Bride for a Knight

He had been ashamed ever since—too ashamed to even ride beside her. He should have shown more restraint and dignity. They were nobles, after all, not peasants. Worse, he had behaved as if he were as incapable of self-control as his father or his brothers.

He was not his father. He wasn’t Broderick. He could control his base urges. He understood denial, knew how to suffer in silence and betray no hint of what he was actually feeling.

So until he could be sure that she was being honest and sincere, he would keep his distance.

And be safe.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mavis discovered chaos in the kitchen. A pot containing what appeared to be soup or stew was bubbling over into the fire in the hearth. A harried-looking woman likely in her late twenties, her face long and narrow, her hands sinewy and work worn, was desperately chopping leeks. At a small, rickety table near the washing trough was a serving girl kneading a mass of sticky dough. Baskets of peas and beans were on the floor, and there was a stack of wood near the back door.

“Close the door, Elrod, for God’s sake!” the woman exclaimed without looking up from her task. “And send that lazy, good-for-nothing stable boy to the village to see if he can get more bread. There’s barely a loaf left and what Ylda’s making won’t have time to rise before—”

She glanced up, saw Mavis in the doorway and nearly took off a finger. “Oh, my...my lady!” she cried, swiftly setting down the knife and wiping her hands on her apron. “What are you...? Can I do...?”

“I came to see if I could be of any assistance, since we’re such a large party.”

“There’s enough for you and his lordship, of course!” the woman replied. “We can make more soup for the men. But we don’t have enough bread, I’m sorry to say.”

Mavis ventured farther into the room, which was, she noted with relief, clean. “You could make lumplings. That is what we do at DeLac when there isn’t enough bread.”

The woman regarded her warily. “Lumplings? What are they, my lady?”

“You make them out of flour and water,” Mavis said, starting to roll back her cuffs. “Then you put them on top of the stew or soup when it’s nearly done cooking and cover it all with the lid for a short time.”

“If you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll be glad to try, my lady, and thank you!” the innkeeper’s wife said with genuine gratitude and not a little shock as Mavis took down an apron hanging on a peg beside the door and began to put it on.

“There’s no need for you to do anything, my lady,” the woman protested. She nodded at the girl who was staring at Mavis as if she’d offered to buy the entire establishment. “Ylda and I can make them, if you’ll tell us what to do.”

“I don’t mind,” Mavis replied. “And you are?”

“Polly, my lady. My name’s Polly and this is Ylda,” she added, gesturing at the girl, who was still staring, eyes wide, mouth agape.

“Polly, Ylda,” Mavis acknowledged with a smile. “After a long day in the saddle, I’m happy to stand a bit.”

What she did not say, but certainly felt, was that it was a delight to be in the kitchen. At home, Tamsin had managed the household so thoroughly, she had had little to do and plenty of time on her hands. While she could sew and embroider and did so often, she most enjoyed helping in the kitchen. She had a knack for pastries, and the cook had let her create several special dainties for her uncle’s feasts when Tamsin was otherwise occupied.

Indeed, being in a kitchen and working with flour, even if it was only for something as simple as lumplings, was like being back home, happy and busy and peaceful, if only for a little while.

Chapter Three (#ulink_aa1f31e5-0c36-5068-815e-1a28257e02ee)

Later that evening, Roland strode across the muddy yard to the stable. His wife had retired after an excellent meal of beef stew with warm, soft rolls of dough floating atop that she called “lumplings.” Apparently she had shown Elrod’s wife how to make them, and they did indeed help to stretch out the portions of stew.

Not that he had said anything to Mavis about the lumplings, or the meal. He saw at once how tired she was and felt guilty that he hadn’t prevented her from wearying herself even more in the kitchen. However, he had not, and there was nothing to be done except eat as swiftly as possible, so she could retire all the sooner, as she had. And that meant without conversing.

He pushed open the door to the stable and went to the stall holding Hephaestus. His horse neighed a greeting, while nearby, Mavis’s mare shifted nervously. Sweetling was indeed a pretty creature, a fitting mount for such a beautiful woman.

An exciting, passionate woman who could make him forget everything except desire when he held her in his arms.

“Oh, it’s you, my lord!” the leader of the escort cried, popping up like a hound on the scent from behind the wall of the stall. Roland suspected he’d been sleeping there. “All’s well, my lord,” he assured Roland, who hadn’t asked.

Roland stroked his stallion’s soft muzzle. The animal nudged his hand, making him shake his head. “No, I don’t have an apple for you now.”

“Greedy, is he?” the soldier whose name, Roland thought, was Arnhelm, replied with a broad grin. “My lady’s Sweetling is just the same.”

The soldier went to the mare’s stall and, grinning rather weakly, kicked at something in the straw. Another soldier—shorter and stockier—rose, yawning. He snapped to attention when he saw Roland. “My lord!”

“You are taking care of my lady’s horse, I assume,” Roland calmly remarked.

“Aye, m’lord.”

“And you are?”

“Verdan, my lord.”

Roland noted their somewhat similar features, despite the difference in their builds. “Are you two related?”

“Brothers, my lord,” Arnhelm answered.

Brothers. That no doubt explained the kick.

He was about to dismiss them when he realized he had an opportunity he might want to take advantage of, and not only to delay going to the chamber he would be sharing with his wife. “Lord DeLac seems to have a good eye for horses.”

Verdan and Arnhelm exchanged glances, then Arnhelm answered. “Aye, m’lord. We never thought Lord DeLac would let my lady take her, even though she’s been my lady’s mare since my lady were fifteen.”

“And she is now...?”

“Nearly twenty, my lord, so past time she was married, so everybody said,” Verdan replied. “Lady Mavis had the boys buzzing around her from when she was just a lass, and with good reason. Pretty and pleasing, that’s our lady. A man could go far and not find another like her, so when we found out she was to be married, we all—”

Arnhelm shoved his brother with his shoulder, a censorious motion that Roland was also all too familiar with. Unlike Gerrard, however, Verdan seemed to appreciate that he should, perhaps, be quiet. “We all wished her joy,” he finished rather feebly.

“No doubt,” Roland said. “You two are sleeping here, I take it?”

“Aye, my lord, to guard the horses and the dowry,” Arnhelm answered. “I’m on first watch.”

“See that you stay awake, then,” Roland replied as he abandoned hopes for some time alone. He gave Hephaestus another pat on his nose, and left the stable.

As he crossed the yard, he paused a moment to look up at the window of the chamber where his wife had gone. The shutter was closed, but the slats allowed a little bit of light to shine through. His wife was still awake.

He was tempted to bed down in the stables with the soldiers on watch. He’d slept in the stables at home often enough, trying to avoid his father and brothers.

But then he’d been a lad fearful of his father’s fists and older brother’s slaps, strangleholds and punches, not a lord with men under his command. He knew full well what gossips soldiers could be. He wasn’t about to let rumors spread that Sir Roland of Dunborough did not sleep with his lovely young wife. He could imagine the speculation that would follow. At the very least, they would probably say that she had barred the door.

As he continued across the yard, he wondered about the other men who’d wanted Mavis. Well, any man who saw her would want her. But had she wanted any of them? She’d said she’d married him because she’d wished to; that didn’t mean there hadn’t been others before him whom she might have considered, too.

It didn’t matter what had happened in the past. She was his wife now. He need not be jealous of those other, unknown men.

He marched through the taproom, acknowledging the soldiers bedding down there with a nod before he mounted the steps and entered the bedchamber.