Page 6

M artin stood beside the priest as his bride approached on her father’s arm, a portrait of fearsome resolve. Her back was straight as a sword, and she held her head high, as she faced her fate. It would be the triumph of a lifetime to win her over, and Martin had never relished a challenge more.

It was a small wedding, carried out in the castle’s chapel with a minimum of fanfare.

Candles flickered and guttered with drafts of cold air that seeped in despite the stained-glass windows and thick stone walls that kept out the worst of the howling wind.

Attendees were mostly members of Lord Ferdinand’s household.

The earl and countess were dressed in velvet and fur, while the rest of the small smattering of guests clutched their woolens tight against the cold.

Most wore dark colors, making somber shadows in the pews.

The only splash of color was Isabella in her rich blue gown.

As they spoke their sacred vows before those assembled, his heart was fit to burst with anticipation.

He had a worthy adversary at last, and her surrender would be so sweet.

He wouldn’t defeat her by trying to tame her.

Oh no. What a shame it would be to see his lioness declawed.

He wanted her in all her razor-sharp glory, an equal in all things, knowing she had met her match.

She bristled as he slid the beautifully crafted ring that he had purchased onto her finger.

It held a large, beautiful sapphire and had cost a princely sum that, fortunately, he could afford.

It was worth it to see the lovely hand of his bride adorned with such a jewel, even if she was glaring at him in a way that could give a man frostbite.

When the priest pronounced them man and wife, she was clenching her jaw so hard that her cheek bulged.

And when the priest said it was time to kiss the bride, he approached her with all the caution he would use with an angry bear.

A light peck on the cheek was all he dared, and even that was risky.

From her rigid stance, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes, he was certain she would have liked to take his head off for it.

He was lucky she didn’t use her clenched fists to knock him out for his audacity.

As they left the chapel and made their way to the great hall, Isabella rested her hand lightly on his arm, as if trying to maintain as little contact as possible. The silence between them grew into a tangible thing, and he’d had enough of it. It was time to goad his gorgeous termagant into speech.

“My lady, I cannot believe my good fortune to have such a proud and lovely wife. Your beauty is beyond compare, and your wit is sharp as a poignard. I am smitten.”

As he expected, her fingers tightened on his arm, and she dug her nails in hard. “Save your breath, fool. Your honeyed words are wasted on me.”

It was a good thing she had no idea that the little shock of pain created a very different sensation in another part of his body. “Not wasted, I think, because now you are speaking to me. If we are to spend the rest of our lives together, I would prefer not to do so in silence.”

“This wedding is a sham,” she whispered so that no one else could hear. “If you attempt to change the terms of our agreement, I’ll make you regret it.”

He smiled. “Ah, but we need everyone here to believe it is real,” he murmured. “Should a doting husband not be trying to win over his new wife with sweet words?”

She made a frustrated noise in her throat.

At least he was provoking a reaction from her. If she lacked any interest in him, she would have simply ignored him, but even her silences were pointed. He had her full attention, and he intended to use it.

“I have grand plans for our wedding night,” he said, knowing full well he was stoking her fury.

She turned such a delightful shade of red as she turned on him and yanked him close. “Have you forgotten your promise so soon?” she grumbled in a low voice.

“Careful, wife. Your parents are watching.”

She glanced at her mother who was indeed directing a disapproving look her way. Isabella turned back to him with an entirely false, ingratiating smile.

“And no, I have not forgotten my promise at all,” he said quietly with a bland smile. “Have you forgotten yours? You promised to let me woo you. I won’t lay a finger on you without your leave, I swear, but I do plan to make my case. And you did say you would hear me out.”

Her sharp exhale at his words was all the acquiescence he was likely to get. Fortunately, these were only the opening strikes and parries in their tender war.

“I will find a way to win your heart,” he said as they stepped into the relative warmth of the great hall and made their way to the head table. “Every castle has a weakness. Every armor has a chink.”

“In faith, you are unbearable,” she said as he led her to her place at the table, pulling out her tall-backed chair for her, and took a seat beside her.

“I would never ask you to bear me. Horses are made to bear, and you, my lady, are above such menial labor.” He winked at her, and the ice that was in her gaze turned to pure fire.

“Very true, my lord, and above you too.”

That sent his mind to dangerous places. “I would very much like you above me while I bear you. Perhaps you would like a true wedding night after all?”

“You are an ass.”

“Then ride me.”

“Never. You are not a worthy mount.”

“Certainly not. I am a wicked beast.” The thoughts running through his mind with each lash of her tongue were getting worse and worse.

The mental picture of her atop him, taking her pleasure, was too much to bear.

Fortunately, they were seated, or he might have embarrassed himself.

“Tame me, Isabella. Take me in hand and show me the error of my ways.”

The effect of his words on her was no less profound. She was a glorious bonfire before him—flushed, dark eyes sparkling, lips parted as her tongue darted out to lick them. She might be spitting mad, but there was something more there, he would swear it. Despite herself, she was responding to him.

“I’ll do no such thing. Your wit is too dull. I could not teach you,” she said, and turned away to grab her goblet, hand shaking just a touch as she drank deeply.

He watched the column of her throat work with intense interest, wishing he could kiss and nibble his way up her neck and nip on her ear. “And yet sharp enough to score a hit. You’re blushing, my lady.”

“You are mistaken. It is merely the red light of the fire.” She fanned herself with her hand. “Is it warm in here?”

They were interrupted by Lord Ferdinand.

“I hope my daughter is behaving herself,” he said, taking a seat beside Martin at the center of the table.

“I did warn you she can be willful at times.” He cast a warning glance at his daughter, who composed her face into a careful blank.

“You wouldn’t want us to report back to Lady Eleanor that you’re defying her will, would you? ”

“I obey Her Grace in all things,” she said, looking for all the world like a demure and obedient daughter.

What a pity! He much preferred her fiery side. It was a waste to hide such a magnificent flame beneath a bushel of obedience. “She is everything I hoped for in a wife and more.”

“Well, best of luck to you, lad. Don’t let looks deceive you.

She may appear sweet and innocent right now.

” Indeed, she was a portrait of a demure damsel beside him.

“But she has studied the art of subtle machination at court, and I dare say you’ve already discovered her temper.

She has learned at the knees of the two most devious women I know, my wife and my queen.

Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning. ”

“Don’t listen to my husband,” said Isabella’s mother with a withering glance at Lord Ferdinand. “Isabella knows where her duty lies and the consequences of disobedience. She wouldn’t dare step out of line and disappoint Her Grace.”

Before Martin could respond, servants arrived, spooning pottage into bread trenchers. It was a hearty meal, if not particularly elegant. There was nothing to suggest this was a wedding feast as opposed to an everyday dinner.

His poor wife. What must it have been like to grow up in such a cold, uncaring family?

They were the opposite of his own. His mother and father had doted on him and his siblings and raised them with the utmost care.

Had she ever experienced the warmth of love and acceptance?

He suspected not from what he observed. No wonder she was so prickly and hostile.

He turned to find her deep in whispered conversation with a thin, frail young woman who he presumed to be her sister.

Their murmurs were warm and animated. Perhaps there was some love after all.

It seemed she and her sister were close.

He ate his lackluster pottage and let her chatter with her sister, uninterrupted.

It warmed his heart to see her happy. He could only pray that he too could earn her trust and her smiles in time.

The meal concluded quickly with his new wife ignoring him completely. He didn’t mind. He could hardly begrudge her some moments of love and comfort with her sister, who she clearly doted on.

“Lord Ferdinand, you must toast the newlyweds,” the lady of the castle said to her husband, disdain dripping from every word. “Go on, you hapless meat sack,” she murmured in a low voice just loud enough for Martin to hear. “Do your duty, or do I have to prod you with my eating dagger?”

Casting a resentful glance at his wife, Lord Ferdinand rose and raised his goblet. Clearing his throat, he said, “To the happy couple, blessings and happiness and whatever else it is I’m supposed to say.”

A few of the earl’s men at other tables raised their glasses uncertainly. Lord Ferdinand shrugged and sat back down, draining his cup and pouring himself another, which he also drained.

“You bloody idiot,” his wife murmured as he drank. “I ask you to do a simple thing, and even that you bungle. What a useless bag of guts you are.”

“If you’ll pardon me, I have some things to attend to,” Lord Ferdinand said, rising abruptly.

“Good riddance,” said Martin’s new mother-in-law a little too loudly before draining her goblet of honey wine.

What a family! No wonder Isabella was prickly and defensive, with parents like this. He couldn’t get her away fast enough.

“Lord Martin, I’d like a word,” Lord Ferdinand said beckoning Martin to follow him.

Reluctantly, Martin rose and bowed to Isabella before he turned to follow the earl out of the hall into the dimly lit corridor. “What did you wish to discuss, my lord?” The sooner he could return to his bride, the better.

“By marrying my family, you are allying yourself to the Duke of Normandy’s cause, even if we’re all technically still vassals of King Stephen. Is Winchelsea ready to take up arms in this fight?”

All Martin wanted was an end to the violence that had ravaged the English countryside for far too long.

It had become clear that King Stephen was far too weak to win against Henry, so there was only one path forward that Martin could see.

If he and the other Cinque Port barons threw their weight in with Henry, perhaps it would be enough to end this godawful mess.

“We are, my lord, and the other Cinque Port barons are with me.” Martin had given clear instructions to his knights and men-at-arms before he left to see Lady Eleanor in the fall.

They were prepared for battle, and they had what they needed to survive a siege for at least six months, if it came to that, which he prayed it never did.

“Good. Very good,” Lord Ferdinand said, clapping Martin on the shoulder. “Well, you’d best get back in there. Your bride awaits her wedding night. Don’t let her eat you alive.”

“I think I can handle myself, my lord. I plan to take my time and win her over.” He only had a fortnight, give or take, but if in that time he had not succeeded, he would do as she asked and let her choose a husband more to her liking.

Lord Ferdinand grunted. “Good luck with that.”

Martin smiled tightly. “Thank you, my lord.”

“And with that, I bid you good night.”

Martin bowed and made his way back into the great hall.

He returned to the table to find that the countess had slipped into his chair and had her talons dug into Isabella’s arm.

“…and I expect blood on the sheets in the morning. If you don’t consummate this marriage, I’ll tell the duchess and let her deal with you,” the countess said in a carrying whisper.

“My lady,” Martin said, quietly interrupting. “Your daughter and I will become acquainted in our own good time. She’s no longer your concern, and how we spend our wedding night is none of your business.”

His mother-in-law turned the full force of her poisonous gaze on him.

If looks could kill, he’d be pinned to the wall with a sword through his heart.

Fortunately, he didn’t give a fig what this woman thought.

He and Isabella were boarding his ship and sailing for Winchelsea in the morning, and good riddance.

He turned to his wife, who blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

Perhaps no one had even spoken to her mother that way, at least in her presence.

“Isabella, I believe it is time for us to retire,” he said, offering a hand to help her rise.

Fortunately, his bride appeared as anxious to escape as he was.

She stood and took his arm without complaint.

“Goodnight, Adelaide,” she said, ignoring her mother completely.

“By your leave, my lady,” he said to the countess, nodding his head and offering a cold smile. He didn’t wait for her response before leading Isabella from the great hall and through the corridors to the guest room where he was staying.

“Thank you,” she murmured almost too quietly to hear once they were out of earshot.

“What was that?” he asked, not quite believing the sweet words that reached his ears.

“I said ‘thank you’ for rescuing me from Mother. Don’t make me repeat it again, or I’ll truss you up like wild boar and roast you on a spit.”

He nodded gravely, tamping down his delight at this small triumph. He’d chipped a tiny hole in her defensive wall, and with time and luck he would open a gap wide enough for him to climb through.