A Lady's Charade (Medieval Romance Novel) (2 page)

“Sit down,” he ordered, his hand sweeping out to indicate the chair beside him. Her mother took her cue, and sat on his other side.

“I am pleased you have returned safely.” He awkwardly patted her hand.

“As am I. It is good to be home.” Chloe kept her gaze in her lap.

“Glad, I am, that you feel that way. South Hearth belongs to the Fergussons. It always has, and we will never let some
Sassenachs
take it from us again!” At this, he pounded his fist on the table.

Chloe jumped at the sudden movement, but quickly recovered herself.

“As for you, daughter, you will be married.”

“Married?” Chloe couldn’t keep herself from responding, or from the horror that invaded her voice. She didn’t want to marry. Not yet anyway. She hadn’t been home more than a few hours. There’d been no time to meet any of the eligible bachelors, make her choice. But from the determined set of her father’s jaw, she could easily surmise, there wouldn’t be a choice. The picture of her own knight sweeping her off her feet reared up and then started to fade away.

“Aye. You will do your duty.” His statement left no room for argument.

“My duty.” Chloe let the words roll off her tongue. How bitter and rancid they tasted.

“My second in command, Angus is in need of a wife. Since Jon, my son and heir has passed on from this earth, I naturally want to make sure the Fergusson clan is in capable hands. Your duty as my daughter, and only child, is to marry whom I choose for that purpose.”

“Angus.” Chloe tried to remember the man, and then there he was, melting from the woodwork it seemed as he suddenly appeared at the table.

He was old, nearly her father’s age. Still built like a warrior, but old none the less. His face was cruel. Lines etched into the corners of his eyes and brow. But no lines around his mouth. He didn’t smile much.

The man sat down, and the meal began. She watched as he stabbed at a piece of meat, the movement almost like he was stabbing at her heart. There was no talk of wedding plans or even a date, and for that, Chloe was relieved. Mayhap she could push it far enough off, that the man might perish.
What a perfectly horrid thing to think!
She berated herself and immediately said a prayer for the man’s health.

After that, Chloe tuned out the conversation, and no one made any comments to her either. When the meal was complete, she snuck out the buttery door and headed for the family chapel. No one deigned to stop her, and even if they did, she would have pushed past them. Her father was going to force her to marry the cruel, old, Angus. From the look of him, he would be rough with her, unkind. Not a match she would have chosen for herself if they were the two last people on earth, and humankind’s survival depended on it.

Duty. Honor.

Angry tears welled in her eyes. She’d always thought she had a good sense of honor and duty. But never in her life had they been put to the test. Not until now. At the French court, all the men she had interaction with were romantic, handsome, not rigid and cold.

She entered the chapel and went to kneel before the altar. She crossed herself and began her prayers. Prayers for strength. Prayers for salvation. Prayers for patience. Prayers that her parents might change their minds.

When she finished, she exited the back of the chapel and headed for the family crypt. Would Jon’s tomb still be there? Had the heathen’s who’d taken South Hearth from them before destroyed consecrated grounds? She was relieved when she found his tomb, undisturbed. Carved with his name, birth and death dates, their family motto, beside several other Fergussons. She dropped to her knees and let the tears fall.

“Oh, Jon!” Her head feel into her hands.

If only her brother were still here, still alive. He would have been able to talk sense into her father. Not make her marry his second in command, simply because he didn’t want to lose a battle.

Then again, mayhap Jon would still be there if it weren’t for her.

She wiped her tears away with the length of her sleeve and tilted her head to the heavens. She stared up at the graying sky. Jon had been her best friend, her confidante. He’d taught her so much, loved her for who she was.

Chapter Two

Calais, France

Mid-October, 1415

The air was crisp and ripe with the scents of battle. The metallic odor of blood wafted in the morning fog. The smell of the dead and the living intermingled to create an aroma that can only come after fierce warfare. Whoops and hollers echoed across the fields from the victorious men. Groans of pain drifted in the wind.

There are some days that remain the same, and some days that change the entire path of your life. Today would be one of those days.

Lord Alexander Drake, Baron of Hardwyck, walked briskly to the ornately decorated tents upon the hill. His heart beat erratically in his chest. The rush from such a fierce fight and jubilation at victory raced through his veins. The guards nodded and stepped aside. King Henry V sat in his high-backed wooden chair, a serene expression on his face.

“Your majesty, I came as soon as I received your message.” Alexander bowed low to his sovereign. He made sure to drop his gaze, as the good king did not like his vassals to look him in the eyes.

Discreetly Alexander sniffed himself. The stench was not as strong as he feared. At least he wouldn’t offend his leader too much.

“Lord Hardwyck. Stand. I am pleased you came so quickly.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, majesty.” As he stood, Alexander attempted to wipe some of the blood from his hands.

“By the faith I owe to God and Saint George, you Lord Hardwyck, have made your king proud. However, before I can let you return to your holdings in England, I have one last conquest for you, which you will find benefits you greatly.”

“I am humbly at your service, majesty.” From the corner of his eye, Alexander could see his own father, the Earl of Northumberland, enter the tent and nod in approval to the king’s words.

Inwardly he groaned. Although the idea of another conquest excited him, he was disappointed he would not be returning home. His men were tired, he hadn’t seen his lands in months and he was in dire need of a warm, soft and willing wench. How long would this next conquest last?

It had to be nearly four months, since they left England to assist the king in regaining his lands and titles in France. Alexander was only too happy for the king they’d done well. They’d just won the battle of Agincourt. It was a bloody affair, one they weren’t sure at first they’d be able to win, having been outnumbered nearly three to one. Alexander was lucky to have only lost twenty of his men, and only too glad the dysentery epidemic seemed to pass right by his regiment.

“Baron Fergusson crossed the borders from the insufferable Scotland Lowlands and laid claim to South Hearth Castle,” King Henry claimed.

Alexander’s gaze shot to his father. South Hearth was one of his father’s holdings in the north of England, just on the border, and often a seat of great controversy between the Scots and themselves—the former believing the holding was on Scottish lands. He was also aware that Fergusson was the last Scottish chief to rule over South Hearth and its lands.

“Even with our latest treaty, the damnable Scots will act like savages. I have heard on good authority, he is planning a siege against several of our other holdings on the border of Scotland. He is a difficult man, a most treacherous man. I feel he will attempt an attack soon. That cannot happen. We must attack first. You will besiege South Hearth and return it to English rule.” King Henry took a deep breath. The king’s eyes bored into Alexander, causing him to shift with unease. “I wish to further foolproof the deed.”

“Aye, my liege?” Alexander’s stomach twisted into knots. He wasn’t against battle, he wasn’t against killing an enemy, but the look in his leader’s eyes said there was something much different about this mission. What could the king mean? What further could he do, besides regaining control, to ensure it was indeed theirs to keep?

“You will marry the Baron’s daughter, Lady Chloe Fergusson.”

Alexander’s eyes shot up, his mouth dropped open and his ears began to ring. Had he heard correctly? For certes he wanted to slide between the sheets with a woman, but a wife? That was
not
part of his plan.

King Henry narrowed his gaze, and Alexander lowered his eyes. This couldn’t be. He couldn’t marry. A painful burning knotted his stomach, and he swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat. Marry a Scot? The thought of marrying an Englishwoman was bad enough. Scotswomen were ill bred, bloated fishwives.

“Once you have besieged South Hearth, Baron Fergusson and his followers are to be imprisoned. Anyone who attempts to go against you should be executed. Marry the girl as soon as possible. South Hearth Castle, the lands and a new title will be yours. I am happy to offer them to you knowing they will be in English hands.”

Alexander blinked. The lands would have gone to him in any case upon his father’s death. In essence, he was inheriting early—and inheriting a wife along with it. “Majesty, there must be another way besides marriage to secure our position.”

“Nay, Dragon, there is not. I want Fergusson to know he’s crossed the line for the last time.” Calling Alexander by his warrior name and giving him a piercing stare, made it all too clear King Henry would not change his position. “I suspect the baron has much support in Scotland and France. There are many that do not believe in my just rights and inheritances.” The king began to sputter. “By all the saints, I only do what God has ordained me to do!”

“Aye, your grace. We shall leave at once.” There was no use in arguing further with the king. He’d made a decision and this was the way it would be. There was no other choice but for Alexander to follow his rule.

He made his bows to the king, and left the tent. Being a knight and lord under the king was a trying position. He certainly loved what he did. He enjoyed training his soldiers, loved to see them do well in battle, felt blessed he’d made it thus far to eight and twenty years with nary a serious wound. But marry?

“My son,” the Earl of Northumberland clasped his arm outside the tent, his bony fingers pressing hard against Alexander’s chinked armor. “You have done a most glorious duty for the king if he believes you are to be honored in such a way.”

Alexander snorted. “A Scots woman? They’re all barbarians.” He ground his heel into the dirt, letting his latest duties sink in. “God’s teeth!” he said under his breath. “‘Tis a great honor to gain the notice and love of my king. However, the wife I may not cherish so much.”

A bitter laugh escaped his father’s lips. “No need to worry so much about your wife. There are many ways to handle a woman. Just remember she is merely that. A woman. She is to do your bidding. Show her the strong side of your fist. You may well enjoy having someone to rub your feet at night, and bed when you please. Your cock will thank you for it.”

“Ah, Father, I can have any woman any time,” Alexander boasted. “’Tis not that which I am concerned about. ‘Tis a knife slitting my throat while I sleep.”

His father laughed a brittle old laugh. He was wraith thin, his cheekbones jutting from his face. “Not to worry, my son. She will most likely be too busy cowering in the corner.”

The image was distasteful. No matter how much of an ugly, flatulent shrew she would most likely be, Alexander hoped she wouldn’t spend her time cowering in the corner. He’d never beat a woman either. Although he wanted his wife to be obedient, he certainly didn’t want her to be a simpering fool. He’d heard tell despite their boorishness, Scotswomen were feisty, lusty and inventive. But that was only a rumor. If he was lucky, perhaps the fact that he had to marry wasn’t so bad, knowing that the bedding would be eventful.

“’Twill be an easy task for you. The bloody Scots savages are no match for your seasoned knights.” His father fluttered his hands in an exaggerated motion.

Alexander knew taking siege of the castle would not be difficult. He and his knights were the best. Once he was in control he’d imprison the worthless lot of them.

“Yes, father. Will you join me?” He prayed the man would say no.

“No, my son. I have much to do at home. I am leaving for England in the morning. I will come to Hardwyck when you return.”

Just the mention of his village and keep brought an ache to his heart. He’d been on campaign so long he wasn’t sure what a down-filled mattress felt like anymore. Camp followers filled his more baser needs, but laying with a wench on the ground who’d just been with another knight moments before wasn’t his style. How he wished to sleep in his own bed, pull a willing maid between the sheets. He even longed to hold court just to see his town’s people and how things faired.

They reached Alexander’s tents. “I will see you soon,” he said to his father. “From what I understand, it shall not take me long to conquer South Hearth and Fergusson.”

“Aye. Goodbye, my son.” His father did not embrace him. He never did. A simple nod was all the affection Alexander ever expected or received. Except for the daily beatings he’d received as a child. But he supposed the rigid, violent way his father reared him had made him who he was today. He returned the cold gesture and turned to his waiting men. They stood ready, awaiting their new orders.

“Men, we’ve gained a great honor today.” Alexander explained their latest charge by the king, and smiled as his men shouted their approval. Their enthusiasm sparked his blood and he hollered with them. As they pumped themselves up to move out, he became aware that he was truly ebullient. He would be gaining more land, giving him more wealth and more power. However, Alexander couldn’t keep his mind from reeling. He would be married in a few days time. Most likely a father within the year.