Chosen for the Marriage Bed

Elizabeth sighed. ‘I fear so. And my toes. Jane Bringsty urges pennyroyal salve on me, but to no avail.’

‘We must look after you here. I cannot have a Malinder bride suffering.’

He looked again at her hands, warmly enclosed within his. They might be damaged and painful, but her fingers were long and slender, the nails pale ovals. They could be beautiful, he suspected. And it reminded him that he must give her some symbol of their union. Not a ring yet, he decided. Not until she could wear it with pride and some satisfaction. But he knew exactly what he would give her.

Elizabeth made no attempt to pull away. When, in a noble gesture of chivalry towards his bride, Richard bent his head to kiss her work-scarred hands, he felt the slightest return of pressure as she tightened her fingers on his. The little gesture of trust tugged at his heart, surprising him, so that he felt compelled to turn her hand to press his lips to her palm. In contrast to her fingers the skin was enticingly soft so that he lingered, his lips warming, then looking up to find her eyes searching his face. He was transfixed by the beauty of their violet depths, a leaping connection that made him want to soothe and reassure her as he would a newly broken mare.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other.

The she pulled her hands free and the moment was broken.

‘Let us go down. The wind has too much of an edge here.’ He made to lead her down the steps, placing himself unobtrusively between the lady and the increasing gusts. ‘Food, I think. And you need to be introduced to those of the household whom you have not already met.’

On level ground again within the courtyard, sheltered from the worst, he pulled her hand through his arm to walk back to the living quarters, in no manner dissatisfied with the turn of events. Outspoken to a fault she might be, she would never be easy to live with—too much obstinacy, too wilful, he had decided—but there was at least a measure of agreement between them.

Whilst Elizabeth de Lacy fought a difficult battle to repress the little spurt of hope that warmed her heart. Takecare! she warned herself. It would be too easy to allow this man to break down the barriers so effectively constructed over the years to protect her heart from further hurt. But Richard Malinder was kind. He had shown her a level of understanding that she had not expected, and his arm was strong beneath her hand.

‘What is it?’

Glancing across at her as they reached the courtyard, he seemed to catch her line of thought, and smiled at her as he made his enquiry. But Elizabeth, after a little hesitation, merely shook her head and veiled her eyes with dark lashes. How could she tell this man who was concerned for her happiness and the state of her hands that he was so very beautiful? That his dark hair, ruffled to a tangle by the wind, and the stunning lines, the flat planes of his face, brought an uncomfortable flutter to her heart.

A sudden gust of wind blew her cloak, rippled her veil. She raised her hands to hold it secure, conscious of her unsatisfactory pinning of the folds. Aware of nothing but the sheer magnetism of this dark figure who stood so close and to whom she would soon be bound. Aware of nothing but the throb of her blood beneath his touch. The imprint of his mouth on her palm still burned like a brand. She closed her fingers tightly over it.

Before they parted company at the main door, their paths crossed that of Robert, who had unashamedly been watching their approach. Smiling, he bowed to the departing Elizabeth, then cast a wry look towards at his cousin.

‘A pity that she…’

Robert lurched to a stop as he read the cool expression, most definitely a warning that dared him to say more. ‘No matter. I was always tactless.’ And then, irrepressible to the last, ‘But she’s not a cosy armful, and you can’t argue that she is!’

Richard merely stared at his cousin, searching for a suitable reply, only to find himself thinking of Gwladys. Beautiful, desirable in face and figure, any man’s dream to own and hold. He remembered as a young man falling hopelessly in love with her undeniable beauty, his physical response to her, his desire to kiss her and caress her into mindless delight. He recalled his pride in her as his wife and his hopes for that marriage. How his breath had caught, his loins stirred whenever he set eyes on her. Now Elizabeth… A complicated woman who roused in him—what? He wasn’t sure.

‘No, she’s not a cosy armful. But at least Elizabeth is honest. I think she might be incapable of dissembling,’ he replied, unaware of the snap in his voice until he saw Robert’s reaction. ‘Unlike Gwladys, who…’ Richard shifted, impatient with himself, conscious of Robert’s arched stare, his piqued interest at what had been a carelessly thoughtless comment on his part. He should not have made it. But at least he knew Robert would not ask.

And Richard found his thoughts leaping from beautiful Gwladys to Elizabeth de Lacy. It was not as uncomfortable a leap as he might have suspected. She’s not beautiful, butneither is she plain. She talks to people. She has beautifuleyes. She speaks openly without dissembling. Her touch isfirm and responsive when I take her hand. She smoothedthe wound on my hand as if my pain mattered to her. WhenI kissed her hand, she responded. What would it be like…?

What would it be like to kiss her lips?

Richard cursed himself for a fool.

Elizabeth found a refuge in the solar where she could consider, and marvel at Richard Malinder’s effect on her. Hardly had she sunk to her knees before a welcome fire than the door opened to admit Mistress Anne, a vision of delectable feminine fashion. A fur-edged side-less surcote fit snugly over a vibrant green cotehardie, falling in dramatic folds from the jewelled belt around her elegant hips, a fashion guaranteed to draw the eye to the girl’s soft curves. The transparent veil did nothing to hide the glory of her plaited hair.

‘Elizabeth. If you need anything for your marriage, Richard is to ride to Hereford tomorrow,’ Anne announced in a glory of self-importance.

‘Thank you. I will speak to him.’ A little wary.

Anne seated herself comfortably beside the fire in a confiding manner, folded her hands. Smiled. ‘He will make time to see Mistress Joanna there, I expect.’

The moment hung in silence, as the dust motes hung in the still air, glinting in the sun. Not at all innocent, but sharp edged and deadly. Recognising it for what it was, a malicious tease, Elizabeth titled her chin, waited.

‘Did you not know? Well, of course, how should you!’ Anne, brow smooth, eyes wide, was all concern and gentle compassion. ‘But best that you should know what everyone at Ledenshall knows.’

‘And what is that?’ Elizabeth’s breathing was shallow. ‘Who is Joanna?’

‘Richard’s mistress, of course. Everyone knows Richard has a mistress in Hereford.’

Ah! ‘And you thought, in your concern for my peace of mind, that you should inform me of Richard’s liaison?’

‘Why, yes. Do you think me insensitive? Forgive me, dear Elizabeth, I presumed you would wish to know. I meant no ill will. I would never deliberately hurt you.’ Anne’s smile was sorrowful, her eyes not so.

Elizabeth marvelled at her control. She titled her head in speculative interest, kept her gaze steady, her voice supremely composed. When she answered it was with the slightest lift of her shoulders. ‘Richard’s concerns are, of course, his own. Mine too, perhaps, when we are wed, but certainly, Mistress Anne, they are not yours.’

‘Why, no. Of course not. Forgive me my ill judgement.’

But the damage was done. Anne Malinder did not stay.

Alone again, Elizabeth allowed the fury within her to settle from flame to ash. So Richard had a mistress in Hereford called Joanna. Of course she would wish to know of such a liaison, and of course Richard might have a mistress, but she would rather not hear it from Mistress Anne’s viperous tongue. Elizabeth’s fingers curled into admirable claws. How she had stopped herself from attacking the malicious little creature, verbally at least, she had no idea. Then her nails dug into her palms as she recalled how impossibly beautiful Anne Malinder was with the sunlight on her red-gold hair, gleaming in her emerald eyes.

Her thoughts turned to her betrothed with a sinking heart. She had thought him kind this morning in their meeting on the battlements. Yes, he was, but only because it did not matter to him. He did not need an intimate relationship with her beyond the purely physical to achieve an heir. How foolish to allow that little seed of hopeful anticipation to become implanted in her heart.

So Elizabeth raised her head, lifted her chin, drawing on pride as she had so many times before. She would make the best of this marriage and make use of Richard Malinder as he would make use of her, if that was the best she could do. She would administer Ledenshall Castle with all her considerable ability. She would dress well for the marriage as befitted a Malinder bride. She would challenge Mistress Anne’s determination to hurt and wound. She would certainly show no weakness before her or respond to her barbed arrows. If battle lines had been drawn between them on the previous day, Elizabeth now silently declared war.

And it was in this mood that she found herself cornered by Jane Bringsty, who sought her mistress out with deliberate and heavy footsteps, intent on good advice and herbal potions.

‘There’s one thing that you should do before you spend many more nights under this roof, my lady.’ Jane handed over a small pot of a slimy green substance with an unpleasant smell. She saw the frown immediately forming between Elizabeth’s brows. ‘Use it and don’t fuss. It will bring nothing but ease.’

Without comment, because it was the simplest thing to do—and true—Elizabeth obediently began to smooth the salve of pennyroyal into her hands and fingers, her mind occupied with the bright memory of Richard Malinder’s cool mouth against her damaged skin.

‘What is it that I should do before I stay here longer?’ She drew in her breath at the hot itch as her fingers grew warm.

‘Get rid of that woman—of Mistress Anne Malinder.’

Elizabeth’s eyes flew to her servant’s face, to see there not the mild mischief as she had expected, but something deeper, more severe.

‘I think we are in agreement, Jane,’ Elizabeth replied carefully. ‘I cannot like her. But she’ll be gone back to Moccas as soon as the wedding ceremonies are over.’

‘Tomorrow would not be soon enough. A little belladonna administered in her wine. Not enough to cause harm, but—’

Elizabeth’s expression became stern. ‘No, Jane. You will not. I don’t fear her.’

‘Well, you should. She’s a danger.’

‘Have you been scrying again?’ Elizabeth’s demanded, her fingers stilled.

‘What if I have?’ Jane bustled about the chamber, folding the borrowed cloak, then returned to fix her mistress with a stare. ‘But I did not need to. Nor do you if you’ll be honest with yourself. Mistress Anne is easy to read. I have your best interests in my thoughts and actions. She does not.’

‘What did you see?’ Curiosity got the better of Elizabeth, even as she silently reproved herself for encouraging such dabblings.

‘Not much, but enough to know.’ Satisfied, Jane took the pot of salve from her mistress and replaced the stopper. ‘The dark man who would wish you ill is still there.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Enough of him. Anne Malinder is red-gold and venomous, her green eyes glossed with sly envy and jealousy. She wants him. If you take my advice, a quick bout of sickness would persuade that lady to remove herself to her own home, far away from you and his lordship. I wager she’d not be interested in feasting and dancing with pains in her limbs and in her belly.’