Chapter 10

During the midday meal, the mood in the hall was far more subdued and cordial after the burial of their late host, especially since the squire's rather questionable cohorts had promptly taken their leave after the funeral, swigging down ale as they went.

Although many of the hunters had left prior to the wedding, those who had stayed over for the banquet and the nuptials had brought along their wives or other family members. Now that the squire was no longer there to vent his outrage, in particular upon the pair of Scotsmen and, to a lesser degree, upon the Saxons whom he loathed, the guests as a whole proved to be in far better spirits and lingered with members of their families to converse with the new mistress and her relatives. The Scotsmen still found themselves regarded suspiciously by the various lords and landowners in attendance, but all seemed to be following a truce of peace for the new widow. Upon making their departure, many of the guests extended their sympathies to the erstwhile bride and were wont to assure her surreptitiously that she would likely find a finer gentleman to marry in the months or years to come, one with whom she'd have more in common.

Cordelia approached Abrielle as the latter left the trestle table where she had been sitting with her parents. "I'm afraid Papa's not feeling very well," she explained. "The food here has been difficult for him to tolerate. I suppose once we're at home, it will be curds and whey for him or something just as tasteless until he's feeling better. In any case, he is wanting to return home and retire to his own bedchamber, where he can lie abed during his misery."

"Thank you for remaining as long as you have," Abrielle replied, squeezing her friend's fingers. "I couldn't have borne these last few days if you hadn't been here to listen to my complaints and allowed me to express my frustration so freely. You've always proven to be a dear, dear friend, especially when I'm in dire distress."

"When I return, my visit will likely be for a much longer period of time," Cordelia assured her. "Until then, my dearest friend, take special care of yourself. You will need to, especially after what has just come to pass."

"I shall surely miss not living close to you and your family," Abrielle assured her. "'Twould now be a goodly jaunt to reach your home, but what is that distance between close friends?"

"Unfortunately, I fear such a visit will have to be seriously delayed now that you're lady of this keep," Cordelia replied as she heaved a sigh of lament. "As mistress of those bone-thin serfs, you must remain here until you have set into motion your rules for governing this place. Only then will you be able to leave and feel confident of doing so." Eyeing her companion, she continued, "I needn't remind you that you're no longer under the authority of your stepfather. You are capable of setting the problems aright and extending authority to those who will closely adhere to your directives. I shall be expecting great changes to occur during my absence…which, of course, doesn't give you much time, considering I shall likely be visiting you ere you even think of leaving here."

Abrielle laughed. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"I suffer no doubt that you have the fortitude to succeed in whatever task you undertake," Cordelia stated confidently, and then heaved a sigh of lament. "I do wish Laird Cedric didn't live so far away. 'Twould be nice if he lived close enough to visit us, too."

"For shame, Cordelia," Abrielle scolded in laughing amusement. "Why, the man is old enough to be your grandfather."

The young woman raised her nose in the air and tossed her head, giving no heed to her friend's reproof. "Me grandfather never looked half as handsome as himself. And there I be, talking like the man. Ta be sure, not even me own da looks as fit, fine, and trim as the old laird, Cedric Seabern." In her normal voice, Cordelia continued softly, "And then there's the son. He's as handsome as his sire. 'Tis plain to see they both came from fine stock."

Abrielle looked away in discomfort. "He is not a man I give much thought to."

Cordelia frowned at her in surprise. "Nay? He does seem to be watching you rather closely."

Abrielle could only shrug. "Far too many men are watching me closely today. He is just one of many. And he's a Scotsman, too. Do you see how my kinsmen and neighbors regard him with suspicion? I've asked him to leave, and I hope he will do so soon."

"Abrielle, I do not understand why you would do so, why you would act in a seemingly discourteous manner, for I have never seen you be other than kind and thoughtful," Cordelia said slowly. "And if I but had time to question you…"

"There's no reason for that," Abrielle said, giving her friend a smile. "Do not worry for me. The life I thought of as bleak has surely taken a turn for the better."

IN SPITE OFthe necessity of being ensconced henceforth in her late bridegroom's spacious chambers, Abrielle made a concerted effort to thrust aside the haunting memories of the previous night and find some genuine peace for her weary mind as she burrowed deep beneath the covers. She had no real reason to fear her future—except for her next marriage, for marry she must, and soon. It was obvious to her that men would be vying for her and her fortune, a strange twist of fate for a woman who was all but ignored at court only months ago. But Abrielle was determined that this time, she'd earned the right to control her own fate. But how would her stepfather react to such a thing? He would want to see her safely with a man of whom he approved. Now that she had most of Desmond's wealth in her possession, Vachel would likely seek to find her a spouse with a lofty title. It was what most fathers wanted for their daughters. In his case, she could imagine that, if truly motivated in that direction, such a desire might have arisen from his own frustration after his requests for a title had been rejected.

Still, if Vachel's ambitions could be realized by the very thing he had earlier been seeking for himself, that being a worthy title for his own exceptional achievements, then he would likely be content. Vachel was an honorable knight who had served valiantly during foreign campaigns and, for that reason, was rightfully deserving of recognition from his king. Lord de Marlé had been honored by Henry for his heroism after returning home. As a reward, he had been given the vast area of land upon which to build this very keep. So might Vachel be honored if she were to remind His Majesty of her stepfather's bravery and daring feats during those years he had loyally served beneath the king's banner. The king just needed to be reminded that there was still a knight whose daring feats had long been forgotten. And now that Vachel had wealth of his own again, the title was more important than taking more money from the treasury.

Abrielle's heart began to sink as she realized she might offend Henry if she were to plead for a few moments of his time to suggest the possibility of bestowing a worthy title upon her stepfather. But perhaps her newfound wealth would bring her more royal notice.

Glumly she stared at the flickering flames dancing atop the stout candles nestled within the heavy sconces, wondering if she should attempt to approach any of the lesser lords with her request. No, with so difficult a task, she'd have to find an individual who was permitted fairly often within His Majesty's presence…

Of a sudden, Abrielle gasped and sat upright in bed as the realization dawned on her. In spite of her needless fretting, she was well acquainted with one who could perform such a feat without evoking the king's ire. He was none other than Raven Seabern! It would be a fairly simple matter for the Scotsman to carry her missive to Henry when he was once again called upon to deliver a message to His Majesty from his own King David.

And how better to rid her own keep of the Scotsman's presence, for he would not dare to return after she'd made clear he was no longer required. All these churning emotions in her breast would depart with him, and she would be able to logically think of who would make the best husband.

Snuggling back into the downy pillows, Abrielle smiled in satisfaction as she folded her hands atop the coverlet and stared at the embroidered scene on the canopy above her head. On the morrow, she would begin the day by composing a letter to His Majesty. Truly, if Vachel were given a title and lands as a reward for his own notable achievements, perhaps he would then feel satisfied with what he had managed to accomplish during his lifetime rather than be wont to find a nobleman who'd be interested in taking his wealthy stepdaughter to wife.

AFTER MASS ANDbreaking her fast, Abrielle went to the lady's solar, her own private chamber. A weaving loom stood in one corner, and a long trestle table was laid out with servants' livery in various stages of being cut and sewn. She sent the maidservants away and waited for Nedda to bring Raven to her. She'd been over and over her little plan, searching for flaws, and found none. It was most clever, if she did say so herself, and she truly did not see how it could fail. She would rid herself of the Scot's very disturbing presence and lessen her stepfather's need for a noble son-in-law at one and the same time. So delighted was she that she was smiling when the maidservant announced Raven.

He stood just inside the door wearing what could only be a mask of composure, for which she could hardly blame him after their last meeting. When Nedda curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind her, his surprise was obvious.

As Abrielle stood cool and composed, he nodded politely. "Ye sent for me, my lady?"

"I did, sir. I desire your help with a personal matter. 'Tis a delicate task I have in mind, one to which you are perfectly suited."

"You need but tell me what it is, my lady," he said, walking toward her, "and it is done."

Abrielle held up her hand, hoping she hid the alarm she felt as he drew nearer. "You need come no closer."

"There are needs, and then there are needs," he said softly, still moving, not stopping until he was but two feet from her. "What is this task with which I am so favored?"

She extended her arm between them as if she were gripping a metal shield rather than a parchment missive, rolled and tied with a ribbon and sealed with the wax imprint of the de Marlé house. "When next you have business with King Henry, please give this to him for me."

He didn't reach for it. "I have na idea when next I will be in London—or Normandy, for I think that is where your king resides for now."

She frowned, for this was hardly the response she'd expected. "Surely you will need to be dispatched soon for King David."

"Nay, he does not require me at present. I will be staying here."

"But this missive must reach the king," she countered, frustrated to find there was a flaw in her plan after all, namely that its success rested entirely on Raven's acting as she'd thought he would.

"Then so it shall," he declared, moving another half step closer to take it from her with a smile that belied the refusal to accede to her full desire that was expressed in his eyes.

Managing to squelch a sigh of relief, Abrielle offered a simple smile of appreciation. "Thank you."

"One of my men is an excellent courier, as trustworthy as they come. I will send him forth without delay." He watched her smile fade. "Or is my word na good enough for ye?"

"I know not how good your word is. I know nothing of you." This time she realized her words were not reasonable, for she indeed knew he was a trusted royal courier, but his response to her plan had thrown her off course.

"Know this, and never doubt it," he said solemnly, holding her gaze with the intensity of his own. "My word is my bond, and I pledge it ta ye. You can rest assured your missive is as good as in the king's hand this very instant."

"Thank you," she said with resignation, wishing she could think of a legitimate way to force him to take the letter personally. It was hard to think clearly with him so close, looming over her, so big and male in this small chamber used only by women.

"And how do ye fare, Lady Abrielle?"

Distractedly, she said, "What do you mean?"

"Ye're newly a widow, with many decisions ta make. I imagine the responsibilities are vast."

"Truth be told, only one person dares to threaten me at the moment," she said pointedly, her hands on her hips, leaving him no doubt to whom she referred.

"Since it is nowhere in me ta threaten a woman, I can only think it must be your peace of mind I threaten."

"Perhaps intimidation is a better word. Do you seek to intimidate me, Scotsman?"

"So ye feel intimidated, Abrielle?"

"Please do not call me by my Christian name alone, and no, I do not feel the least bit intimidated by you," she lied.

"Good. I prefer a fair contest." She wasn't aware of him leaning toward her until he straightened and it was suddenly easier to breathe. "If ever I do make ye feel threatened or intimidated, ye can be certain ye are misunderstanding my concern for your welfare."

"You are too concerned, sir, you and every other man who thinks to win a quick fortune."

"And a beauteous bride," he added, his smile quick and disarming. "I canna speak for any other, but 'tis the only prize I seek."

His honeyed words elicited an exasperated groan from her, and she pointed to the door. "Please excuse me now. I'm sure you can well understand how pressed I am in light of recent events."

She turned her back on him, not wanting one more smile or head tilt or glimpse of his overwhelming male presence to complicate her already muddled feelings. She assumed he would leave, but suddenly she felt his breath caress the back of her neck, causing gooseflesh to prickle along her skin. Before she could move away, his warm hands curled over her shoulders, gentling her in place.

"I lie not when I say I was captivated by your beauty from the moment I saw ye," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

Abrielle refused to turn around, refused to look into his eyes and be swayed by what he wanted her to feel.

"But beauty alone—even beauty such as yours, beauty that blinds a man to reason and steals his soul away forever—beauty alone would never be enough ta challenge my own code of honor. That happened when I saw your courage and the way ye held yourself when your stepfather was denied his rightful reward for his service in the Crusades. Had I taken my leave beforehand, I would have carried away the memory of your loveliness. But it was that instant when your true beauty was branded onto my heart and I knew there was no other, and no turning back."

Lies, all lies, she told herself, childishly wanting to cover her ears against this seduction that was proving too potent. "You have said your piece. Please leave."

She felt a chill when he moved to do as she bid, but only when she heard the door close did she sag into a chair. She'd barely caught her breath when the door suddenly opened again, and she whirled about, only to see her mother peering at her with curiosity.

"Abrielle?" Elspeth began as she closed the door. "Was that Raven Seabern I saw leaving this chamber?"

"It was."

Elspeth put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "And you met with him…alone?"

"It is not what you think, Mama," Abrielle said, already tired of the renewal of the husband hunt, when she'd only been a widow for a day.

"And what should I think, daughter? There are many young men within this keep who would like to be alone in a chamber with you, to press their advantage."

"That is not what Raven was doing."

"Then why does he not leave?"

Abrielle opened her mouth, but she didn't know how much to reveal. "He…declared himself to me," she said softly.

Elspeth's eyebrows rose. "I cannot say I am surprised, considering the way he has looked at you."

Abrielle groaned and shoved to her feet, not wanting her mother to see the anguish in her expression. "It is only the way they all look at me," she said, waving a hand to encompass the entire keep. "I am only the newest prize to be won."

"You are more than that, my dear."

"I am so tired of it, Mama," she whispered, surprised at how close to tears she was. "Yet I know it is my duty to find a man worthy of the responsibilities he will take on when he weds me."

"Should he not be worthy of you, rather than the responsibilities?"

"How can I think of that when there is so much at stake? I will have to make a decision based on many reasons, not just whether the man appeals to me."

"And does Raven appeal to you?"

"He's a Scot," Abrielle said forcefully. "Do you not see how Englishmen, both Saxon and Norman alike, mistrust his people?"

"And is that a reason to mistrust an honorable man, one who has rescued you without thought to himself?"

Abrielle bit her lip, knowing she had plenty of private reasons to mistrust Raven. "I will keep an open mind, Mama, but he is only one man among many."

THAT NIGHT ATdinner, Abrielle was surprised to find Thurstan seated at the head table with her family. He was conversing with Vachel, and she could detect not even a hint of a sneer. When he saw her and her mother approach, he rose to his feet with the other men in the great hall and gave her a small bow. Throughout the meal, he was solicitous about her first day's experiences as mistress of the great keep. He told her some of the duties he'd had the steward begin to oversee in the serfs' training. Abrielle could not understand why he was suddenly being kind to her, when all along he'd treated her as almost a rival for his uncle's attention. Unless…it was what all the men were concerned with now—her wealth and the power it brought.

After supper, he approached her where she sat before the massive hearth with her parents. "My lady, might I have a private word with you?"

Elspeth and Vachel exchanged a glance, and as if reading Abrielle's mind, Vachel said, "There is no need for you to leave your comfortable place, Abrielle. Your mother and I will leave you both alone."

She nodded to her parents gratefully, and then waited until they had moved away. She could not help noticing that several of the young bachelors were watching her, as if waiting their turn. Raven was speaking with his father, but he made no move to join the others. He settled for an occasional glance, regarding her with that calm confidence she found irritating and slightly ominous and, she had to admit, more than a bit intriguing. Was he really so confident he could win out over all these other decent Englishmen? Or was it that he felt that knowing her darkest secrets gave him the upper hand?

Thurstan took the bench her mother had been using, and she forced herself to concentrate on him.

"My lady, it strikes me that the terrible tragedy of my uncle's death does not have to be the end of the relationship between our two families."

She blinked at him in surprise. "This keep is now my home, Thurstan, and you live not far away."

"That is not what I mean," he said, with a hint of impatience in his voice. "You were married to my uncle; does it not make sense to keep the connection by marrying me?"

She barely kept her mouth from dropping open in shock, so much did he surprise her. "Thurstan…are you proposing to me?"

"I think the marriage would solve all the problems caused by my uncle's sudden death. I have been assisting him in the management of this keep since he inherited it. I could continue to do the same."

"And that is enough reason to marry?" she responded incredulously. "I have been under the distinct impression that your feelings for me were not fond."

To her rising disgust, he looked down her body. "I could not allow myself to feel anything for you when you were to become my uncle's wife. And the most important thing to bring to a marriage is respect."

"Respect?" She heard her voice rise, knew she should stop herself, but his gall proved too much. "Sir, you admit you were involved in the management of the keep and all its surrounding lands. Did I not just see the terrible condition of the people who were entrusted into your care?"

His mouth tightened. "My uncle—"

"Aye, I know, it was his land, his serfs. But you should have seen to those poor people who depended on you. I had no choice in marrying your uncle, but I would never willingly tie myself to your family again, after having seen how you treat fragile human beings."

Those yellowish-green eyes flashed at her, revealing the seething hatred he had kept banked inside him. "Then keep your virgin marriage vows," he said angrily.

She was grateful that there were so many people about, or she would have been terribly afraid of what she heard in his voice. As it was, she forced herself to meet his gaze with cool composure.

"But understand that Desmond de Marlé had monetary agreements that preceded your marriage contract," he continued.

"What agreements, sir? Are you saying that the contract, which was examined by advisers to both parties, was entered into falsely?"

"He did not honor the agreements made by Weldon to me, agreements that Desmond vowed he would finish in his brother's place."

"You mean a larger inheritance than what he has put in writing?"

Thurstan seemed furious and upset, as if he expected her to surrender to his anger. But Abrielle was tired of being a pawn in other people's games.

"He meant to—"

"I care little what you say he meant to do," Abrielle interrupted coldly. "It is only your word, if nothing is in writing."

"And do you doubt my word?" he demanded, his voice beginning to rise.

"I am sorry that you feel entitled to more than—"

"I do not want your pity!" he said, loudly enough that several heads turned at tables scattered through the hall. "Understand that your position is tenuous here, my lady," he said through gritted teeth.

"I am the Lady Abrielle de Marlé." She emphasized her late husband's name, then continued, "My position here is not ‘tenuous' at all."

"'Tis only a note of caution. If you do not have my protection—"

"I have the protection of my stepfather, his men, and the soldiers of my dead husband. Are you saying even they are not loyal?"

But Thurstan did not go so far, only meeting her accusation with silence.

"As far as I'm concerned, sir," she said, "we've settled this matter, and that is the way it shall stand until I'm shown viable proof that would lead me to decide differently. Whatever my husband inherited from his half brother months ago does not rightfully belong to any of Desmond's kinsmen, including you. My husband never once addressed any issue pertaining to his having heirs, especially anyone who should be duly considered now that he is dead. 'Tis a well-known fact that Desmond's previous wives died without issue. If you or any other men have an argument with the legality of the agreement Desmond signed of his own free will, then I would suggest that you cease your efforts to frighten me and take up this matter forthwith with my stepfather. Vachel de Gerard can convince you of the validity of the documents that he drew up with Desmond. I should further explain that if anything happens to cause my death, whether accidental or deliberate, all the wealth, holdings, and possessions that I am to inherit shall be transferred to my kinsmen without due recourse, that being my mother and stepfather. I'm sure if there are any threats made against them that Vachel shall be able to gather a force of men to protect them."

Thurstan rose to his feet. "You speak of murder as if our discussion threatened such a thing. It is not so."

The fact that he was backing down should have appeased her, but he reminded her of a snake biding his time before striking.

"I only seek to give you the facts, Sir Thurstan, so that we understand each other."

"'Twas my purpose as well, my lady."

They were so intent on staring at each other, neither realized someone had approached until a voice spoke. "Lady Abrielle, do ye wish assistance?"

Raven stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, looking as if he merely wanted to join in on their conversation. Abrielle was annoyed that he felt he had to help her, and she watched as the evil flame died within Thurstan's eyes.

Thurstan bowed to her. "Have a good evening, my lady."

Only when Desmond's nephew had ascended the stairs to find his chamber did Raven turn back to her. "That didna seem a pleasant conversation."

"You did not need to interrupt us. Will you always be playing my bodyguard now?"

He smiled. "If 'tis necessary." His eyes grew watchful. "Was it with him?"

"Nay, I handled our disagreement. Please do not interrupt me again."

When she rose to her feet, she heard him whisper, "Ah, but ye like my attention, lass."

Inside her, something trembled, and she despised her weakness where he was concerned. "I think not. Good evening."