me, you insolent wench? Where is your gratitude for everything I’ve done for you? Your thanks that I’ve found a man willing to take you?”
A man? Sir Rheged was a man. Sir Blane was more like a degenerate fiend in human form. “While I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, Uncle—”
“You don’t sound grateful! You sound just like your damned mother!”
The words stung like a slap. Nevertheless she had to object. If she didn’t speak now, she might regret it for the rest of her life. “Sir Blane—”
“Is willing to take you off my hands and that’s the end of it,” her uncle said as he threw himself back into his chair. “Say nothing of this to anyone until I announce it tomorrow. I won’t have you taking the attention from my feast, or the champion, even if he is an ignorant, uncouth Welshman. Now go.”
She stayed where she was. “Uncle, I appreciate that I came to you with little, and you were forced to take me in. But to marry me off to a man like Sir Blane! Can you really be so callous and cruel, and to your own flesh and blood?”
Her uncle’s face was like iron, hard and cold. “If you refuse him, another must take your place, so either you marry him or Mavis must, for the agreement has been signed and the alliance made. But if it must be Mavis, know that I’ll marry you off to the first man I can find willing to take you for nothing except an alliance with me.”
Her choice was no choice. Making the merry, gentle, loving Mavis wed Sir Blane would be like murdering her. “I shall abide by your agreement, Uncle, and marry Sir Blane.”
“On your word of honor?”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him. “On my word of honor,” she replied, each word like a nail in her coffin.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?”
She looked at the man who had never loved her, despite all her efforts, until his gaze faltered.
Then she turned and left him.
* * *
Feet planted, hands clasped behind his back, his stoic gaze sweeping over the hall and those gathered there, Rheged stood on the dais in the great hall of Castle DeLac waiting to receive his prize. The torches and expensive candles gracing the tables burned brightly, illuminating not just his prize and the fine clothes of the guests, but their less-than-pleased expressions, too.
His arms ached and he would have a few bruises come the morning, but what was that, or the angry and jealous looks from those who’d lost, if he received that valuable golden box?
Even so, it was not the box that commanded his attention most. It was Tamsin, far down the hall, half-hidden behind one of the stone pillars. Something had obviously upset or disturbed her. Gone was the lively gleam in her eye and the proud carriage of her head. The vitality that had seemed to shine forth from her slender frame and made him think she would be capable of managing everything and anything in a lord’s castle, even to commanding the garrison if need be, had apparently ebbed away.
Lord DeLac came toward him holding out the prize.
Perhaps she was ill, but if so, surely she wouldn’t be in the hall at all.
“A fine effort, Sir Rheged,” Lord DeLac said, his smile more than half a smirk.
Maybe she was simply exhausted. It must be tiring running a large household, and there were many guests here, and feasts to arrange, with dishes of fish, fowl like swans and geese, roasted beef, pork and mutton, pottages of peas and leeks, greens and fresh bread.
“I congratulate you on your victory,” Lord DeLac continued. “Not unexpected, given your reputation, but well earned nonetheless.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rheged replied, not troubling to feign a smile in response when Lord DeLac placed the box in his hands. It was heavy, and the jewels decorating it glinted in the torchlight, reminding him of the reason he had come to Castle DeLac—to win this prize and collect ransoms. He needed money to begin the necessary repairs to his own fortress, to rise another step on the long ladder to power and prosperity.
He had not come here to concern himself with the troubles of Lord DeLac’s niece.
An elderly priest appeared from the corner near the dais to bless the meal. When he finished, it was as if he’d given a signal for everyone to speak at once while they took their seats. Rheged had been given the place of honor to the right of Lord DeLac. Lady Mavis sat on Lord DeLac’s left, with Lord Rossford beside her, while the elderly, stone-deaf Lady Rossford, who had been nursing a chill and seemingly recovered, sat on Rheged’s right. He couldn’t have conversed with her even if he’d wanted to, and her pursed lips made it clear she had no desire to speak with him, either.
The rest of the noble guests were seated below the dais, enjoying excellent wine as they talked and laughed, chatted and whispered and gossiped, while a bevy of servants tended to them under the ever-watchful eye of Tamsin, who barely touched her meal. Looking for all the world like a defeated general, she sat at a table that was far enough away to seem an insult.
Something truly serious must have happened to affect her so.
“Well, Sir Rheged, do you not agree?” Lord DeLac asked, his tone slightly impatient as the last course of baked fruit and pastries came to an end.
“I beg your pardon, my lord? The magnificence of your feast has taken all my attention,” Rheged replied, thinking it probably wouldn’t be wise to voice his concern about the man’s niece now, or ever.
Wiping his greasy fingers on a pristine linen napkin, Lord DeLac smiled. “I said, between the prize I offered and the ransoms for horses and arms you captured in the melee, you have become somewhat richer today.”
“The prize is a most magnificent and generous one, my lord, and your hospitality is without parallel.”
Lord DeLac leaned back in his chair and reached for the silver goblet in front of him, the jewels in his rings twinkling like the thick chain around his neck. “I understand you have no wife. You must be thinking of taking a bride soon.”
“Thinking of it,” Rheged agreed, certain the man was not about to propose Rheged marry his daughter, or his niece. A man like DeLac would surely seek rich, influential husbands for his female relatives, not a Welshman who’d been born of peasant parents and fought his way to a knighthood and an estate.
Nevertheless, to flatter the lady and his host, he bestowed a smile on Lady Mavis. Yes, most men would call her beautiful, with her fair hair and milky white skin, fine features and swanlike neck, but she was not the one Rheged had thought about before falling asleep last night, or when he was waiting for the melee to begin. Nor, he was sure, would she be in his thoughts tonight.
Nor would he be in hers, for although Lady Mavis blushed, she did not return his smile.
On the other hand, that wasn’t so surprising. Women always responded to him in one of two ways: either with fear and trepidation, avoiding his gaze like Lady Mavis; or with avid interest and not a little indication that they would enjoy sharing his bed. Sometimes he took one of them up on their offer. Most times he did not.
Only Tamsin had ever seemed concerned about his well-being and comfort.
