think of a woman who dared to embarrass him in front of all these people? No matter how she felt about the arranged marriage, Mina had given her word. Was it wise to anger her future husband?
Mina slowed her steps and lowered her eyes demurely. When she reached the dais at the far end of the curved hall, she made a deep obeisance. “Forgive my intrusion, Sir Roger,” she said softly. “I fear, however, that no one informed you of our arrival.”
Finally, finally, Sir Roger de Montmorency got up, still fixing her with his dark, measuring stare. His thigh-length tunic was belted about his waist and exposed long, lean legs. She noticed that his hands were slender and sinewy, obviously strong and surely capable of handling the heaviest weapons with ease.
“You are late and sent no word,” her betrothed said in a voice as unfriendly as his expression. “We could not wait the supper.”
“The bridge not five miles from here has been washed away... my lord,” she added, with just enough of a pause to give her time to glance up at him. Let him see her eyes, too. Let him realize that she knew he had been unforgivably rude to herself and to her half brother, who was of a higher rank.
A vein in Sir Roger’s forehead began to pulse, and she surmised she had scored a hit. “I’m sure it is not your fault,” she said sweetly. “Underlings are often all too anxious to take advantage of a kind and generous lord.” What a lie! she thought as she waited for him to respond. She could well imagine how he would treat his tenants. They would probably all welcome a mistress who understood what it was like to be mistreated.
Sir Roger made no answer, nor did his expression alter.
A particularly colorful curse rose to her lips. How could he continue to be so rude, with all these people watching? Was he that sure of himself that he did not fear their censure?
Looking at him, she thought he probably was.
“May I sit?” she asked, though it was not a request.
“My lady, please, take my chair.” The gray-haired knight moved quickly aside. He smiled again, a kind but knowing smile. “I am Sir Albert Lacourt. Naturally we are delighted by your arrival, but you are quite wet through. Are you certain you would care to—”
“I was most anxious to meet my future husband,” Mina interrupted calmly as she came around the table, removed her cloak—and suddenly realized that her soaking dress was clinging to her body like a second skin. She felt her face flush with embarrassment, and a quick glance at the assembly proved that she was making a spectacle of herself. Even the ancient priest was looking at her as if he had never seen a woman before. Considering she might as well be naked, perhaps that was not so far from the truth.
Nevertheless, she said not a word and took her chair as if nothing untoward had occurred.
“I, um, trust your journey was most pleasant except for the final portion,” Sir Albert said.
“Yes, it was,” Mina replied.
A serving wench with enormous breasts and a brazen manner that suggested her duties did not end with the hall but probably extended to the lord’s bedchamber, as well, set down a platter of meat with a clatter.
Mina turned to Sir Roger and realized his gaze was fastened on her own breasts. “I see you are hungry, too,” she remarked evenly.
A disgruntled frown flew across her intended’s face before he turned his attention to the trencher before him.
“The storm was so severe, we were sure you had taken refuge somewhere along the road,” Sir Albert observed after a moment of awkward silence.
“We would have, but Reginald was most certain of a kind welcome here and insisted we continue,” she answered truthfully, keeping any hint of irony from her words.
Reginald finally appeared at the entrance to the hall. The reason for his delayed arrival was apparent immediately. He had changed his clothes and dried his hair as much as he could. Now he wore a long tunic of a heavy brocade that seemed to emphasize his thinness rather than make him look sturdier, which, Mina suspected, was its intention. He stood there awkwardly, frantically trying to curl his hair with his fingers.
To Mina’s considerable chagrin, Sir Roger immediately stood up and strode toward her half brother. “Lord Chilcott!” he cried, his deep voice decidedly pleasant. “How pleased I am to see you again!”
Mina tried to stifle the flush she felt coloring her face. She rose immediately and spoke to Sir Albert. “If you will excuse me, sir, I fear I am greatly fatigued after all. Good night, Sir Albert. It was a pleasure making your acquaintance.” Her gaze fixed on the buxom serving wench, who was once again making her way along the table refilling wine goblets. “I wish to be shown to my quarters.”
“Of course, my lady,” the wench said, her air of insolence noticeably diminished. Mina heard the men approaching, but she did not look at them or say anything.
Instead, she followed the maidservant, who tossed her long, honey brown hair and led the way toward the stairs leading upward to what Mina assumed was the upper hall.
Once away from the crowd, Mina smiled to herself, for she was certain that whatever else she had accomplished in the hall, she had shown the mighty Sir Roger de Montmorency that she could not be completely cowed.
As Roger walked back to his place with Reginald Chilcott at his side, he watched his future bride glide toward the stairs behind Hilda. She had not waited to be excused, or even said a farewell. God’s blood, what kind of woman had he agreed to marry?
“Sit down and eat,” he growled at the overdressed Reginald, who blushed noticeably, his face turning nearly as red as his scarlet tunic. His elaborate garments were quite a contrast to the severely plain gown his relative had worn. Either Mina Chilcott was not nearly as vain as her half brother, or her garments were merely an extension of her frigid personality.
His almost brother-in-law cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mina is...she is not an easy person sometimes, Sir Roger,” he explained haltingly, “but she was most competent in managing my father’s estate in his final years when he was not able to do so himself. Perhaps once you are married, she will...mellow?” he finished hopefully.
Roger thought it highly unlikely that a woman of Mina Chilcott’s coloring and temperament could ever be made to “mellow.” He caught Albert’s censorious eye and pushed some particularly savory venison in a rich, spicy sauce toward the younger nobleman. “Please, eat.”
With a grateful smile, Reginald started consuming an astonishing amount for one of such slender build. Mercifully it seemed that Reginald would rather eat than talk. Albert, too, stayed quiet, and most of the guests talked softly among themselves.
At last Reginald belched delicately and said, “A very fine meal, my lord. My compliments to your cook. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I, too, shall retire.”
“If you wish, I shall have someone bring you some mulled wine to your bedchamber,” his host offered with more graciousness, since Reginald was leaving. Roger signaled for Dudley to come toward the table.
Reginald’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes, Sir Roger. I would like that. Thank you very much.”
Roger kept his amusement to himself, though it seemed the young fool
