Uncommon Vows

  "Very little," Meriel said, instinctively wanting to diminish her value in Burgoigne's eyes, "Warfield was not pleased with his bargain. He was sending me back to my family and considering an annulment. I became lost in the forest and Benjamin and his family look me in last night. They did not know who I was."

  Her feeble ploy failed. Releasing her chin, the earl said, "Even if Warfield despises you, he'll want you back if only because I have you." His narrowed eyes were full of vicious calculation. "This will make Benjamin's ransom look like beggar's alms."

  With a spurt of fury, Meriel said, "Tell me, Lord Guy, did you choose a boar for your emblem because you resembled one, or did you come to resemble the beast after you chose it?"

  He swung his fist and clouted her on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. As she lay stunned, he prodded her in the ribs with his booted toe. "If Warfield is willing to pay the price, he can have you back, but I'll make no guarantees as to what condition you'll be in. Any more talk like that and you'll be sorry I didn't kill you."

  He raised his hand and turned away. "Get these people moving! We're returning to Chastain."

  * * *

  In the dim, confused aftermath of Meriel's departure, the only ray of light was when Adrian found his horse wandering loose on the trail to the castle. As he captured the gelding and remounted, he thought with weary irony that he might return home covered with mud and minus his wife, but at least he was riding as a proper knight should.

  Back at Warfield, his expression was so fierce that no one made any attempt to speak to him, not even to ask where the countess was. Adrian withdrew into his room, blindly pacing like a caged wolf as he attempted to organize his shattered emotions.

  More vividly than the stone walls, he saw the revulsion on Meriel's face when he told her of their marriage. Her appalled denials rang in his ears, yet a few minutes earlier she had been pure loving passion. It was as if there were two different Meriel's, one giving herself with absolute love, the other free and unconquerable. Yet her spirit was always the same, and he loved her as helplessly when she hated him as when she had loved him.

  He made no attempt to pray for surcease, knowing it would be hopeless. And what could he pray for? Divine justice had already been visited on him, and he doubted that divine mercy would be forthcoming.

  Darkness fell, but brought no peace. Adrian lit a candle and continued to prowl restlessly, unable to sit as furious self-condemnations filled his mind. The sounds of the castle had long stilled when he heard a soft sound near to hand.

  Looking up incuriously, he saw Kestrel emerge from under the leather flap that covered the cat-hole in the door. The comical-looking beast jumped on the bed and sniffed around hopefully, then sat on her haunches and gave the earl a questioning look.

  "She's not coming back." Adrian's throat closed on the words. He could not have said more to save his life.

  The cat regarded him with grave golden eyes, then stuck one hind foot in the air and began, rather noisily, to wash herself.

  For whatever odd reason, the cat's arrival served to bring some focus to his disordered mind. Most likely Meriel had gone to her brother's manor, Avonleigh. Pray God she made it safely. In her state of fear and confusion, she might get lost, perhaps run into trouble. Adrian should have sent men after her to ensure her arrival, but he had been too numb to think of such an elementary precaution.

  She would want her cat and her falcon. What else? He slumped in a chair and kneaded his aching head as he tried to decide what must be done. A man did not die of grief or guilt no matter how much he might want to. Daily life churned on, duty must be fulfilled as long as one lived in the world.

  That thought produced another, the seductive realization that he might have to live, but he need not live in the world. He set it aside as premature, but a wisp of comfort stayed with him, like a child who had been promised a future treat.

  Eventually his sluggish mind ceased to move at all and he slept.

  * * *

  Adrian awoke the next morning cramped and unrefreshed. This chair was comfortable as chairs went, but it made a poor bed. At least his thoughts were clearer for the rest.

  He was splashing cold water in his face when the door opened. Toweling himself dry, he turned to find Margery, his wife's chief serving woman.

  She regarded him doubtfully. "Does Lady Meriel need me this morning?"

  He could not deny the truth forever, or even any longer. "I haven't murdered her, if that's what you are wondering," he said harshly. "The countess decided to visit her brother."

  The maid's eyes widened, but she wisely asked no more. She bobbed a curtsy and left hastily.

  After dispatching searchers to comb his lands, Adrian headed out to Avonleigh with half a dozen men. His steward knew the manor's location and gave give accurate directions. Pushing hard, they reached Avonleigh by midafternoon.

  Alan de Vere was in his stables, and he received his brother-in-law with open hostility. "What do you want?" he snapped, turning from the horse he had been grooming, his feet braced as if for battle.

  Responding to the anger in the air, both the Avonleigh and Warfield retainers faded away, leaving the earl and knight alone. Wasting no time, Adrian asked, "Is Meriel here?"

  There was a flash of surprise in the blue eyes that were so like Meriel's. Then de Vere masked his thoughts. "Don't you know where your own wife is, Warfield?"

  "No," Adrian said wearily. "In a moment I will tell you the whole story and you can vilify me to your heart's delight, but for God's sake, first tell me if she is here and safe. I swear that I won't try to force her to come away against her will."

  "No, she is not here. I have seen or heard nothing from her since I was at Warfield." De Vere's hostility was now tempered with concern. "What's happened?"

  "You were shocked to arrive at your sister's wedding and find that she had no memory of her past, so doubtless you will now be pleased to learn that yesterday she abruptly remembered her entire past up to the time of her accident, and forgot everything that had happened since. Including our marriage."

  Adrian swallowed hard, determined to spare himself nothing. "We were riding when she recovered her memory. Since Meriel found the prospect of being my wife appalling in the extreme, she promptly stole my horse and rode away. My guess was that she would return to Avonleigh, but perhaps not. Do you know of another place she might go?"

  "Sweet Jesu!" Alan said blankly, temporarily bereft of speech. He eyes narrowed. "When I was at Warfield, you never did answer my question about her mysterious 'accident.' What caused her to lose her memory in the first place?"

  "I asked her to marry me and she replied by jumping out a window into the Severn," Adrian said flatly.

  Having seen how Warfield Castle was sited above the river, de Vere was so stunned that he could not even think of a suitable oath. Finally he asked, "How did she survive? I would have thought that if the fall didn't kill her, drowning would."

  "I dived in after her. Fortunately I am a strong swimmer."

  De Vere's eyes opened at that, but he was not about to admit respect. "So she lived, but without her memory, and you then coerced her into marriage?"

  "Coercion was not necessary, de Vere," Adrian said softly. "You saw her on her wedding day. Did she look unwilling?"

  The two men glared at each other, the earl ice cold, the knight molten-iron hot. Adrian gave a wintry smile. Though they loved Meriel in different ways, they were still rivals. "May I leave one of my men here so that if Meriel returns, he can bring word back to Warfield?"

  "What do you intend to do now?" de Vere demanded.

  "Search until I find Meriel. Once I know she is safe..." He shrugged. "As I said, I will not compel her in any way. If she wishes to return here, I will send her with an escort."

  "That won't be necessary," Alan said grimly. "I'm going with you, and I intend to stay closer than your own shadow until she is found. You will have no more opportunities to force her."


  "As you wish," Adrian said, unsurprised by his brother-in-law's stubbornness. Alan and his sister resembled each other more than just physically. "Come along, then. By the time we are back on Warfield land, the other searchers I sent out may have found her."

  But when they arrived back at Warfield Castle late that night, there was still no word of the missing countess.

  * * *

  Benjamin's hired guards were disarmed and left in the forest. Since none were men of means, there was no profit in holding them for ransom. Guy was in such a good mood over his more valuable captives that he didn't even bother to kill the guards.

  Darkness was falling when the prisoners arrived at Chastain after a fast-paced journey that exhausted the frailer members of the party. Guy's castle, like Adrian's, was situated on a crag above a river. Smaller and less impressive than Warfield, it had been built erratically over a long period of time.

  Yet it was still formidable, and Meriel rode through the gates with a chill of fear that reminded her of her first entry into Warfield. Fiercely she told herself that she had escaped Warfield, and she would also escape Chastain.

  The weary captives was taken into the keep, then herded down a twisting stone staircase. On the lower level, one of the guards produced a massive key and opened an iron-bound door. "In here."

  The flaring torches showed a chamber perhaps twelve by twenty feet in size, apparently built as a storeroom, but now empty. Meriel started to file in with the others, then stopped when a hard hand caught her arm.

  "Oh, no, my lady," Sir Vincent said with mocking politeness. "Lord Guy has other quarters for you."

  As he marched her away from the group, Sarah gave Meriel a stricken look. Meriel tried to smile reassuringly, but she would have much preferred to stay with the others.

  Sir Vincent led her to another stairwell. His torch casting wild, distorted shadows on the curving walls, they spiraled down to the castle's lowest depths. At the bottom of the stair was a small chamber with a trapdoor in the center of the floor and a crude ladder leaning against the wall.

  "Here you are, countess, a private chamber," Sir Vincent said, lifting the trap. Below was total blackness and a rank, unpleasant smell. He lowered the ladder into the dungeon.

  Sir Vincent's hostility puzzled Meriel. He had a sly, unreliable face, but he was not a coarse brute like his lord. Before descending the ladder, she asked, "Why do you hate me so?"

  Sir Vincent was so taken aback that he gave her an answer. "I don't hate you, but you're such an exquisite weapon to wield against your arrogant husband."

  "What did he do to you?" she persisted.

  "I asked to take service with him once, and he refused to have me," Sir Vincent replied, his expression ugly.

  "So you were forced to serve Guy of Burgoigne instead. I can see how that would be a cruel fate," Meriel said dryly.

  None too gently he shoved her toward the ladder. "You've a nasty little tongue, countess. I begin to understand why Warfield might want to set you aside once his lust was satisfied. At this very moment he is probably looking for evidence of consanguinity so that the marriage can be annulled."

  "Very likely," Meriel said with maximum sweetness. "You will find me a poor weapon for wounding Lord Adrian."

  He scowled at her. "Even if he despises you, Warfield has too much pride to allow Guy the victory of holding his wife. You'll see, Guy will make him squirm. He'll get your worth in gold and a great deal more." He surveyed her. "Even if I hadn't had a woman in a twelvemonth, I wouldn't pay more than a silver penny myself."

  Having virtually no personal vanity, Meriel was not easily insulted. Instead, she glanced down into the dungeon and shivered. "If you want me to survive long enough to be useful in your little game, you had best bring me a blanket. And perhaps some straw."

  "Very well," he said curtly, unable to deny that a frail female might not last long in these conditions.

  The ladder sagged under her weight as she made her careful way down. It was perhaps a dozen feet to the bottom. Escape would be impossible without a rope or ladder. As soon as she stepped off the ladder, Sir Vincent yanked it up and slammed the trapdoor, leaving Meriel alone in total blackness.

  She stood without moving as she fought her fear. Sweet Mary! she thought in a desperate quest for levity, what was it that made her such an interesting object for imprisonment? Much more of this and she would be eligible for sainthood.

  Using extreme caution, she began to explore her surroundings. Sometimes dungeons had deeper pits where prisoners might fall and break their bones for the amusement of their captors. Luckily that particular feature wasn't present.

  Arms outstretched, she advanced over the uneven dirt floor until her hands struck the wall. The surface was rough masonry, the stones damp beneath her fingers as she worked her way around the irregular perimeter. In the absolute blackness it was hard to decide where she had begun, but after exploration, she concluded that her prison was about eight feet square.

  In one corner was a drain to channel wastes outside, more luxury than she would have expected. The air was also less foul than it might have been. Soon she would hardly notice the smell at all. In the opposite corner from the drain was a pallet of old straw, noisome but still more comfortable than the dirt floor. She sat down on it, drew her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them in a futile attempt to warm herself up.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait. Wait, and try to fend off panic. To think that she had felt trapped by the idea of a lifetime as a nun within Lambourn's welcoming walls!

  Even her imprisonment by Lord Adrian seemed easy by comparison. There at least she had been in comfortable surroundings, she had been able to see the sky and breathe sweet air. And no matter how unacceptable she had found the earl's passion, she believed that in his strange way he cared for her.

  But here she was merely a pawn, to be kept alive for her value as captive and weapon. How long until Guy decided it would be amusing to torture his enemy's wife? Even if Adrian would pay a ransom for her—and she agreed with Guy and Vincent, he would do it for honor's sake if not for love—would Burgoigne actually release her?

  Or would the man who had murdered Adrian's family also murder Meriel after he had received his ransom? If he tried any such trick, she didn't doubt that Adrian would make him regret it bitterly, but that wouldn't do her much good.

  Her heart was beating frantically and her breath came in desperate gasps. Burying her face in her hands, she prayed: Holy Mother, help me find the strength to endure what must be endured!

  In the midst of stifling darkness she sought the light, and in time she found it. Her breathing eased, her heart slowed to its normal rate as once more the Blessed Virgin enfolded her with loving arms. Even in the dungeon of a vicious monster, Meriel knew she was not alone.

  An unmeasurable amount of time passed. An hour? A night? A day and a night? Then the trapdoor above her head was lifted and someone called in English, "Look out below!" The voice was bored but not malicious.

  Several armloads of straw were unceremoniously dumped through the trap, followed by a coarse but heavy wool blanket. As Meriel started to shift the straw to the corner, a basket was lowered on a rope. "Here's your supper, countess."

  Meriel had no appetite, but she must eat to survive, particularly if she was with child. The basket contained a small loaf of dry bread, a lump of cheese, and a crude earthenware tankard filled with ale. "How long have I been down here?" she called, taking the food from the basket.

  "Couple of hours." Feeling the basket lighten, the guard pulled it up and the trap crashed down again.

  Only two hours! The first of how many more? Before fear could rise again, Meriel saw a vivid inner picture of Mother Rohese saying; Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. And good advice it was.

  Meriel ate her supper, grimacing over the thin, sour taste of the ale, but otherwise the food wasn't bad. Then she wrapped herself in the blanket and sat with her back against the wall. With fresh st
raw under her, she was reasonably comfortable.

  There was also comfort in the knowledge that the conflict between the two earls of Shropshire was apt to be settled quickly, in days or weeks. Months at the longest. She wasn't likely to spend years in this beastly place.

  Her mind began to drift in a not unpleasant way. The worst Guy could do was kill her and she did not fear death, though she wasn't looking forward to purgatory. But she had not lived a very wicked life. She'd had precious few opportunities for wickedness, and even less aptitude.

  Meriel began to doze off, floating between waking and sleeping. Yes, death would be preferable to endless imprisonment...

  With heart-pounding suddenness, she jerked awake. Once before she had thought exactly that: that death would be better than endless imprisonment. A scene began unscrolling in her mind like a vivid dream.

  Lord Adrian had called her into his chamber. It was the day he'd nearly raped her, and she had been distraught, not merely philosophical about possible death, but desperately eager to embrace it. She had grabbed his dagger... Shuddering, she remembered the flash of light on the blade as she plunged it toward her own throat.

  Lord Adrian had stopped her, prevented her from committing a crime that would condemn her to eternal hell. Was that the accident that had caused her to lose two months?

  In spite of the cold air, she was sweating under the heavy wool blanket as she furiously commanded her mind to remember. Adrian had taken the dagger from her, then told her he wished to marry her. Sweet Mary, first he had promised to let her go no matter what, then he had asked her to marry him!

  But she had not believed him. She had been so sure that he was just trying to torment her, even though his face had been raw with guilt and honesty. What happened next? Jesu, what had happened next?

  Her hands clenched, the nails biting like claws as she remembered. Disbelieving, strung to the point of madness, she had whirled away from him, across the room, onto the window seat. She remembered raising her arm as she hurled herself forward—and then she knew no more.