Chapter Two

Oh… she’d been to this place before.

Caledonia wasn’t quite sure why she wasn’t completely honest with Canterbury other than the fact that she didn’t want him to know just how familiar she was with the taverns in London. Most of them, anyway. It wasn’t proper for a noblewoman to admit she regularly visited taverns, on her own no less, and most especially not a countess. An heiress to one of the largest and most ancient earldoms in all of England.

That would be her.

Seated near the window facing the street, Caledonia could partially see Canterbury and the knights who had come with him. They were mostly out of her sight, but she could see the tall form of Daniel de Lohr. He was speaking to his men. As she continued to watch, a serving wench brought her a pitcher of spiced, warmed wine and a cup without her even asking for it. That was how familiar most of the taverns on the east side of London were with Lady de Tosni, who traveled alone and had never once, in all that time, been molested or in need of protection.

Mostly because she was quite good with a knife and her foot-to-groin aim.

Not to say that a few hadn’t tried. She was a beautiful woman who reeked of sultry allure, so a few had been foolish enough to approach her. She ignored them until they forced themselves upon her, which had happened more than once, and anything she could use as a weapon would come flying out at them—knives made great deterrents and so did spoons. A cup of wine could be thrown into eyes because they made very effective targets, and when all else failed, a boot to the groin would serve as the final blow. It really wasn’t all that difficult and Caledonia was bold enough, and fearless enough, to carry it off. But because she was a good customer, usually the tavernkeeps would get involved and throw out the offender.

Still, she’d never once met a man she couldn’t get rid of.

And here she was, yet again, in the Wren and the Willow. They had particularly good stews here because the tavernkeep’s wife was a good cook. Even now, Caledonia thought she could smell something delicious in the air. Given that it was nearing sunset, her stomach was rumbling a bit. The mushrooms had worn off but the wine hadn’t, and she needed something in her stomach before she drank anything more. She had just whistled to the nearest serving wench when the door to the tavern opened.

A massive knight appeared.

She recognized him immediately as one of the men who came with Canterbury. In fact, it was the man who had hauled her over his shoulder. And broad shoulders they were. There was nothing about the man that wasn’t big and intimidating. He stood there a moment, surveying the room like a conqueror surveys his domain, before his gaze finally came to rest on her.

Caledonia sat up straight.

He headed for the table.

As Caledonia watched warily, he pulled off his helm and set it on the table. She wasn’t interested in the helm as much as she was interested in the knight—a strikingly handsome knight with dark, wavy hair to his shoulders and a square, firm jaw. When he settled down in his chair and looked at her, she recognized those bright blue eyes. The brightest eyes she’d ever seen. But the whole vision of him was head and shoulders above any man she’d ever seen. Like he had emerged from another place and time, where men were gloriously handsome, like gods. But as she was staring at him, he took her cup, poured out the wine, and, after taking a drink, refused to swallow and sprayed it out all over the floor.

“God’s Bones,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is that?”

His disgust in her favorite drink snapped her out of her trance. “Mulled wine,” she said, pulling the cup and pitcher in her direction. “Did you have to spit it out like that?”

He eyed her. “How would you have me spit it out?”

“You don’t spit it out. You drink it.”

He shook his head. “Not that stuff,” he said. “That stuff is for women and weaklings.”

So much for polite behavior. Caledonia sighed impatiently as she poured herself some wine, sipping on the sweet drink while the knight hailed one of the serving wenches and told her exactly what he wanted. Something very manly, undoubtedly. As the woman fled, he returned his attention to Caledonia.

“There,” he said. “We’ll have something good at this table.”

“This is good.”

She was lifting her cup, and he cocked an eyebrow. “As I said, it is a woman’s drink.”

He was starting to irritate her. “Why are you here?” she asked. “I thought Canterbury was going to send me the man I am to marry so that I could look him over. Well?”

He simply looked at her. Then he lifted his hands as if she was missing the obvious. Caledonia had to admit that she was so fixated on those bright eyes that it took her a moment to realize what he was telling her.

He was the man.

Her face fell.

“Nay,” she breathed. “Not you.”

“Me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You?”

“Me.”

Her cheeks turned red and it was clear that she was building up to some kind of explosion, so he put his hands up to ease whatever was rising. From what he’d seen, the lady had no trouble rising to anything.

“Before you throw a fit, know that I had nothing to do with this either,” he said. “Henry practically bullied me into this arrangement and, in some pathetic attempt to coax forth my husbandly sense of protectiveness, told me that you were being held at Gomorrah against your will and commanded me to retrieve you. That is why I was there. I was hunting for you. But, clearly, you were not being held against your will.”

“I was not.”

“As I said… none of this was my idea, lady, so if you are to become angry, become angry with Henry. I’m a pawn as much as you are.”

Caledonia didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, big and strong and handsome, so much more beautiful than her dead husband that she was having trouble believing the man was real. But he, too, was shocked and enraged by Henry’s matchmaking, and that meant, to Caledonia, that the man she found blindingly attractive must not find her attractive at all.

Embarrassment filled her.

“I see,” she said, her anger dramatically cooling. “What is your name, Blue Eyes?”

He was cut off from replying as a serving wench appeared with his drink and a bowl of something hot. She also had one for the lady. He waited until the servant left before answering.

“My name is Sir Thorington de Reyne,” he said. “I will answer to Thor. My father is the Earl of Ashington. My family is descended from the Visigoths, so bloodlust and warfare are in our veins. For the past two years, I have served Henry as his Lord Protector and he sees this marriage as a reward for my services, but he also arranged it to vex my father because those two treat me like a contest. They are constantly fighting one another for my services.”

He seemed arrogant, which was typical when it came to English knights, but Thor was clearly an elite knight if he had served as Lord Protector to the king. But what he said, including his manner, told her everything she needed to know. What she didn’t know, she could guess.

She could read him like a book.

“Let me see if I understand you,” she said. “You are an ambitious knight if you serve Henry directly, and if you have your father and Henry fighting for your services, then you must be well aware of your value. Henry gave me to you so that you could become the next Earl of Tamworth, something your ambitious blood pines for. Now, you will marry a de Wylde and your children will carry not only the line of the Visigoths, but the line of Mercian kings. Surely you know my father was a direct descendant of the last king of Mercia. Did Henry tell you that?”

He nodded slowly. “He did.”

He didn’t seem impressed by that in the least, and that only fed her sense of embarrassment and shame. The man clearly didn’t want her. Taking the pitcher of warm wine, she poured herself a full measure and drank deeply.

“Now,” she said, wiping her mouth with her hand. “Since neither one of us can refuse this marriage, I suggest we come to an agreement. I will provide you with the Tamworth title, of course, and should you decide I am worthy of your bed, I will hopefully bear you an heir. I will, of course, surrender Edingale Castle to you, the seat of Mercian kings, and you will allow me to live in Stafford Castle and go about my business as I choose. I will not bother you and you will not bother me. Is that acceptable?”

She was being businesslike, but there was more to it. The embarrassment she had been trying to keep hidden was coming out in her words and actions. She could see that Thor was watching her carefully, tracking her like a hunter would track prey. His gaze never left her. When she was finished speaking, there were a few moments of pause before he replied.

“If that is what you wish,” he said, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. “I am agreeable to whatever you wish, my lady, but I have some questions.”

“What are they?”

He regarded her a moment, toying with his cup. It was obvious that something was on his mind. “I’d like to know something,” he said. “If you were not being held at Gomorrah against your will, then why were you there?”

“Because I enjoy the entertainment and the wine.”

She hadn’t hesitated to answer him, short and concise. He pondered her response, his brow furrowing when he realized she didn’t seem ashamed at all about her choice of entertainment establishments. For a woman, that was rather bold and reckless. Certainly not ladylike.

“There are other places you can attend that are not nearly so unsuitable,” he said. “Surely you know that Gomorrah’s reputation isn’t entirely suitable.”

“Suitable for whom? For you? For me?” Caledonia shook her head at him. “That is something else we must establish from the start. I will choose my own entertainment, where I go, and whom I see.”

“You will not shame me.”

“What do you care? You’re getting the money and the title. That should be enough to compensate for any perceived shame.”

He was taken aback by her attitude. He’d never heard anything so bold or brazen. In fact, it greatly perplexed him. The woman looked like an ethereal goddess with her white hair and dark, intense eyes, but her behavior… He was stumped.

“Are you serious?” he finally asked.

She cocked her head, and her hair, which was unbound and immodest for a widow, fell over one eye when she moved. “What do you mean?”

“I mean your view on how this marriage shall be conducted,” he said. “Are you truly so callous about it?”

“How should I be?”

Thor couldn’t tell if that was truly her attitude or if she was being defensive because she thought that was what he wanted.

This marriage will be what you make of it.

That was what Daniel had said to him and, truthfully, he was right. But Thor was up against something he’d never been up against before—a woman who was indifferent to him. Somehow, perhaps he’d arrogantly believed she would take one look at him and be agreeable to the marriage. Subservient, even. Fall at his feet like all women did. But that wasn’t the case. Was it possible he’d met the one woman in all of England who didn’t find him attractive?

That realization was enough to fill him with outrage. If she didn’t want him, there was nothing he could to do make the marriage feasible. Perhaps it was best that Henry see what he’d done to two people he claimed to value.

“Come,” he said, suddenly bolting to his feet. Reaching over the table, he grabbed her by the wrist. “The king is expecting us and we will not keep the man waiting.”

Caledonia stumbled after him as he pulled on her. “Why so rushed?” she wanted to know, looking longingly at the table they’d just left, laden with food and drink. “Can we at least finish our meal?”

Thor didn’t answer. He was furious and, if he was willing to admit it, oddly disappointed. Caledonia de Tosni was a seductive beauty if he’d ever seen one and her apathy toward their marriage disappointed him. A woman like that was beyond price. As he pulled her out into the night, his mind wandered to the future, where he had a gloriously beautiful wife as the Earl of Tamworth. He could see sons bearing the blood of ancient Mercian kings, sons who would bear the powerful de Reyne name. Sons that would be the most sought-after knights in England, like their father. He saw so many things now dashed at his feet.

They were going to settle this once and for all.