Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

St. Idloes Abbey

One month later

T hey couldn't make her do it.

She had no intention of being married, not now, not ever. There was no way she was going to permit people she didn't know to push her into a marriage with a man she'd never even heard of. So many strangers attempting to control her destiny, and she wasn't going to have any of it.

She refused to cooperate.

Until the moment they'd arrived, it had been a day like any other day at St. Idloes Abbey– the day had dawned rather misty and damp. The bell had rung at Matins and the prayer candles had been lit. Nuns, novices, postulates, and oblates had been herded through the cloister and into the church, where they'd prayed before they'd eaten their simple oat gruel.

Once prayers were offered and the morning fast was broken, the women went about their daily chores. The Lady Grier Ysabel de Lara went to sew delicate lace shawls along with the other oblates, merchandise sold for profit to provide to the abbey, and supervised by Sister Agretha, who was a worse disciplinarian than any taskmaster alive. The woman was as hard as nails and twice as sharp; nothing missed her scrutiny. Therefore, Grier had learned to be perfect in her stitching and her behavior, lest Sister Agretha take her willow switch and smack her across the knuckles, among other places. She'd been struck in other places more times than she could count.

Ouch!

But the normal morning routine changed when the Mother Abbess, Mother Mary Moria, had come to pull Grier away from her sewing, giving her the message that men from Shrewsbury had come to deliver. Her father, Garreth, had been killed and, as his heiress, she was now being called forth to do her duty as the surviving child of the duke. She was to marry and take her place as the Duchess of Shrewsbury. A man had already been chosen for her husband.

But she wanted nothing to do with it.

In truth, Grier hadn't given her heiress position any thought over the years because being part of St. Idloes was simply a normal way of life. She had been very young when she had first come to the abbey following the death of her mother. Her father had been a kind man, but he had not been prepared to raise a child by himself. Therefore, the only option open to him was to send his young daughter to St. Idloes Abbey because the duke's sister had been a nun there, and she had died there, so the St. Idloes Abbey was part of the Shrewsbury blood.

Now it was part of Grier's blood.

But they were asking her to break that bond.

Quite honestly, she'd been shocked by the news, and by the expectations that had been so abruptly forced upon her. She didn't understand any of it; she'd been given over to the Benedictine order as an oblate , or someone who was to be raised as a nun with the intention of becoming one. Indeed, she was an heiress, but that had never been brought up as her obligation, not ever. Grier's father, in the limited communication she'd had with him over the years, had never mentioned it. Expectations had never been relayed.

But now, they were.

After delivering the news, the Mother Abbess had taken Grier from the sewing room, along with her friend and fellow oblate, Eolande ferch Madoc. Perhaps, the old nun had believed that Eolande would be of some comfort to her considering the girls had grown up together. Eolande was the closest thing Grier had to a sister, and even as they walked the cloister behind the old nun, the young women clung together. The Mother Abbess had taken both girls to a small room near the chapel and told them to wait.

But… for what ?

For Grier, it was like waiting for a death sentence.

It was a chamber seldom used, smelling of dust and damp because of the packed-earth floor and old stone walls. There were two chairs there, rough-hewn and nothing fanciful. Once the door shut, Eolande took her seat in confused silence, but Grier remained near the door. She was frightened and bewildered with what the day had brought her, struggling to think clearly in the face of such rapid change, and it was in that small room where she decided that she wasn't going to cooperate. She was going to dig in, and if they forced her, then they would have a fight on their hands.

She wasn't going to be pushed into a marriage she didn't want.

"Are you afraid?" Eolande asked.

The softly-uttered question broke Grier from her thoughts of rebellion. Coming from a noble Welsh family, Eolande's English was heavily tinged with a Welsh accent, something that Grier had gotten used to over the years. In fact, Grier had picked up a hint of that Welsh accent herself.

She eyed her friend, a little woman with black hair and black eyes. Eolande tended to be rather wise in all things, but she also tended to be cautious. Grier did not have an ounce of caution in her, and she could be reckless at times, things that had her on the receiving end of religious beatings and scoldings from time to time. But she was as brilliant as a new day, and it was a brilliance that would not be silenced.

"Nay," she said. "I am not afraid. And I will not marry. I do not care who these men are. My father gave me over to St. Idloes to become a nun, and become I shall. I am not meant to be any man's wife."

Eolande heard the resistance in her voice, the defiance. That was normal with Grier. But that bravery could be misplaced, as she suspected it was now.

" Who has come for you?" she wondered aloud. "Mother Abbess says that your father's men have come, but I wonder if that is true."

Grier looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

Eolande's gaze moved over her friend; petite, with a curvy figure buried beneath the rough woolens. Grier had chestnut-colored hair to her knees and eyes the color of a sunset– shades of gold, of greens, and even yellow and dark orange. She had the face of an angel, with a bright smile and a quick wit. Eolande had seen other postulates and novices scorn her with their jealousies, even whispering about her when her back was turned.

She is too pretty , some would say. She will lose her beauty when she gets older , others would mutter. Hurtful words that were meant to wound, but Grier simply accepted them without complaint. Even when the Mother Abbess would punish the offenders, Grier took no pleasure in it. Eolande thought that the Mother Abbess had a soft spot for Grier, although the woman wouldn't admit it. But perhaps, that was why she looked so concerned when she'd delivered the news of Shrewsbury's death, concern over the young woman who had been her charge for many years.

A young woman who held the rich and vast Dukedom of Shrewsbury in her hands.

"What I mean to say is I wonder if these men are up to no good," Eolande elaborated after a moment. "They could be lying, you know."

Grier's eyes widened. "Lying?" she repeated. "Why should they want to do that?"

Eolande rose from her chair. "To take you away," she said simply, going to Grier and reaching out to take her hand. "What if they wish to abduct you and ransom you to your father?"

Grier's momentary shock became suspicion. "They'd not dare," she hissed. "Would men truly lie to the church? Do they realize how they can be punished?"

Eolande simply held Grier's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Mayhap, they do not care," she said. "Mayhap… mayhap, we should run to my brother for protection. He would save you!"

Grier smiled for the first time, a gentle gesture in the midst of such a serious subject. It was as if the bewildered nature of the conversation suddenly took a turn, one that caused Grier to soften at the mere suggestion. It was clear by her expression that Eolande's statement had touched her in some way that there was more to the words than the meaning they conveyed.

"Although your suggestion is noble, we both know it is not true," Grier said, a hint of sadness in her tone. "But I thank you all the same."

"But we can try!"

"You know that he would never help the woman whose family scorned him."

Those words brought the conversation to a halt because they were all too true. It was a tragic bit of history the two women shared, one that Grier's comment had stirred to the forefront. It wasn't something they discussed these days, but there had been a time when it was all they spoke of because it affected their lives nearly every day.

The tale of an unrequited love.

It was a sad story, truly. Eolande's brother, Davies, had visited the abbey quite a bit in years past, mostly to check on a younger sister who had been committed to the convent. He was rather fond of the girl, whose parents decided that she needed a religious education. But what Davies ap Madoc didn't count on was developing a sweet spot for his sister's friend, the young and lovely Grier, who was the daughter of an English duke. An enemy . He'd become so fond of her that he convinced his father to offer for the lass' hand, thereby linking the Welsh Lords of Godor to the Dukedom of Shrewsbury in marriage.

It had sounded reasonable enough, but Shrewsbury hadn't thought so. The request, politely delivered, had been summarily refused, and Davies had nursed a broken heart and wounded pride for some time. Not that Grier ever did anything to encourage him; she hadn't. She was fond of him, as Eolande's brother, but that was where it ended. She'd never felt anything for him and never would, something Davies was well aware of. But still, he showed Grier kindness, at least as long as he could. A few months ago, he'd stopped coming to St. Idloes altogether.

There was no use in seeing a lass he was trying to forget.

Eolande, however, seemed to think that there was still something in her brother that would always have an affection for Grier. Knowing her brother as she did, she was convinced he would never stop loving the English lass, but she didn't bring it up to Grier any longer, for the woman couldn't help what she didn't feel. Moreover, her father wasn't about to turn the Shrewsbury dukedom over to a Welsh lord.

A tragic tale, indeed.

"Davies would not let men take you away," Eolande insisted after a moment, knowing she was on a sensitive subject. "If he knew men had come to abduct you, I know he would protect you to the death."

But Grier shook her head. "I would not let him lay down his life for me," she said, giving Eolande's hand a squeeze before letting go. "Besides, Mother Mary Moria can protect me far better than any Welsh warrior can. Once I tell her that I have no desire to be wed, and that I intend to take my vows, she will chase them away in spite of my father's wishes."

There was that confidence in her voice again, something that Eolande heard quite often. Grier was, if nothing else, a confident young woman in a world where that wasn't often seen. It was interpreted as defiance, or rebellion, but in Grier's case, neither was true. At least, it hadn't been until today.

Today, Eolande could sense a storm coming.

The door rattled before she could reply, sending her scurrying back to her chair as the panel swung open. While Eolande cowered, Grier faced the open door with the same courage as she faced everything else. She was cool and collected as the Mother Abbess appeared again, this time in the company of a very big knight.

The Mother Abbess snapped her fingers.

"Eolande," she hissed. "Come with me. Now ."

Eolande shot out of her chair, rushing to the Mother Abbess and trying not to crash into the knight in the process, who was stepping into the chamber just as she was coming out. He was so big, however, that Eolande had to squeeze past him, brushing his arm, as the Mother Abbess extracted her from the chamber. Once she was clear of the door, the knight reached over to shut the panel behind them.

There was an odd silence in the chamber now. It was an uncomfortable one, and Grier eyed the man with dark eyes and copper curls down to his shoulders. She didn't back away from him but she certainly felt like it, wondering rather frantically why the Mother Abbess had left her alone with a stranger. Never one to shy away from a situation no matter how frightened she was, Grier spoke.

"Who are you?" she asked, not too politely. "What do you want?"

The knight bowed, his behavior courteous even if hers wasn't. "My lady," he said. "My name is Dastan du Reims. I was your father's captain at his death, and had been for the past seven years. May I extend my condolence at your father's passing?"

Grier studied the man. He was handsome, perhaps having seen little more than thirty years. He also had a somewhat genteel manner about him, which seemed rather odd considering he was dressed for battle. He looked as if he'd killed a man or two in his time.

"I did not know my father, my lord," she said honestly. "You may as well be speaking of a stranger."

The knight nodded faintly. "I know, my lady," he said. "As your father's captain, I can assure you that he expressed regret over the state of his relationship with you."

Grier was watching him with big eyes that missed nothing: a flicker of a brow, the twitch of a lip. She was watching him more closely than most because, in truth, she'd never really been this close to a knight before. Men were not allowed inside the abbey for the most part, and when there were male visitors, like Davies, they were kept outside in a sequestered area. That made this knight's presence here something of an anomaly and Grier's curiosity was natural.

But that curiosity didn't dampen the suspicion she felt at his appearance or in the message he bore, especially after what Eolande had said. Perhaps, they have come to ransom you ! Although Grier didn't think that was the truth, it lingered on her mind. It kept her manner standoffish.

"He never expressed such a regret to me, my lord," she said with blunt honesty. "That he did to you I find rather curious. Were you with him when he died, then? Did he express these regrets to you on his death bed?"

Dastan shook his head. "He did not, my lady," he said. "He was wounded in battle, as was I. I was being tended to when your father was brought to the field surgeon. But by that time, he had already passed away. Your father was a kind and generous man, my lady. It was an honor to serve him and to carry out his wishes."

There was something in the way he said it that made her look at him in a knowing manner. "And that is why you are here," she said. "To carry out his wishes."

Dastan hesitated a moment before he nodded. "Aye, my lady."

Her gaze lingered on him. "Someone told me that you had come to abduct me and ransom me back to my father."

His dark eyebrows lifted. "I can assure you that is not the truth," he said. "Your father is dead. Should you wish confirmation from the priest who conducted his mass, I can produce him. It will take some time, but I can prove it."

Grier could have agreed with him and demanded he provide the priest, but she thought that a man with a guilty conscience would probably not have made such an offer. Perhaps she was na?ve about it, but she believed him. Therefore, she put aside Eolande's conspiracy theory, hoping she wasn't wrong about it.

"There is no need to produce the priest, at least not at the moment," she said. "I will believe you for the time being. But let us return to the discussion of my father's commands. You have come here to carry out a specific command, have you not?"

"I have, my lady."

"And what will you do if I refuse?"

Dastan kept his polite manner in the face of what sounded like a challenge. "Is that what you intend to do, my lady?"

"It is."

He nodded as if in complete understanding. "I see," he said. "Then allow me to make this plain. You will do as you are told to do, and if you believe you have a choice in this situation, then you are sadly mistaken. You are your father's heiress; with you rests all of Shrewsbury, so your duty to you father and to your family is greater than your duty to God. In fact, you can do God more service with the Shrewsbury fortune than you could ever do within the confines of St. Idloes by wearing rough woolens and praying day and night. You will control a vast empire, my lady, and whether or not you assume that burden is not your choice. You will do as you ordered to do."

For a man who had been polite since the moment he entered the chamber, that firm statement showed Grier just how powerful and intimidating the knight could be. His features hardened and his voice growled. Grier had been plain and now he was being plain, as well.

But she still wasn't going to surrender.

"Then I shall take this to the archbishop," she said defiantly. "I was given over to St. Idloes as a child, to be raised by nuns and to take my vows when I came of age. That plan has not changed in spite of my father's death. You cannot force me to assume something I do not wish to do."

Dastan drew in a long, thoughtful breath. Crossing his arms casually, he pretended to consider her words. But the truth was that there was no consideration; he was going to let her know just how foolish her statement was.

"Actually, I can," he said. "Your father left provisions for a large donation to the abbey upon his death because he knew he would remove you from its walls and he wanted to compensate them for the years that they have fed and housed you. If they want the money, then they will have to turn you over, and if you think for one moment they are going to turn down such a large donation, then think again. You would be wrong."

That brought a reaction from Grier. Her eyes widened and she stiffened. "But…!"

Dastan threw up a hand to silence her. "At this moment, I have been sent to bring you to the chapel, where your new husband awaits," he said. "We can do this one of two ways; either you can walk with me in a civilized fashion or, if you refuse, I will tie you up and carry you. I am bigger than you, and stronger, so you cannot overpower me. For the sake of your dignity alone, I should think you would walk with me, but I shall leave that up to you."

He sounded final. Grier's first reaction was to scold him, to chase him away. But looking into his square-jawed face, somehow, she knew that he wouldn't be chased. She may have been stubborn, but she wasn't stupid. She was starting to think that perhaps none of this was going to go the way she wanted it to and her composure began to crack.

"But… but this is cruel," she said, trying not to sound desperate. "My father sent me to St. Idloes and, until today, it was my belief that I should take my vows and live my life as a nun. That is what I wanted; it is what my father intimated would always take place. And now I am expected to marry and assume my position as the Duchess of Shrewsbury? I know nothing of such responsibilities. I would not even know where to start!"

Dastan wasn't unsympathetic. "I realize that," he said. "My lady, your father's death was unexpected and, to be truthful, never did he mention his plans for you to me. It was only after his death, when we found the missives to be read upon his death did we know of his plans. He had selected a husband for you and he wants the de Lara dynasty to continue. You are the last of your family, my lady. If you do not marry and procreate, hundreds of years of the de Lara legacy will die with you."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Grier supposed she knew that. She'd always known it. But it was something she'd pushed aside and buried, digging such a deep hole that she hoped such an idea would never resurface. With a heavy sigh, she turned away.

She could feel the defeat creeping over her.

"I had a brother, you know," she said, glumly. "I was six when he was born. That was what killed my mother. My brother lived for an hour. A solid hour. And then he died and I was sent away, to live here at St. Idloes. I know I am the last of my family but my father never impressed upon me that I should continue his legacy. How can I? I am a woman."

"You are a woman with a great and honorable family name," Dastan reminded her firmly. "You are to be married into another family with a great and honorable family name. It will be the joining of two great lines and will ensure the Shrewsbury survival."

More defeat swamped her. Grier was coming to realize she wasn't going to talk her way out of it. She could be stubborn about it, or scream and run, but she would be caught. She could fight and kick, but men bigger and stronger than she was, as du Reims had pointed out, would subdue her.

Was that really what she wanted?

It wasn't. She was bold and mulish at times, but she wasn't a fool. And she most certainly didn't want to embarrass herself. So, this was to be her fate.

An unexpected and unwelcome fate.

"Then who is this man I am to marry?" she finally asked, clearly dreading the answer.

A flicker of smile licked Dastan's lips. He could hear how much she was hating all of this. She could hate it all she wanted so long as she didn't put up a fight, and he was secretly quite glad that she hadn't. He had no wish to wrestle the woman to the altar. Not that he blamed her for her position; he didn't. She'd been socked away in St. Idloes for years and, in spite of what he'd told her, the old duke had barely mentioned her. She had been an afterthought. Or, at least, Dastan thought so until he saw the documents that had been produced after de Lara's death. Then, it was clear she hadn't been an afterthought at all.

He'd been concerned with his legacy, and his daughter was the key.

The nun will carry on the de Lara name .

"He is waiting for you in the chapel," he said after a moment. "May I escort you to him, my lady?"

Grier wanted to deny him. Very badly, she wanted to. But she knew she couldn't.

"If you must," she muttered.

"I must," came the quick reply.

A glance at the knight showed the man with a twinkle in his eyes and that only served to annoy her.

"If you take delight in this, I swear I will fight you all the way," she said.

The twinkle in his eyes was still there, but his jaw tightened and his lips stiffened. "I have no delight, my lady."

"Swear this to me."

"I do."

She wasn't sure she believed him. Something about the man told her that he was laughing at her and she hated it. Perhaps she'd embarrassed herself already and didn't know it or, worse, he knew something she didn't know. Maybe it was about her husband. Maybe he was the biggest joke of all.

God help me , she prayed silently.

She was about to find out.