The Warlord's Bride

“I play no tricks. As I said, I’m not averse to the marriage—only to returning to court if Lord Madoc doesn’t want me. You know the sort of men John has about him. Is it any wonder I’m loath to return?”

Lord Alfred didn’t answer directly, no doubt because he did know the sort of men John had about him. “You should have told the king of your feelings.”

As if John would care. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “As he should have told me more about Madoc ap Gruffydd.”

“So you could find excuses not to do as the king wills?”

“To know what manner of man I was expected to marry. He appears to be a hot-tempered savage who finds it amusing to make us look like fools. I especially should have been told he already had a son, as any sons I would bear him wouldn’t inherit his estate, but only a portion of it.”

“Any children I have will inherit equally, except for the title,” the savage himself declared from the doorway.

Both Roslynn and Lord Alfred wheeled around to see Lord Madoc standing on the threshold, his arms crossed.

God help her, how much had he heard?

“That’s a decision I made before I had any children at all and I’ll stand by it, should I be blessed to have more,” he continued as he sauntered into the chamber. He raised an inquisitive black brow. “Might I ask what you’re doing in the lady’s chamber, my lord?”

Lord Alfred drew himself up to his full height. “As the king’s representative, I have every right to speak to her in private.”

“Not in my castle you don’t.”

The Norman couldn’t look more offended if he’d been struck across the face. “I’m an honorable man!”

“So you say, but words are cheap.”

“Then hear me,” Roslynn declared, her own anger rising. “Whatever my late husband was, I’m an honorable woman and there is nothing unseemly between Lord Alfred and me!”

“So I should hope.”

“Lord Madoc,” she snapped, “if you have only come here to insult us—”

“I came here to speak with you, my lady, preferably without the king’s lackey present.”

“My lord!” Lord Alfred huffed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, “I am the king’s representative and so responsible for Lady Roslynn. Unless and until you are wed, you may not be alone with her.”

The Welshman’s brows lowered menacingly. “Do you think I’ll force myself upon her?”

Fighting the fear his words engendered, the visions and memories they roused, Roslynn began to back away, reaching for the dagger she had tucked into her belt. It was small, but lethally sharp, and she would use it if she had to. Never again would she let a man use her as he would. Never.

“She is under the king’s protection!” Lord Alfred exclaimed, likewise reaching for his blade.

“Who, I gather, forces himself on women all the time, even the wives and daughters of his own courtiers,” the Welshman replied. “And why should I not risk it, if you would have us wed? The lady would surely not refuse me if I did.”

God help her! He might be even worse than Wimarc.

Lord Alfred drew his sword and moved in front of her. “You touch her at your peril, Welshman. She is in my care, and I will protect her honor with my life.”

For one breathtaking moment, she feared they would come to blows, until the lord of Llanpowell slowly let out his breath and shook himself, not unlike a great shaggy bear, as his anger seemed to dissipate. “Your defense of the lady does you credit, Lord Alfred. You can put up your sword, for her virtue is quite safe with me. I’ve never forced myself upon a woman and I never will.

“Unfortunately, I find it almost impossible to tell if a Norman’s honorable or not. Now I’m sure you are.”

Roslynn shoved Lord Alfred aside. “Was this some sort of trial, you Welsh oaf, to determine Lord Alfred’s honor—or mine?” she demanded, her whole body quivering with rage. “Perhaps you hoped to find me in Lord Alfred’s arms, the better to reject me and seek a different reward from the king? How unfortunate for you that your plan was doomed to fail, for I value my honor as much as any man.” She pointed at the door. “Get out!”

He raised a brow, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Get out!” she forcefully repeated, and when he still didn’t move, she pulled the dagger from her belt.

In two strides the lord of Llanpowell crossed the floor and grabbed her forearm. He looked like an enraged god, angrier than she’d ever seen any man, even Wimarc when he was captured. Terrified, she cried out and twisted away, protecting her head with her other arm as she anticipated the hard blow, the curses and the kicks that would come.

Instead, she heard his voice, quiet yet strained, firm but steady, as he let go of her. “I’m not going to strike you, my lady, although you drew a blade and I have every right to defend myself, even from a woman.”

Although she had never met him before, he sounded sincere and she choked back her fear. “I drew my knife because I will never again allow a man to take me against my will.”

Lord Madoc’s eyes flared with surprise, then what had to be pity, as if she were a poor, pathetic thing.

“I wasn’t raped by a stranger,” she hurried to explain. “It was no thief or outlaw who outraged me. It was my husband. Our bed was only for his pleasure, never mine.”

Lord Alfred flushed. “If he was your husband, it was his right to—”

“Leave us, my lord,” Lord Madoc ordered. “I will speak to this lady alone and I will not touch her.”

Roslynn saw the truth of his promise in those deep brown eyes that seemed to reveal every flicker of emotion. This might also be her one and only chance to secure her freedom. Therefore, she would take it, and if she was wrong to trust those eyes, she still had her dagger.

Lord Alfred wasn’t willing to acquiesce. “It is most—”

“My lord, please,” Roslynn insisted.

Lord Alfred sheathed his sword. “Very well, I shall go, but know you this, my lord. I will not be kept waiting like a dog on a leash. In two days, I return to court with Lady Roslynn, or without her. However, if this marriage does not take place, rest assured that I shall not be held responsible!”

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER LORD ALFRED had left the room, Lord Madoc turned to Roslynn and studied her as if he’d never seen a woman before. “You were ready to kill me if I tried to force you, weren’t you?”

She saw no reason to dissemble. “I was. I meant what I said.”

“I meant what I said, too. I’ve never taken a woman against her will, and never shall. I never hit women or beat my servants. Those are the acts of a brute and a coward.”

Words could be meaningless and as insubstantial as air. How could a man of his temperament not strike out in anger?

He walked past her to the window, where he stared at the wall and spoke without facing her. “Your marriage to Wimarc—were you forced into that?”

“No, my lord,” she said, although it both shamed and pained her to admit it. “I thought he loved me, only to discover I was nothing more to Wimarc than a dowry and a woman to abuse whenever he felt the need. Worse, he was a traitor and although I was innocent, I could have faced a traitor’s death, too, if not for intercession of friends. Kings are suspicious men, and my fate could easily have been otherwise.”

“So the king let you live to use you as his tool, his gift.”

What could she say to that? It was the truth.

The Welshman turned at last, resting his narrow hips on the sill and crossing his powerful arms. “I’ve heard about your husband. Quite the smooth otter he was, and handsome and clever. Older and wiser heads than yours were turned by him. And love can make a fool of anyone.”