warmed the solar, while the heat from the wine warmed him from the inside out. Alaric took a swallow to wet his throat after all the talking he had done and leaned back in his chair. Hugh’s face was grave, and Margaret’s eyes were shadowed.
“’Tis possible the girl is not as bad as her father and brothers,” Margaret said. “Gerald and Percy were born of Cardel’s first wife. Helena’s mother was Cardel’s second wife.”
“Helena? Is that her name?” Alaric asked.
Margaret nodded.
“Mother, have you ever seen the girl?”
“I remember seeing her once or twice when she was a babe. As I recall, she was a sweet and biddable child. Helena was sent away shortly after Cardel moved to the valley, just before her mother died. I have not seen her since she returned to Cardel a few years ago, which is hardly surprising, given the animosity of her family toward ours.”
“I was only a lad when Cardel came to the valley, but as long as I can remember he has been harassing our villiens, poaching on our lands, and threatening Merclif. Why did Father not just attack him and defeat him? ’Twould have prevented the current situation.”
“You must remember how it was under Stephen’s rule, especially in the early years,” Hugh replied. “Anarchy and lawlessness were rampant. Your father was often called away from Merclif during Stephen and Matilda’s battles for the throne. He did not want to bring to our lovely valley the death and destruction he had seen in the rest of England, so he tried to live in peace with Cardel.”
“Cardel has become much more brazen since Gavin’s death,” Margaret remarked. “I believe he has been trying to take advantage of Alaric’s youth and inexperience.”
“Aye, milady, just so.” Hugh grinned. “He should have realized that no son of Gavin, Baron Merclif, would be easy prey. Gavin has prepared Alaric well for his duties.”
Alaric rubbed his weary eyes the palm of his left hand. “Cardel’s greed knows no bounds. He has tried intimidation and thievery to win Merclif’s lands and property. Now he has blackened my name with the king. There is no reason to think that this marriage will stop him.”
“Aye, Alaric.” Hugh stroked his gray beard. “You are right. We must be on our guard, especially when he and his sons are here for the wedding.”
“The best thing we can do is pray,” Margaret said. “’Tis obvious the good Lord has a purpose for this marriage between you and Helena. We need but to trust Him, and everything will be fine.”
“’Tis all very well to pray, Mother,” Alaric responded, “but ’tis said that the good Lord helps those who help themselves. Do not worry. I have everything under control. No harm shall come to Merclif.”
2
Helena crept into the deserted gallery. She had waited several minutes after her father and Gerald had entered the lords’ solar to make sure they were not expecting anyone else to join them. Her hands trembled as she inserted the key into the door of the ladies’ solar. Damien had not asked her why she needed to use his key, and she had been relieved that she had not had to lie to him.
Fear, like acid, corroded her composure. She dared not make a noise that might alert her father. The door opened and she slipped inside.
After her father returned from London yesterday, Damien had warned her that he was in a foul temper. Helena had remained in her room ever since, knowing her father was likely to take his rage out on her. Today, Damien had reported that the earl was in a jovial mood. She had to know what was going on—her survival depended on always knowing as much as possible of what her father was thinking and planning.
Daylight weakly filtered through the closed wooden shutters but provided enough illumination to allow Helena to find her way through the chests and barrels crowding the room. The solar had been used as a storage room since her mother’s death and was full of clutter. Cautiously she made her way to the door between the chamber and the lords’ solar next door. Every creak of the wooden floorboards screeched down her spine. Every beat of her heart pounded thunderously in her ears. Her nose stung with the bitter smell of her own sweat. She could not bear to think about the punishment he would mete out to her if he found her spying on him.
Helena carefully opened the connecting door a crack, just enough to clearly hear their voices.
“At first I was angry about the king’s command,” her father said. “But last night I came up with a way we can turn this marriage to our advantage. ’Tis amazing how a good swiving will give a man a more positive view on a problem.”
“Aye,” Gerald agreed. “Especially with Senicla, eh, Father?”
Both men laughed.
Helena cringed as she listened to their vile and explicit conversation. How she longed to be back in the sanctuary of her own room.
“So, what is your plan, Father? Shall we kill Merclif and take over his castle?”
“Aye, we shall.”
“I was but joking,” Gerald said.
“Well, I am not. We will kill Merclif and take over his demesne, but we will have to be clever how we go about it.”
“What are you planning, Father?”
“You and Percy will come with me when I escort Helena to her wedding. After the ceremony, Percy and I will go home. You will stay, ostensibly to witness the bedding, and the guards will remain with you. I think five men should be enough; let me know if you think you will need additional men.”
“It depends on what you plan for us to do at Merclif.”
“Just so. As soon as I leave Merclif, I will return home and gather up our forces. We will ride back to Merclif and conceal ourselves a mile or so away. Once everyone at Merclif is asleep, you and your men will kill the guards on the battlements and let our troops in through the castle gate. With the element of surprise on our side, it should be an easy matter to overpower Merclif’s garrison and seize the castle. When the demesne has been secured, we will kill Merclif and Helena.”
Helena pressed her fist against her mouth in order to stop the scream. She must not make a sound.
“I do not understand why you must kill Helena,” Gerald said. “Not that I have any objections, mind you, but with Merclif dead, the castle will be yours.”
“Aye, but I will need to give Henry an explanation as to why I took over Merclif’s demesne. Especially given my recent accusations against him. What better excuse than the fact that he murdered my daughter on their wedding night?”
“I see. Excellent idea, Father. ’Tis time that hideous wench was some use to us. I can just imagine Merclif’s face when he sees his bride for the first time.” Gerald chortled. “’Twill serve his arrogance well, that he be cursed with such a grotesque wife.”
Both men laughed.
“’Twas the only consolation I had until I thought of this plan,” her father said. “Once the castle is secure, I shall marry Lady Margaret, and Merclif will be mine. ’Twill be no hardship to bed the widow. In fact, I am quite looking forward to it. She is still a comely wench.”
Helena slid down the wall and landed in a puddle on the floor as if a puppet master had suddenly dropped her strings. She had bitten her fist so hard that the metallic taste of her own blood sickened her. Tears chased each other to drip off her nose, dribbled down her cheeks, and slithered off her chin.
“What will you tell Helena about the marriage?” Gerald asked.
“She need know nothing about it until Twelfth Night. She knows enough not to disobey me.”
“Are you not worried that Henry will take Merclif away from you?”
“That upstart will soon return to France. He will be forced to listen to the barons just as Stephen was. I have worked closely with the barons for the last few years. They will support me. After all, we English must stick together. We are too powerful for Henry to fight against.”
“Ah, I see. ’Tis a clever plan. As usual, Father, you have thought of everything.”
“Thank you, my boy.”
There was a clink of metal. Helena pictured the two men toasting the despicable plan with their wine goblets.
“Once Merclif is secure, I will rule the entire valley.”
“Aye, Father. ’Tis about time.”
“If that weakling Stephan had not been so afraid of his own shadow, the valley would have been mine fifteen years ago. This track of land he granted me is almost worthless without water. Merclif has hoarded the river so his crops are flourishing, and our harvest is so poor it can barely support us. The villeins here are utterly worthless. Stephen acted like he was doing me a great favor by giving me Cardel, but he let Merclif keep the best land in the valley. I deserve more, much more than this pitiful holding.”
Helena had heard this same rant from her father numerous times. He had never understood that it was his own tyranny that had so frightened and demoralized the people that they put forth little or no effort. Why should they work hard when he took everything away from them?
“Do not breathe a word of this to Percy,” her father said after a short pause. “You know that the boy can never keep a secret.”
“Aye, I know. You can depend on me, Father.”
“I knew I could, Gerald. I knew I could. You are a son of which any man would be proud.”
“Thank you, Father. I like to think that I take after you.”
Helena huddled on the floor, pressing her forehead into her drawn up knees. She shrunk into herself—a doll whose stuffing had been yanked out, leaving a torn, hollow, and shriveled rag behind.
It seemed like hours before the earl and Gerald quit the solar. They had talked together a long time, refining their plan. Helena stayed alert to every word and sound the men made. Once they finally left the chamber, she waited half an hour more before she quietly slipped out of the ladies’ solar, locked the door behind her, and went upstairs to her room.
Her chamber was small. When her mother was alive, it had been the storage room, and she had shared the ladies’ solar with her mother. Now she slept on a pallet on the hard floor. Her one spare dress was hanging on a nail Damien had pounded into the wall. The only other object in the room was her prized lute. Helena picked it up and cradled it in her arms as she sank on to her bed.
How she longed to play the lute, but she dared not. If her father heard the music or if a servant reported to him that she was playing, she knew he would take the instrument away from her, as he had taken every other thing that gave her pleasure. She could not bear to have her lute taken from her, so had kept it carefully hidden. Music was her last refuge from the pain and heartache her life had become.
Rocking back and forth on the pallet, she mimed playing her lute. Her lips moved as she sang the words to the song, but no sound escaped her mouth. The music she played could be heard only in her own mind.
A soft knock on her door caused her to still. She counted to ten, then heard another quiet rap.
Damien.
She carefully put her lute on the floor at the side of the chamber, unlocked the door, and opened it. A look into Damien’s warm brown eyes gave her a measure of calm, but she swiftly averted her eyes from his. He was too perceptive at reading her moods.
Damien entered the room, and she closed the door behind him.
“I am sorry I am so late,” he said. “Your father had a lot of orders for me this morning, and then I had to supervise dinner. Here is your food.”
He held out a bundle wrapped in a cloth so Helena took it from him. The cloying smell of the roast mutton caused waves of nausea to roil through her. Hastily she put the food on the floor in the corner farthest away from her pallet.
“Are you not going to eat it?” Damien asked.
“Nay. I am not hungry.”
She swallowed painfully, her throat dry and scratchy, fighting to control the biliousness in her stomach. Keeping her eyes averted from his, she sank back to the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them.
“You must eat, Helena.” His voice was soft.
“I will eat it later.” So she had ended up lying to him after all.
“Are you all right?”
He crouched beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. His touch, as usual, gave her comfort. She glanced sideways at his narrow, elongated face, so dear to her. His expression was full of concern for her, his eyes entreating. Damien’s brown bangs lay disheveled against his forehead, and his mouth was slightly parted as if he wanted to say something. A faint shading of whiskers shadowed his clean-shaven jaw.
Why could not her own brothers treat her with one-tenth the care Damien showed her? What had she ever done to cause her own father to so loathe and despise her? Was she so tainted that she deserved such foul treatment from her own flesh-and-blood?
How she longed to lean into Damien, to be gathered into his strong, capable arms, and let him deal with her problems. And she knew he would try to solve them all. He would fight against her father and his evilness with all his might. Perhaps Damien could find a way out of this horror. Perhaps he would suggest that they flee Cardel and run away together.
She gave full rein to the seductive idea of escape. Freedom. Peace. Serenity. Happiness. Maybe even love.
But where could they go where they would be safe? They had nothing—no money, no transportation, no way of providing for themselves. Her father would hunt them down with all the resources at his disposal. When he found them—and there was no question that he would—he would make them both pay. For her, that payment was likely to be a beating. She would survive a beating, as she had done so often in the past. But Damien would not survive her father’s retribution. She knew he would kill Damien…and enjoy doing so.
Helena could not sacrifice her friend to save herself. She could not bear it if Damien was harmed because of her. She would have to come up with a way to help herself. She had no one to rely upon but herself. Bowing her head, she took a deep, slow, breath. Picking at the black fabric of the kirtle covering her legs, she released her dream of freedom. It was nothing but a chimera, insubstantial and fleeting.
“I am just a little on edge. I hate it when he is home.” Her voice came out a mere whisper.
“I know. I know.” He patted her shoulder. “He is in a much better mood today, so that at least is good news.”
“Aye.”
“Mayhap you can take a walk outside this afternoon. That always cheers you up.”
“Nay.” She violently shook her head. “Nay. ’Tis not safe.”
“Calm yourself, Helena.” His melodious voice was smooth and reassuring. “You need not leave your chamber today if you do not wish to do so. Do you want me to bring you anything when I come back later?”
“Nay, I am fine.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. There was a long pause. Helena did not know what else to say to him. All her thoughts were centered on her predicament. What was she to do?
“Well, I had better get back to my duties before I am missed.”
“Aye,” she said.
“Helena.” His voice was hesitant. “Do you still have my key?”
“Aye.”
She straightened and hunted for the key on the pallet where she had dropped it. Locating it between the straw mat and the wall, she handled it to him. He patted her shoulder one more time, then stood. After following him to the door and locking it behind him, she lay on her pallet and stared up at the ceiling.
Sunlight faded slowly from the room, leaving her in darkness. Still she was immobile. She toyed with the alluring idea of taking her own life. That would deprive her father of a pawn for his scheme. After all, would not death be better than continuing to lead this miserable existence to which she had been reduced?
“Why, God? Why have You done this to me? What have I ever done that I deserve this punishment? Why have You caused me so much pain and suffering?”
Her plaintiff wail shattered the silence. But of course there was no answer. If there was a God, He had never heard her cries. He had never spoken to her or comforted her or helped her.
Suicide was a way out. But what if God really did exist? What if the priests were right? Then she would be consigning her eternal soul to hell if she took her own life. The fear of the unknown was deep and cutting. At least she knew what to expect from life on this earth. Who knew what happened after death?
Besides, suicide was craven, a coward’s way out. She could not be so selfish. She had to do what she could to help Merclif.
She could not see any option other than throwing herself on Merclif’s mercy and telling him about her father’s scheme. At least if the baron was aware of the treachery her father was planning, he would have a chance to fight back and defend his castle. Merclif might spare her life while she knew her father would not. And at least this way she had a chance to help others.
And maybe, just maybe, she would have a chance to find some small measure of peace for herself.
3
Belwick came through the door of the donjon, and Alaric crossed the wide expanse to meet him in the middle of the hall. The tapping of their boots against the wood floor echoed in the vast, empty space. All of the servants had gone outside, leaving an abnormal quiet behind.
“Alaric,” Hugh said as he came to a halt, “Cardel and his entourage are now approaching the castle.”
“How many men are with him?”
“I saw five guards, in addition to Cardel’s two sons and his daughter.”
“Do our men know what to look out for?”
“Aye, Alaric. I have posted a double watch, as we discussed, and I gave instructions to the guards myself.”
“Good. So we are as ready as we can be, regardless of what trickery Cardel has up his sleeve.”
“Just so, Alaric. Just so.”
“Thank you, Hugh.”
The two men exchanged a long, taciturn look. Alaric read in Hugh’s face his commiseration and regret. Tight-lipped, he nodded once as he grasped Hugh’s shoulder in silent thanks.
Hugh bowed, turned, and strode across the hall. Alaric watched him leave before strolling back to the warmth of the fireplace where he rejoined his mother and Wyham, who stood quietly talking together.
Margaret wore her prized blue woolen mantle lined with white ermine fur. She had insisted that he wear his father’s matching cloak. Alaric had submitted to her desire to treat this wedding as a festive occasion and had allowed her to make him a new tunic, also in the same brilliant shade of blue that she maintained brought out the color of his eyes. Wyham was similarly dressed in an expensive, fur-lined mantle. Both Wyham and Margaret looked at him as he stopped in front of them.
“Cardel and his family are here. ’Tis time.” He held out his hand to Margaret. “Mother?”
She smiled at him and placed her hand in his. Her blue eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he knew she would not lose her composure and embarrass them both in front of their guests. They had said everything that needed to be said between the two of them earlier this morning in the privacy of the solar. Alaric could feel her deep love and unwavering support for him, so he gave her hand a slight squeeze.
Margaret walked beside him as he led her across the hall and outside. They paused at the top of the donjon steps to survey the crowded bailey. At their appearance a murmur swept through the crowd, and all eyes turned toward them. For a moment silence descended, then the crowd erupted in to a thunderous ovation.
Alaric could feel the love radiating from his people, so he raised his free hand to acknowledge their approbation. Whatever this marriage meant for him personally, whatever sacrifice he made of his own personal happiness, was worth it for them. It was his duty—nay, it was his honor—to guard and protect these people with his life.
He led his mother down the steps, and they slowly negotiated through the path the crowd made for them. Persistent applause poured over them as they walked. Seeing Phillip Talbot, the headman of Mersthrope, step forward, Alaric came to a halt.
“Milord.” Talbot bowed. “Please accept the wishes of everyone in the village for a long and happy life.”
“Thank you, Talbot.” Alaric nodded as the village leader moved back and stepped out of the way.
The clapping continued as Alaric and Margaret resumed their procession to the chapel steps. He let go of his mother’s hand, kissed her cheek, and mounted the steps, coming to a halt one step below Father Thomas, who waited at the top. Taking a deep breath he turned, ready to face his fate.
Alaric’s jaw firmed as he saw Cardel’s gloating expression when the earl led his retinue into the inner bailey. The man did not even have the courtesy to dismount, Alaric thought in disgust. Cardel advanced without regard to how the frozen ground made footing precarious for both the horses and the villeins in his path. The applause abruptly ceased as the people scurried to get out of the way. The earl’s two sons trailed behind him. Gerald had the same heavy build as his father; one that would, no doubt, turn to fat in a few years as his father’s had done. Percy was tall and thin, more a boy than a man.
Where was the girl? Alaric could not see her.
Cardel pulled to a stop in front of the chapel and dismounted. At the earl’s signal, his sons followed suit, and Alaric finally spotted the girl. Her small figure was entirely covered in black, from the wimple that covered her head to the cloak that shrouded her body. Her head was bent so he could see nothing of her face.
The earl spoke to Percy, and the boy left his father’s side and went to his sister’s. Alaric watched closely as Percy helped the girl dismount, but he still did not get so much as a glimpse of her face.
Cardel gripped Helena’s arm to pull her forward and up the stairs. “Behold your bride, Merclif.”
The earl left his daughter on the steps and retreated down them. Alaric turned toward Helena as she raised her head to look at him.
Alaric stared in disbelief at her horribly disfigured face. A ragged red scar ran from the corner of her left eye down to her chin. The entire left side of her face was crisscrossed with smaller red scars, as if someone had taken a knife to her face and repeatedly slashed it.
Helena stared in disbelief at his extraordinarily handsome face. His brilliant blue eyes were furious. The ebony hair under his white fur cap was unfashionably long and framed his chiseled chin. His tall, muscular body was clothed in a fine wool mantle that was the same brilliant blue shade as his eyes. He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen.
Inwardly she shrank from the repulsion she saw in his eyes as he looked at her. So far no one but the baron and the priest had seen her ruined face, but it would be impossible to hide her appearance from the people at Merclif for long. She swallowed the shame filling her and straightened her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she turned to fully face the assembled crowd that had become eerily silent.
As the people saw her face, she heard their gasps of shock and horror. Warriors crossed themselves and looked away. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes against their skirts while they turned their own faces away from hers. A wave of revulsion emanating from the people seemed to slam into her.
“Lady Helena.”
The woman’s voice was strong and loud as she walked up the stairs. She commanded an enormous amount of respect as the crowd stilled, watching her. Her brilliant blue eyes, the eyes her son had inherited, were kind and gentle.
“Welcome to Merclif. I am Lady Margaret.” Reaching Helena’s side, she turned toward the crowd. “You will all join me in making Lady Helena feel welcome here.”
She drew Helena into her arms, giving her a kiss on her right cheek. Margaret turned Helena toward the people so they could see as she deliberately kissed Helena’s ruined left cheek.
Helena was used to the repugnance she had suffered from her betrothed and the crowd, but the kindness of Lady Margaret almost undid her. “Thank you, milady,” she said softly.
“Alaric,” Lady Margaret said in a fierce undertone, “do you not have something to say to Lady Helena?”
“Welcome to Merclif, milady.” Alaric bowed to Helena.
Helena widened her eyes and blinked rapidly to subdue the tears that threatened. Steeling herself, she looked back into his eyes, but his expression was now impassive.
The baron turned to look at the priest. “Father Thomas, ’tis time to begin.”
Helena rotated to face the priest as well.
“Milord, please take Lady’s Helena’s hand,” the priest instructed.
Alaric held out his hand to her without looking at her. Helena placed her hand in his, feeling engulfed as he closed his fingers over hers.
The priest glanced briefly at her, then began to speak. “Alaric, Lord Merclif, is here to be joined in marriage with Helena of Cardel,” he announced in a loud voice. “Does anyone present know of any impediment that prevents this marriage from being sealed?”
There was a pause. Helena stared at Alaric’s hand, fully expecting him to repudiate her. He said nothing.
“Do you, Alaric, take Helena to be your wife?” the priest asked.
“I do.” Alaric’s voice was strong.
“Do you, Helena, take Alaric to be your husband?”
“I do.” She could manage only a quivering whisper.
It was done. She was wed to a man who must loathe her. Helena raised her eyes to his. He no longer betrayed any emotion in his aloof features. The priest led them into the chapel and up the aisle to the altar, where he stopped and genuflected. Helena was aware of the others following them into the church.
Alaric dropped her hand when they reached the prayer rail so she glanced sideways at him and witnessed him crossing himself and bowing his head. Helena genuflected in front of the altar at the priest’s signal. When Alaric knelt beside her, the priest began the words of institution. By rote she offered the correct responses and accepted the communion wafer from him. They remained on their knees as the priest spread a white veil over their heads before he intoned a blessing on their union.
She gripped her hands together before her waist, bowed her head, and silently prayed. God, I will give You one more chance. If You really do exist, if You really are listening, then save me.
Under cover of the veil Alaric glanced sideways at his bride. The unblemished side of her face was toward him so he could not see the ruined side of her face at all. She must have been very pretty at one time. How had she received those grievous wounds? Who could have hurt her in such a vicious manner? He felt nothing but pity for her.
Alaric dragged his attention back to the priest’s blessing. When the priest removed the veil, he stood and held his hand out to Helena. She placed her hand into his without looking directly at him. After helping his wife stand, he ushered her out of the chapel, glancing back to see Wyham escorting Margaret with Cardel and his sons following them.
As soon as he reached the base of the stairs, Alaric halted. He let go of Helena’s hand and scanned the inner bailey, where the servants and villagers were still gathered. Cardel’s men stood together in a group near the gate with two saddled horses. Alaric narrowed his eyes as he looked from the group up to the crenellations where his guards were stationed. His soldiers appeared to be keeping a watchful eye on the enemy. When he was satisfied all was well, he turned to watch the others exiting the church.
Margaret and Wyham came to a stop next to them.
“Earl Cardel,” Lady Margaret said when he and his sons had reached the bottom of the chapel steps, “please come to the hall and join our feast to celebrate Alaric and Helena’s wedding.”
“Nay. Thank you, Lady Margaret.” Cardel gave her a curt bow. “I may have been forced to wed my daughter to your son, but I do not have to take a meal with him. Gerald will stay to witness the bedding. Percy and I will go home.”
Alaric exchanged a look with Lady Margaret and shrugged but remained silent.
“As you wish, Earl,” Margaret said.
“Come, Percy,” Cardel said.
The earl strode toward his men. Neither her father nor her brother acknowledged Helena in any way as they walked past her. The two men mounted their horses and rode out of the castle, barreling through a group of villagers standing in the courtyard. Under threat of the rushing horses, the villiens scattered like leaves blown by an ill wind. At the castellan’s signal, the guards lowered the portcullis over the main castle gate after Cardel’s departure.
Gerald, ignoring Alaric and his sister, walked over to join his men.
“Lord Wyham,” Alaric asked, “does not Cardel’s departure violate the king’s command?”
“In point of fact, Merclif,” Wyham replied, “I believe the king commanded you to hold a feast for Cardel, not that the earl had to partake of it.”
Alaric made a derisive grunt under his breath, disgusted with the cavil response. He climbed back up the chapel steps so he could address the crowd. After silence descended over the inner bailey and he had their attention, he spoke.
“Everyone is welcome to join the feast to celebrate my marriage to Lady Helena.”
The cheers that greeted his announcement were lackluster and subdued, a far cry from the enthusiastic response he and his mother had earlier received from the people. Alaric descended the steps and offered his hand to Helena. He kept his gaze forward as he escorted her into the donjon. Once inside he led her up to the dais opposite the door where the lords’ table awaited them and pulled back the chair to the left of his.
“Milady,” he said.
“Thank you, milord.”
She spoke so softly Alaric could barely hear her voice. He remained standing until Margaret was seated on his right side, Wyham next to her, and Gerald on the other side of Helena. After signaling Renwold that the feast could begin, he stared unseeingly at the steward as the man directed the servants.
How were they going to get through their wedding night? If the mere touch of his hand against his bride’s caused her to tremble so badly, he could only imagine her terror if he were actually to try to mate with her. Helena was obviously frightened of him. What had she been through in her past to have caused her such horrendous physical, and no doubt mental, pain?
Once the butler poured wine into the goblet he and Helena were to share Alaric offered it to her first. When she shook her head, he gratefully took a long drink before he set the cup on the table. After cutting the white bread trencher they shared into two, he gave her half, then served her the choicest cut of roasted venison from the silver serving platter in front of them. He racked his brain, trying to think of something, anything to say to her, but came up blank. Glancing at Margaret and Wyham to his right, he envied the ease with which the courtier and his mother conversed.
Alaric tried to focus his attention on his food, but he could not enjoy the stuffed roast suckling pig, normally one of his favorite dishes. As the first course was being removed, Alaric looked at Helena’s trencher. She had barely touched her food and sat with her hands folded in her lap with her head bowed.
“Rather paltry meal, Merclif.” Gerald’s loud voice caused the rest of the company, sitting at trestle tables in front of the dais, to turn toward him. “I do not think this is quite the feast King Henry had in mind when he handed down your punishment. But, then, having to sleep with your hideously ugly wife is punishment enough for a lifetime.” Gerald laughed uproariously.
The smoldering anger, hatred, and bitterness that had been churning in Alaric’s gut all day flared into a roaring conflagration. Alaric grabbed the arms of his chair and pushed it back from the table.
Margaret laid a hand on his arm and leaned toward him. “Alaric.” Her tone was quiet but insistent. “You must treat our guest with courtesy, even if he does not deserve it nor reciprocate.”
Alaric stilled for a moment, clenching his teeth together so tightly his jaw ached. “Excuse me, ladies, Lord Wyham.”
He stood and strode from the hall, into the dreary winter afternoon. Pausing on the front steps of the donjon, he took several deep breaths of the frigid air. As he drew the cold into his lungs, he let it seep into his core, trying to quench the rage before it could consume him.
His behavior in leaving his bride at their wedding feast was unforgivably rude, but if he stayed any longer, he would not be able to contain his seething anger and would beat Gerald to a pulp. That would be even ruder, he supposed. He laughed without humor. At least he had chosen the lesser of two evils with which to offend his new bride.
Once he had his temper under control, he wandered among the people, accepting their congratulations, firmly ignoring the sympathy evident in their voices and their eyes. The servants and villagers, enjoying the feast in the bailey, did not seem to feel the cold, warmed as they were by the freely flowing ale and strategically placed bonfires. He spotted Bernard on the crenellations on the inner wall and climbed the turret steps to join the knight on the allure.
Bernard’s triangular face was dominated by his strong jaw and prominent nose. Like the castellan, to whom he was second in command, the senior knight was intensely loyal to Merclif.
When Alaric reached Bernard’s side, he scanned the woods surrounding the castle. “Any signs of trouble?” Alaric asked.
“Nay, milord,” Bernard replied. “One of the scouts has returned and reported that Cardel went straight back to his demesne without encountering anyone. The other scouts have his castle surrounded. If Cardel leaves his demesne, one of the scouts will ride back to alert us while the others trail him.”
“Good.” Alaric nodded. “Have guards been assigned to watch Gerald and his men?”
“Aye, milord. Sir Hugh has handpicked the most experienced men to do so. They have been instructed to make sure their quarry is not aware that they are under surveillance. Gerald and his men will not be able to make a move without our being aware of it, and they will not know they are being watched.”
“Good,” Alaric replied. “Keep me apprized about Cardel’s movements. For now we have done everything we can to protect Merclif. We will simply have to wait and see what Cardel does.”
4
An awful silence cloaked the hall after Merclif’s abrupt departure, punctured only by Gerald’s braying laughter. Humiliated, Helena bowed her head. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and concentrated on the sharp stab of pain.
“Lord Gerald.” Wyham’s voice cut through her brother’s awful mockery. “You obviously do not know King Henry very well. One thing he prizes very highly is chivalrous manners. You might keep that in mind for the future.”
Helena tried to shut out Gerald’s voice as he muttered curses under his breath. She could feel the covert glances of her husband’s retainers as they resumed their meal and conversations. To her left, Gerald called the butler over to refill his wine. He drained his cup, burped noisily, and then wiped his mouth on the tablecloth.
“Helena,” Margaret said, “I am so glad you have come to Merclif. I have always wanted a daughter, but God did not bless me with any more children after Alaric was born. Now you shall be my daughter.”
The silence at the table stretched awkwardly. She needed to make some response. “Thank you, milady,” Helena said.
“I have planned a traditional Twelfth Night celebration this evening, after the wedding feast. I have hired a group of minstrels to entertain us. They make a circuit in this region and are very talented. Do you enjoy music, my dear?”
“Aye.”
“I quite adore music and dancing myself. Unfortunately, as my son could tell you, I was not blessed with any musical abilities, much to my regret. I always wished I could play an instrument, but I am so hopeless I cannot even carry a tune.”
The smell of the rich food in front of Helena caused bile to burn in her chest and smolder in the back of her throat. Was he going to come back? She glanced over at Gerald as his teeth tore into a piece of meat, the grease dripping down his chin. Her stomach twisted as if someone were wringing it mercilessly between two closed fists. She had to warn Merclif. When was he coming back?
“Do you play an instrument, my dear?” Margaret asked.
Helena glanced furtively at Gerald. She could not reveal her love for playing the lute without risking the consequences. “Nay.”
The door of the donjon swung open and she tensed. She stared as a man entered, then deflated when she realized he was not Merclif. Where was he? She had to tell him what her father was planning.
“Although I was not blessed with any musical talent, God did see fit to give me a gift for healing. I have quite an extensive herb garden under cultivation. I use the herbs to make poultices and elixirs to treat the sick and injured in the castle and the village. Are there any pursuits you particularly enjoy, Helena?” Margaret asked.
She shook her head as she pleated the black fabric of her kirtle covering her tights, smoothed it out, and then pleated it again. Head bent, she stared vacantly at her hands. Fear’s cadence matched the beat of her heart.
When Alaric returned to the great hall, the floor had been cleared, the trestle tables stacked along the walls, and an apple tree brought in for the Twelfth Night celebrations. He breathed in the strong scent of cinnamon from the mulled wine filling the air as he strolled toward the fireplace where his mother stood with Helena and Wyham. Alaric bowed to the ladies when he joined them.
“Alaric,” his mother said, “now that you are here, we can wassail the tree.”
“As you wish, Mother.”
He ignored the reproach in her tone and stood with his back to the fire as he searched the hall until he located his brother-in-law standing with his men. Gerald said something that caused the other men to roar with laughter. Everyone else in the hall seemed to be giving the Cardel group a wide berth or was trying to ignore them. As Alaric watched, a servant filled Gerald’s goblet and he drained his wine in one long drink. Alaric clenched his hands into fists at his side.
“Come, my dear.” Margaret took Helena’s hand and led her toward the tree.
“After you, milord,” Alaric said to Wyham, sweeping his arm toward the center of the hall.
The men followed the women toward the tree. They each accepted from the butler a cup filled with spiced wine and three pieces of seed cake.
Alaric stood on Helena’s right side as they waited for the rest of the company to accept their cups. When everyone was gathered around the tree, Alaric lifted his cup. “Waes hael!” he shouted. “Be well!”
His retainers lifted their cups to him and replied, “Drinc hael! Drink and be healthy!”
He spoke the traditional toast in a loud voice.
“Let every man take off his hat
And shout out to th’old apple tree
Old apple tree we wassail thee
And hoping thou will bear.”
