Return of the Rose (21 page)

A short plump maid held assorted headdresses up to her face. The procession of women gave approving nods or disapproving frowns.

Odelia came to her side. “Lord Vanguard is nowhere to be found. I know not what this is all about.”

Morgan’s head dipped from side to side as a maid yanked at her tangled hair with a wide-toothed comb. Another maid scrubbed at her fingernails. “Are you sure no one knows where he is?”

“Aye, I am certain. But Hugo promised to send his lordship abovestairs as soon as he is located.”

Morgan sighed, unwilling to get these women into trouble by refusing their services. When they finished with their primping and prodding, Shayna held up a mirror.

Morgan looked at her reflection. It had been weeks since she’d gazed into a mirror and it suddenly occurred to her that she’d sort of buried the fact that she was Morgan Hayes. Morgan Hayes from the future appeared to her now as a lost child in a woman’s shell, like a caterpillar in a cocoon, wanting to get out but not sure how to go about it. Waiting for things to happen instead of making them happen. This new Morgan Hayes, the one staring back at her, had in a sense been set free. She was tired of worrying about why her biological parents left her. She was through worrying about things she had no control over, things she couldn’t change. She was ready to experience life and all it had to offer.

As she looked at the people around her she felt that same keen sense of belonging that she’d felt the first day she’d come to Braddock. Her eyes watered. She was ready to let go of expectations and fears. More than anything in the world she wanted to call her mother, tell her not to worry, assure her she was okay and, most of all, to tell her thank you.

The maids mistook her tears as a sign of her happiness to be marrying Lord Vanguard. And she hated to correct them in that regard, but she knew she must. Her hair looked elegant in an elaborately braided coif entwined with thin silky ribbons. She wore a silk, antique-white gown with gold embroidery. The dress clung to her hips, flowing to the ground in close folds. The sleeves were tight to just below the elbows where they abruptly expanded into small puffs of material until they reached her wrists.

“I don’t know how to thank you all for everything you’ve done,” she said, “but I hope you understand when I tell you I can’t possibly marry Lord Vanguard.”

Odelia’s shoulders sagged.

“Whatever do you mean?” Shayna asked.

Morgan wanted to tell them everything…who she was, where she came from, how she might disappear at any moment. Instead she said, “He doesn’t love me.”

Matti stepped forward. “Oh, but he does. ‘Twill take some time, though, before he can say the words.”

“Aye,” the bloodletter said, “sometimes these hardened warriors need to have the words sucked right out of them!”

Shayna laughed and Morgan forced a half-smile.

“You don’t understand.”

They all looked at her…waiting, hoping she could indeed make them see the light.

“Nobody could ever understand,” Morgan said sadly as she turned and headed out the door.

Two guards resembling Doberman pinschers minus the iron-studded collars awaited her in the hallway. They took a firm hold of her arms, one on each side of her, and led her through the narrow hallway so that she was sandwiched between the two giants as they pulled her along.

Horrified, the group of women followed close behind as she was ushered down the stairs, through the keep, and to the outer bailey where a crowd of people had gathered, including a priest.

Derek had truly planned a wedding. Morgan looked about, wondering where he was now. With a small jerk of her head, she motioned for Odelia to come closer.

“Aye, my lady?”

“Didn’t you say that Derek was in a pleasant mood this morning when you saw him?”

Odelia nodded. “He appeared quite amiable when he entered your bedchamber.”

“Is this pre-wedding stuff normal? You know…is it common practice to have a small trial wedding before the actual event?”

“Nay, my lady. Never have I heard of such a thing.”

None of this made any sense. She looked up, as much relieved as she was angry to finally see Derek coming toward her. He wore tight fawn-colored breeches that were snug against his powerful legs. His white linen shirt hung loose near his collar, revealing curly dark hairs at the vee. He wore elaborate boots and gloves, and a short leather mantle that hung like a small cape. She also noticed a slight instability in his walk.

“You look charming,” he drawled in an icy, uneven tone.

“I thought we were getting along so well. I thought you could talk to me. What happened?”

He wore a sinister expression along with a silvery glint in his eyes that matched the polished sword at his side. Loose strands of crisp black hair hung about his brow. His eyes reflected off the blackness of his cape and if she wasn’t angry with him, she might have felt proud to marry him. She might have gone as far as feeling sorry for Lady Amanda for giving him up.

Ignoring her question, he leaned close, giving her a good whiff of ale. “You’re drunk,” she said. “I won’t marry you like this.”

“How about like this?” His lips touched her cheek, sliding over her jaw as he staggered backwards.

She rolled her eyes. “If you needed to get drunk in order to marry me, why the big rush?”

It took him two attempts to get both of his hands firmly attached to his hips. “For some reason, my fairest bride,” he explained, “I had a fleeting thought these past days that perhaps me,” he pointed to his chest, nearly missing, “and you,” his finger brushed and lingered, along with his gaze, upon her chest, “were meant to be.”

“I waited in bed for you for over an hour today,” she said in a heated whisper. “After you didn’t show I went to the gardens. The next thing I know, a dozen maids are in my room, stripping hair from my legs and slathering me with oils.”

“‘Twould seem I missed out on the fun,” he said with a childish pout.

She plunked her hands on her hips. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

He let out a hearty laugh and swept his arms in a wide, exaggerated arc as he said in a boisterous voice, “Fate! The inevitable. That which is willed by God himself. Call it what you may, but since laying eyes upon thou…I find myself thinking only of you. You, my love, cause my heart to sing like any nightingale.” He swayed, widening his stance in order to stay balanced. “Can you imagine that, my sweet?”

Of course she could imagine that since she’d memorized the note word for word. She, too, believed that destiny played a part in all of this. The pain in Derek’s voice was clear, but none of this made any sense. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “What is this all about?”

Ignoring her further, he continued his slurred speech. Morgan raised her eyes in frustration as he rambled on again in a loud, insulting voice. “I have been engaged in many wars, but never one such as this between my body and mind. A war between my keen sense and that which I see with my own two eyes. It was not until I found this note from your lover,” he said, pulling the missive from his belt, “that I finally saw what I had refused to see before and felt suddenly impelled to swallow the spirits.”

Morgan drew a hand to her mouth, straining her neck to look up at him, sure, that at this moment, he measured seven feet in height. “I thought the note was from you.”

Derek leaned low. “Is that so, my sweet?” He nuzzled her neck, tickling her in the process.

“You’re embarrassing me.” She pushed him away. “The only lover I have is you. Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

Derek wrapped a strong arm around her waist, turning her about so they faced the minister. The priest stood not much taller than herself and was of the same meager width as the trunk of the tree behind him.

Derek motioned for the priest to start the proceedings. The crowd continued to grow. Morgan recognized some familiar faces from the village. The minister began to talk about the sacred bonds of marriage, but mostly seemed to reiterate the endless duties of a new wife.

Morgan wrung her hands. Maybe she could pretend to faint…anything but stand here. She couldn’t marry him like this. It was all wrong.

“If there is anyone present who has reason to believe this lady and this man should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Morgan opened her mouth, ready to protest, emitting a loud shriek instead as a man swung from a thick, knotted rope, landing with a loud thud and a cloud of dust before her.

Gasps and shouts escaped the crowd. The priest’s face was ashen. The big hulk of a man smiled pleasantly as if he were like any other messenger making a delivery. He held out a note for her to read.

Hesitantly, Morgan took it. She could feel Derek’s shoulder leaning into her, his warm breath on her cheek as he read along with her.

Amanda, my love,

I implore you not to go through with this farce.

Go with this messenger, for he will bring you to me,

where I will be waiting with bated breath.

All my love, Robert

The handwriting was different from the other note she’d received, but for some reason she felt certain that this note wasn’t from Robert DeChaville. If Robert thought his beloved Amanda was about to marry Lord Vanguard he would have swung down from that tree himself. But if it wasn’t Robert, who was it?

The big guy stood his ground, showing no sign of impatience or fear as he waited for her to make up her mind.

She looked at Derek, not for help, but because she didn’t know what else to do.

“God’s teeth and hell,” Derek said through gritted teeth. And he stepped around her and brought a hard right fist into the man’s jaw.

One swift sock was all it took. The giant fell to the ground like a cleanly sawed tree. Stunned, Morgan watched as the same two Dobermans who had brought her here dragged the man off.

Calmly, Derek took his place beside her again and ordered the minister to proceed. Morgan swallowed. Everything was happening too fast. She thought of her mother then and of all the plans she had for her daughter’s wedding day. Thank God her mother wasn’t here now.

Derek ground out his marriage vows as if he had a gun to his back, ending his promise to love and cherish her with a grunt.

It was Morgan’s turn and everybody looked her way. Watching and waiting. Her throat was parched, her voice strained. “I, Morgan Hayes—”

Odelia jabbed her in the side with a finger.

“I mean, Amanda Forrester, promise…or is it vow?”

“Promise, vow, it makes no difference as long as you do not break it,” Derek muttered.

“Well then,” she said, throwing up her hands in frustration, “I promise to put up with this man as long as humanly possible.”

Either he didn’t hear her or he didn’t care what she’d said. He just grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her along, past the small orchard and through the inner bailey as the crowd shouted their approval from a distance.

They were through the castle in no time. Ignoring her complaints, he took the stairs two steps at a time until she was nearly out of breath. As soon as they reached his private chambers, he picked her up and tossed her on the bed.

Morgan jerked upright and pushed strands of hair out of her face. Her mouth dropped open and she watched with some amusement as he hurriedly and awkwardly stripped himself of his clothes. When he was done, he moved toward her without a word spoken, covering her fully clothed body with his naked one.

She felt the hotness of his broad chest right through the thin muslin of her gown. He kissed any unspoken words from her lips before tracing a scorching path downward over her neck until he reached her shoulder.

“We need to talk,” she said. “You can’t just marry me and then drag me to your bed…it’s not right and I’m mad at you.”

He lifted his head, his lips grazing her temple. “What is done is done.” His mouth marked a warm trail across her neck. “You said ‘I do’ and now you must do.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever I say.”

She sighed. “We need to talk about all of this. There are things we should know about one another, especially now that we’re married.”

A long ponderous breath escaped him. He raised himself from the bed and went to the washstand where he splashed his face and chest with cool water. “Speak now, for these words will be your last tonight.” He moved toward her again and his hard, naked thigh brushed against her knee at the edge of the bed. She tried not to stare as she collected her thoughts.

“Once again it is clear by the way you gawk at me,” he said, “that you have intentions other than rambling on like a parrot.”

The man’s ego was the size of Mount Everest. There he stood, stark naked and immodest, wearing only an apathetic, slightly tipsy, self-possessed farce of a smile on his mouth. “How can I possibly not look when you flaunt yourself like a dog in heat every time we are alone?” she asked. “I would have to be blind not to notice.”

Derek chuckled. “I, too, would need be blind not to look at you,” he said, truly grinning this time, letting his gaze drift slowly over her. “Have I not yet told you how beautiful you are?”

His compliment threw her for a loop. It was interminably quiet as she tried to remember what she had been about to say.

“You are my wife now,” he added impatiently as if it suddenly occurred to him that he was sounding soft. “It is done. Whatever you had originally planned is no longer of any consequence, for you are legally bound to me. So what is it you wish to speak of? The note? I have no care as to whom the missive is from. You are mine now.”

Morgan groaned. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about the note, although I really did think it was from you.”

“Then pray tell, what is troubling you?”

“I’m not who you think I am.”

He bent his head back slightly and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them and peered into her eyes as if he hoped to stop her from saying more. “Who are you then?”

She was Morgan Hayes, raised by a wonderful compassionate woman, a woman who had lost her family and who had needed Morgan almost as much as Morgan needed her. But Morgan was also a woman thrown into another time and into the arms of a deeply tormented man who needed her, too, but who just didn’t realize it yet. She loved him, that much was clear. And she hoped with all of her heart that he could someday love her back. Gazing into dark, beleaguered eyes, she prayed he would listen with his heart. “I know who I am not,” she finally said.