Page 41 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

W hen she had Rupert alone, she glanced around. If they kept their voices low, his dad wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“My lady?”

The man was bigger than she’d realized. With Wallace around, other men seemed smaller in comparison, but the guy was over six feet, and built. She let out a deep breath. “This is sure something, isn’t it?”

Rupert, his bruised face barely visible from the light of the few torches the men held, looked at a loss.

“How you doing, anyway? You and Wallace sure got into it earlier today. Or was that yesterday?”

He gave her a nod. “I am well, thank you for your concern.”

She was obviously going to have to take the lead in this. Lightning flared again, followed by a rumble and she glanced around.

The air felt heavy. They probably shouldn’t be under a tree.

“Oh, come on. What are we doing here? Your dad seems bonkers, but you seem all right. Are you down with this?”

He glanced at the ground. “My lady?”

She gave another heavy sigh. “Look, Amelia has a pretty big crush on you. That was pretty obvious to anyone after the joust.”

At his continued blank expression, she said, “Amelia has strong feelings for you.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where his father stood by the priest, both men watching them. “Has she spoken of me?”

“Oh, yes. You are just about all she can talk about.”

She could feel emotion thrumming off the man. “She saved my life, you know. I saw death in Wallace’s gaze and knew I was finished. And then her voice rang out.”

His voice was soft, and touched with awe. It seemed Rupert might have a crush as well.

In the circumstances, that was a good thing.

“So, here’s the deal, I am in love with Wallace. You are in love with Amelia.”

“I am?” he said, as if she was the one who knew the answer. She rolled her eyes, starting to wonder if the man was a simpleton.

“Of course, you are. You and Amelia are in love and if you marry me then you’ll be sad because you won’t be married to the love of your life.”

His lips quirked at one corner. “’Tis true I do have feelings for Lady Amelia. She’s beautiful, lively, and she saved my life. If it were only up to me, she is the lady I would choose.”

“Exactly!” Cara said, satisfaction weaving through her. She knew if she could just get Rupert on her side, they could get out of this mess.

“That being said, I think you and I would get along exceedingly well together. You are also beautiful, lively, and high-spirited. All qualities I admire, and I feel that were we to marry, we should do very well with each other.”

Gah!

“But what about Amelia?”

“Now that her family has regained their lost titles and properties, she will be much in demand. Without the king nearby to insist, ’tis doubtful her family would allow me to marry her.”

This was not what she expected. “Wallace won’t go against the king. I’ll make sure of it.”

He drew in a breath. “My lady, there is too much discord. He will not welcome me into his family. Besides which, I will not oppose my father.”

“Fight for her! Fight for what you want!” Was the man an emotionless robot?

He reached out and took her hand. “I can see this is not a marriage you might desire. You don’t know me, but I swear I will do right by you. I will not beat you, and will be faithful. We will raise our children together, and I suspect have a happy life, once you’ve settled.”

“But I don’t want this,” Cara said plaintively. “I’m in love with Wallace.”

Rupert raised his other hand to capture hers, and held both hands.

His were warm, he was tall, strong, competent, and, somehow, even with a father like Lord Dinsdale, gentle.

She could feel panic rising. Cara hadn’t even been sure she could endure this life for Wallace.

She certainly wasn’t going to for Rupert.

He squeezed her fingers gently. “My lady, you’ve been taken by our family, traveled through the night, and thy reputation will not stand, should you not marry me. If for no other reason, marry me to avoid scandal, before you end up with naught.”

“Your father stole my necklace; did you know that?”

Rupert glanced back at his father. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but I am not. He would do whatever necessary to harm the Wolfsbane family. Yet another reason for me to release Amelia.”

The guy was so calm, gentle, and understanding.

She entertained the notion of marrying him for a moment. It would just be words over an altar. It wasn’t like she’d intend to honor a forced marriage. It wouldn’t mean a thing to her. She could insist on her necklace as a wedding gift.

A honeymoon at Marshal Keep with her dear friend, or to Stirling Castle for a Scottish retreat.

And she’d disappear forever.

Leaving her new husband alone and confused.

Leaving Wallace angry and vengeful.

Her heart clenched. He’d probably think they’d buried her in a ditch somewhere and would try to avenge her, causing him even more trouble.

She really did love that man.

Rupert waited for her response, seeming to will her to choose him.

What did she do?

Agree to marry Rupert?

Refuse, and what? Lord Dinsdale suggested Rupert impregnate her immediately, but she didn’t think of him as the molester-type, though he did seem awfully invested in doing whatever his father wanted.

Holding her breath, trying to see a way out of this, her eyes landed on a stone marker outside the church.

Her breath released in a rush, and her eyes widened.

If this was where Lady Helena eloped with Lord Dinsdale, then this was where her husband chased her down.

This was where some saint or other, what was his name? The same one Gillian told her about.

Cartwright? Cahill? Cuthbert!

Her eyes landed on the priest and she called out, “Saint Cuthbert?”

“What?” Rupert asked.

The priest’s mouth dropped, and even from the distance, in the torchlight, she could see he was shocked.

That made two of them.

* * *

She wrenched her hands from Rupert, a feeling of disbelief or maybe it was inevitability, sweeping through her.

“What is that, my lady?” The priest started toward her and Lord Dinsdale grabbed his arm.

“Stay here.”

The priest shook him off and walked across the hard-packed earth. “My lady, what did you say?”

“I said, Saint Cuthbert,” she repeated, not knowing whether he actually was Saint Cuthbert, or simply knew the name.

At this point she figured almost anything was possible.

“My lady, he is our patron saint. Do you know of him?”

“I do. He blessed the chapel at Marshall Keep. He also blessed the touching stone near Stirling Castle, and I believe he blessed this one here, as well.”

“Are you on a pilgrimage?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that, wasn’t sure what it meant to him, and finally said, “I started at Stirling, went to Marshall Keep, and now I’m here. Does that sound like a pilgrimage to you?”

“Oh, most assuredly, my lady. Is there some way I can assist you?”

Lord Dinsdale, apparently fed up with waiting, came toward their little group. “Enough of this delay! Let us marry the two of them, immediately.”

She ignored him and said to the priest, “I believe history is about to repeat itself. Lord Dinsdale eloped here, and his bride was taken from him. Now, I am eloping with his son, and I believe the wedding will be stopped once again, by the younger Lord Wolfsbane.”

She looked up the road, almost expecting Wallace to appear.

“Not this time,” Lord Dinsdale said. He grabbed Cara by the wrist and dragged her toward the chapel. “This time ’tis the Dinsdales that will have a bride.”

Cara dug her heels in and tried to stop their forward momentum, but Lord Dinsdale was stronger, and she didn’t fight as hard as she could have, because she had no intention of saying I do, whether he stood her inside a chapel or not.

This whole thing felt too mythic for her hero not to ride to her rescue.

What would he say if he arrived and she was married? She wouldn’t do it. That just wasn’t her part to play.

She would consider the marriage a farce, but Wallace might not.

When Lady Helena had married Lord Wolfsbane, Lord Dinsdale hadn’t tried to change her mind, or go after her, considering her a lost cause.

There was no divorce in the thirteenth century. Once married, it was final.

Which probably really sucked for some couples.

There was a bubble of hysteria growing inside of her, spewing one ridiculous thought after another.

Lord Dinsdale wrestled her into the chapel, and she grabbed the door and held on. Another yank wrenched her inside, hands smarting.

Candlelight revealed an altar about ten feet inside the building, and small stained glass windows, a fireplace, and rough wood flooring gave the place an old-fashioned feel.

Oh, right, because it was the thirteenth century! Under other circumstances she might appreciate the charm.

She wrenched away from Lord Dinsdale and he caught her around the waist and lifted her from behind.

She gasped, losing her breath, scratching at his forearm. “Let me go!”

This entire situation, which seemed so ridiculous earlier seemed dead serious now.

Lord Dinsdale wrangled her to the altar and dropped his arm.

When she turned around, three of his men blocked the door, Sir Goodwin among them, and Rupert took his place at her side.

“This is absurd!” she screeched. “You can’t make someone marry you! And if you did, how would it count?”

“It will count,” Lord Dinsdale assured her, and she was afraid he was right. It might actually matter to Wallace.

“My dear,” Rupert said, his tone calm. “This may not be a worthy beginning,” he shot his father a dark look. “I am sorry we’ve not minstrels, a procession, or swordsmen. But that is not to say we cannot make the best of it.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “That’s not what I was hoping for in a marriage.”

“Priest, get over here,” Lord Dinsdale demanded.

The priest scuttled to the side of them and stood behind the altar. “I cannot marry this couple if the bride will not agree.”

Lord Dinsdale grabbed Cara by the back of the neck and squeezed. “She will agree, right enough.”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Cara fought against him, and Rupert’s hand shot out to grip his father’s wrist.

“Let her go.”

It was the first time she’d heard Rupert stand up to his father.

“Now.”

The two men must’ve had some sort of gazes-locked war going between them from the way the priest’s eyes moved back and forth, watching them.

Lord Dinsdale gave her one last shake, let go of her and stepped back.

“Ouch,” Cara said, her tone angry, as she raised both hands to rub her neck. She shot a glare at Lord Dinsdale, and then looked over at Rupert, who had one hand in the air as if to touch her, but didn’t quite dare.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Marry them now!” Lord Dinsdale insisted.

Rupert’s hand finally lowered and he rubbed a couple of circles into her back, reminding her of Wallace. “Lady Cara, I know this is not what you want, but I promise that years from now, you shall look back and decide ’twas a good decision. I will make sure you have no regrets.”

She couldn’t help compare Rupert’s hopeless, dead-eyed stare to that of Wallace.

Wallace studied her, alert, fascinated, as if she was a puzzle he was determined to solve, or as if the moon, stars, and sun shone from her.

It was like Rupert was going through the motions.

He’d been willing to marry Amelia because the king said so.

He’d been willing to face Wallace on his father’s behalf. To die, even.

He was willing to relinquish Amelia even though it seemed he’d really ended up liking her.

Now he was even willing to marry a woman he barely knew to satisfy his wacko dad.

Good, grief.

Well, if Rupert wouldn’t speak up, she would.

She straightened her shoulders and faced the priest. “Go ahead and try to marry us. See what happens.”

Lord Dinsdale made a sound of fury, a bellow that was half temper-tantrum, half fury.

She swung around, hoping the fact Rupert hadn’t wanted his father to hurt her meant he’d protect her.

She wanted that necklace.

“I don’t know what your deal is anyway. I’m dirt poor, and have no money. Wouldn’t you rather Rupert marry Amelia?” she asked, throwing the other girl under the bus. “I have nothing to bring to this marriage except that you think it will upset Wallace. Is that really worth giving up a dowry for?”

“Oh, you have a dowry.” He reached into the pocket of his long, black coat and pulled something out.

Holding it with just finger and thumb, he let it drop, and a necklace dangled there, glinting and flashing with every hit of candlelight.

And there it was.

When she instinctively reached for it, Lord Dinsdale jerked it away from her.

“Give that to me! It’s mine!”

“’Twill be yours again, once you marry my son.”

“Then won’t it be his?”

Lord Dinsdale laughed. “Clever girl, but such is life. Though I expect you could probably talk my son into letting you keep it.”

She stared at the glittering gems, mesmerized.

She could return to her own time.

She just needed to clasp it around her throat, walk past Lord Dinsdale, through his men crowding the doorway, and ease by Gargantuan who was so tall she could see him standing in the back.

She’d get to the stone, and what had Gillian said? Bleed on the necklace, and return to her own time?

The whole thing seemed fantastical, and yet here she was … in medieval England … about to marry a stranger.

The distance and obstacles between her and the stone seemed insurmountable.

She glanced at the necklace once more and then at Lord Dinsdale and let out a sigh of mock-resignation. “It’s a tradition in my family to wear the necklace when we marry.”

He didn’t need to know getting married on a beach with flowers in her hair was more her family’s style than million-dollar necklaces, but whatever.

Lord Dinsdale smiled his satisfaction. “Is it, then?” He pinched each end of the necklace and whipped it around her head in a movement so fast, she flinched.

Facing her, he gazed into her eyes, his own eyes black in the shadowed room. He pulled the jewels tight against her neck and secured the clasp.

More lightning forked across the sky, lighting up the stained glass and the open doorway. It was followed by another loud crack of thunder that rattled the building. Rain pattered on the roof.

Her lips quirked, triumph and euphoria racing through her at having the piece back in her possession.

“You like that, do you?”

Whether he knew it or not, he wouldn’t be able to get the necklace off again, which meant she could wear it outside.

She could touch the stone and go home.

Lord Dinsdale studied her a long moment, eyes darting as he tried to read her. He finally stepped back. “Now that the lady has been satisfied, let us see them married.”

Oh, as to that … she glanced around the room and, if anything, it seemed more crowded with Dinsdale men than before.

But they couldn’t actually make her agree to getting married. Couldn’t make her say, I do.

Rupert gently turned her toward the priest and took her hand.

The movie The Princess Bride ran through her head again. Buttercup hadn’t been married because she hadn’t said yes in the end.

“Priest, begin!”

The priest looked at her, his gaze scared, but his jaw firming.

“My lady? If you do not wish this alliance, you need only to say so. I will not marry you.”

Cara drew in a breath to claim she had no intention of wedding this day, when she felt the sharp point of a knife poke through her dress.

There seemed to be a collective holding of breath in the chapel, and no one made a sound as everyone awaited her response.

There was a stubborn part of her that wanted to tell him to do his worst, but, of course, the only reason she’d say that would be if she didn’t believe he’d stab her.

He was marrying her to his son to stick it to Wallace. Wouldn’t her death give him a similar result?

He was such a raging maniac she could see him losing his temper and stabbing her before he’d even thought it through.

If he killed the priest, too, who would speak against him?

No one here, that was for sure.

When the knife poked her again, the bite of pain told her he’d pierced skin, and some reckless part of her spouted, “Yes, of course, I’ll marry him.” She didn’t mean it. She was going to say no. She was just working up her courage. Her free hand rose to her stomach. “Wolfsbane’s baby needs a name, doesn’t he?” Her tone was pure acid.

The priest gaped at her, and she turned to see Rupert doing the same.

It would serve him right if she foisted another man’s child on him. “Won’t that be fun? Raising another man’s son? If it is a boy, he’ll be your heir.”

Rupert yanked his hand free of hers.

Even in these circumstances, she smiled at that.

“Do not fret, son, many a babe fails to make an appearance, and many more fail to survive their first year.”

Cara couldn’t help the slight tremor that ran through her. Did the guy have to be such an evil villain?

“Get on with it, priest!”

The priest jumped. “Oh, yes, that is …” He shot Cara one more searching glance. “Your full name, my lady?”

“Lady Cara Jones.” She refused to give her middle name in case that could nullify the ceremony.

The knife pressed into her once more, and she’d love nothing more than to shake him off, but didn’t dare.

Her cowardice was actually a big disappointment to her.

Tight lipped, she gave a nod to the priest. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner they’d go outside, and the sooner she could escape back to her own time.

Doubts filled her.

What if she tried and failed to go back, and was simply stuck here in the past as a Dinsdale for all time?

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Was she really going to do this? Cut herself off from Wallace by marrying his enemy?

She touched the jewels at her throat, hoping for some sort of sign, or even a feeling of comfort.

Unfortunately, nothing but cold stones met her fingertips.

* * *

The priest, stammering a little, began the ceremony in Latin.

Panic rose within her and she stifled a hysterical giggle. Wasn’t this wonderful? Not only was she getting married against her will, she wouldn’t be able to understand the ceremony.

No parents, no crazy-fun bridal shower, no bridesmaids, no honeymoon to Hawaii.

And worst of all, the wrong groom.

The priest made the sign of the cross, and hysteria heightened with the expectation that she’d soon be asked to play her part in the ceremony.

With the knife still stinging her back, would she have the guts to keep her mouth shut?

As the priest continued the litany of indecipherable Latin, despair turned to resentment.

Even with everything missing, if this was Wallace at her side, she’d have been happy.

Even with her doubts about whether she could adjust to this type of life, marrying Wallace, being his wife, would probably tip the scales for her.

She chanced a glance at Rupert, who looked positively grim, stony-faced. It was the first time she realized he resembled his father in any way.

The priest switched to English and looked at Rupert. “Do you take Lady Cara Jones to wife? To have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“Nay, I do not.”

Cara gaped at her groom, even as he turned his steely-eyed gaze upon her which she now noted was rife with disapproval.

The knife was removed from her back. “Rupert, I order you to marry her!”

“I will not.”

Cara quickly bit back the laugh threatening to escape.

“Why not?” Lord Dinsdale sounded puzzled, more than wrathful.

Rupert turned, and Cara did as well, to see Lord Dinsdale, knife at his side, staring at his son in disbelief.

“Father, I have done aught you have asked of me.” His hand flew through the air. “I’ve been a good, loyal son to you, and I deserve better than this,” his big hand made a circling motion which encompassed all of Cara.

This was exactly what she wanted, it was perfect, but still, the expression of disgust on his face was insulting.

“Well, you’re no prize either,” she said. “You know good and well I’m in love with another man. And supposedly, you’re betrothed to Amelia and you’ve just walked away. Can you say, daddy’s boy?”

The look of rage on his face highlighted how much he looked like his father, and she took a step back.

Lord Dinsdale pointed the knife at his son. “You will do as I command.”

“I will not! My bride will be a virgin and any child in her womb will be started there by me!”

“She is probably lying!” Lord Dinsdale roared.

They both turned to look at her and Cara placed a hand on her stomach. “Sweet little thing. Do you mind if I name him Wallace?”

Rupert’s expression screwed up, and he practically gnashed his teeth, and she was seeing a whole new side of him, one she’d started to think didn’t exist.

The robot was long gone, and in his place was a volcano, mid-eruption.