What She Wants

Chapter Three

 

  "My lord?" Wynekyn prompted.

  Clearing his throat, Hugh moved back to sit on the bench again. He picked up his ale to avoid meeting the older man's gaze. "A week or so should do. "

  "A week or so?" Wynekyn looked amazed. "But Richard wanted the deed done as soon as he died. He - "

  "Nay. That is out of the question. "

  "Why?"

  When Hugh sat silent, helpless to come up with an acceptable excuse without revealing his own blunder, Lucan smoothly intervened.

  "Hillcrest has only just died. The poor girl is still grieving, as is Hugh himself. Surely 'tis not too much to allow two or three weeks to pass first? At the very least, it would allow them some time to prepare for the ceremony and the feast to follow. "

  "Ah. " Much to Hugh's relief, Wynekyn looked less appalled. "I had not thought of that. Perhaps a short delay would not be amiss," he allowed.

  "Aye," Hugh murmured and looked down into his drink, pondering his situation as the conversation drifted around him. His immediate urge was to go speak to Willa now and attempt to repair the damage he'd done. However, he was thinking that allowing some time for her anger to ebb might be the better idea. How long would that take, he wondered. He was guessing two or three months might do it, but knew he didn't have that kind of time.

  "What do you think, Hugh?"

  Pulled from his thoughts, he glanced up blankly. "What?"

  "Lord Wynekyn was just suggesting that perhaps Lady Willa and the hag. . . er. . . Eada," Lucan quickly corrected himself. "That perhaps we should move them up to the castle in the meantime. "

  Alarm immediately coursed through Hugh. With Willa here in the castle, both Wynekyn and Jollivet were sure to realize there was something wrong between them. He was reluctant to allow that. He would prefer the opportunity to. . . well. . . he supposed he would have to woo her now. He berated himself for the idiot he was. If he'd stayed to hear all the particulars of his uncle's will in the first place, instead of storming out and muddling things with his arrogant announcement that she was beneath him. . .

  Odd how she suddenly wasn't beneath him anymore, he thought with self-derision. She was the same woman she'd been but hours ago and yet suddenly she was a suitable wife. And it wasn't just the wealth which she had and he needed, but also the fact that Wynekyn assured him she was a lady by birth. Odd the difference a word could make. The old hag's comment came to him then. "Gold is gold whether buried deep in the mud or adorning a king's crown. " Damn the witch! She'd been right, of course. Willa was a lady whether in a castle or a hovel, and he should have recognized that. As Lucan had pointed out, she spoke well. She also carried herself with the bearing and pride of a lady despite her sacklike clothes and bare feet. And, he realized now, she'd sat straight before him on his horse, moving with the animal with a natural grace rather than slapping about on his back like a sack of turnips. She'd been taught to ride, he was sure. But he'd missed all these signs and assumed she was a by-blow of his uncle. He was an idiot.

  "Hugh?"

  "What?" he asked, his irritation at himself showing in his tone. Then, realizing that they were awaiting his response to the suggestion that Willa and the witch be brought to the castle, he frowned. "Nay. She'll not be brought to the castle. My uncle thought it unsafe. She remains where she is until the wedding. "

  Wynekyn pursed his lips thoughtfully over that, but he was shaking his head even as he did. "I do not know. The moment we start making preparations for the wedding, I believe she will be at risk. Would it not be easier to keep her safe here than in that hovel?"

  "Uncle Richard thought not. "

  "Richard counted on the fact that everyone thought her dead. 'Tis why he sent her to live in the cottage with Eada, if you will recall. "

  Hugh shrugged impatiently, then distracted the man by asking, "Wynekyn, how can I marry the girl, when I do not know her name? The wedding contract must bear a name. "

  "Well, surely the girl knows her own name. " Lucan peered at the older man in query.

  "Nay. I do not think she does, and that is a problem, of course. Richard said that he would leave a letter explaining all on his death. But I have yet to find it. "

  " 'Tis missing?"

  "Nay. Well, I hope not. I did look for it after his death, but there was very little time. I had to ride to court and inform the king, and. . . " He shrugged. "I shall search again now that I am returned. I am sure it will show up. "

  Hugh noticed that he did not look as certain as his words suggested.

  "In fact," the old man said, "I think I shall go take another look now. Perhaps you should ride back to the cottage and inform Willa that the wedding will take place in two weeks and ask her where she would prefer to stay. I really think that she might be safer here. I also think that the wedding would be better performed right away, but first we do need the letter from Richard, explaining all and giving her name. "

  Taking Hugh's dull silence for acquiescence, he left the three younger men alone and headed for the stairs to the upper level.

  "Well. " Lucan moved to sit on the trestle-table bench on Hugh's other side. "What do you intend to do now?"

  Hugh grimaced at the question. "What indeed?"

  "About what?" Jollivet asked, reminding them of his presence.

  Hugh scowled at his cousin, then straightened as a thought occurred to him. "Jollivet, you spend a lot of time at court. You know what women like. "

  When Jollivet arched one eyebrow, Hugh scowled. "I said you know what women like, not that you cared about it or even liked women, themselves. "

  Jollivet gave a short burst of laughter. "You do insist on seeing me in the most unpleasant light. " He shook his head. "Now why do you mention my courtly manners and knowledge of the fairer sex?"

  Hugh hesitated, then began haltingly. "Well, imagine you had insulted a lady at court. Called her a. . . well. . . say a. . . bastard. "

  He paused as Jollivet gasped. "You did not?"

  "I did not say I had. I said you had," Hugh snarled, flushing guiltily.

  "I never would!" Jollivet said firmly.

  "Well, say you had!"

  "Nay, I could not. "

  "Dammit! Just say you had. "

  Jollivet tsk tsked impatiently. "Very well. . . but I never would," he added just as his cousin opened his mouth to speak again. Hugh paused then and the two had a small glaring war. Hugh was the first to give in.

  "As I was saying," he got out between clenched teeth. "Say you had. How would you make reparations and win her hand in marriage?"

  "Impossible. "

  "Impossible?"

  "Aye. 'Tis impossible. She would never forgive you. "

  "Dammit!" Hugh bellowed, lunging to his feet. It was Lucan who touched his arm in a calming gesture and leaned past him to peer at a smirking Jollivet.

  "But you could try, could you not?"

  "Aye. But it would never work. "

  When Hugh tensed again, Lucan said, "Aye, but how would you try?"

  Jollivet heaved a melodramatic sigh at the question and tipped his head to stare thoughtfully upward for a moment. . . several moments. Just when Hugh was sure he would lunge for the man's throat, the thoughtful look cleared. Jollivet brightened and thrust one finger up in a victorious gesture. "Ah ha!"

  "Ah ha? Ah ha what?"

  "Poetry," he said with satisfaction. "An ode to her beauty. "

  "Nay. "

  Jollivet scowled at Hugh's abrupt refusal. "Nay? You ask for my aid then nay-say my suggestions?"

  "I do not write poetry. I was never tutored in it. " He shuddered at the very thought of performing such a task.

  Jollivet relented. "Nay. I suppose you would be hopeless at poetry. You would probably say something like she was more lovely than your trustworthy steed. "

  "She is," Hugh said defensively. "What is wrong with that?"

  "God's teeth," Jollivet bre
athed, then began thinking again.

  The silence drew out. Hugh could almost feel the first of many gray hairs making its appearance on his head. He was so startled when Jollivet suddenly gave another exclamation, he nearly jumped in his seat.

  "Ah ha!"

  "Ah ha what?"

  "Flowers. "

  "Flowers?" Hugh asked dubiously. It was fall. The only things still growing were weeds.

  "Aye. Flowers. The finest you can find. And little gifts to immortalize - oh wait! This is perfect!"

  "What is?" Hugh asked warily.

  "Lord Cecil insulted Lady Petty at court by refusing to partner her in a dance when her father suggested it. Then, he found he needed her favor to sway the queen to a cause of his. Lady Petty is a good friend of the queen's, you see? Anyway, he painted a picture portraying her as Venus, the goddess of love. Cecil sent it to her with a letter claiming her beauty was such that he had feared making a fool of himself, hence his refusal. It worked beautifully, of course. She was quite undone by his passionate claims. "

  Hugh nodded his head slowly in understanding, then shook it. "I do not paint. "

  Jollivet threw up his hands in exasperation. "No poetry! No painting! What are you trained in?"

  "I am a warrior," Hugh snarled. "I was trained in battle. "

  "Oh, brilliant," Jollivet said. "You can protect her. That is a useless skill. "

  Hugh had to agree that it was, indeed, useless in this instance.

  The three of them sat in glum contemplation for several moments, then Lucan perked up. "Perhaps that is the answer. "

  "What?" The other two men asked.

  "He can protect her. "

  "Protect her?" Jollivet asked dubiously.

  "Of course I can protect her," Hugh said irritably. "How does that help me. "

  But Lucan ignored him, turning excited eyes to Jollivet. "We shall draft a letter, apologizing and stating that Hugh has seen the error of his ways. We shall present it to her and Hugh can sit outside the cottage on his destrier, sword in hand, guarding her to prove his devotion. Enough of that may soften her. "

  "Hmmm. Perhaps. " Jollivet sounded doubtful.

  "Enough of that?" Hugh queried, not looking too certain himself. "How long must I sit there?"

  "Until she softens enough to come speak to you. "

  Hugh didn't bother to hide his alarm. He had little experience of women other than camp followers, but if Willa were anything like his mother, it would take until hell froze over for her to forgive his calling her a bastard and saying she was beneath him. On the other hand, it wasn't as if he had any better suggestions.

  "An hour or two ought to do it," Lucan assured him. "Little enough trouble to regain the wealth to sustain this place and Claymorgan. "

  "What is he doing now?"

  Eada straightened from peering through the cracked door and glanced around. "He's still sitting his steed. . . guarding ye. "

  "Guarding me from what? The rain?" Willa asked impatiently and quit her fretful pacing to peer at the woman. "Perhaps I should go tell him 'aye. ' He shall catch his death sitting out there in the pouring rain. "

  Turning away before her wrinkled face could bloom into the amused smile threatening to eclipse it, Eada peeked out to where Hugh Dulonget sat his mount in the drizzling rain that had started shortly after his arrival that morning. Erect and stern-faced, he held a lance in one hand and a sword in the other, apparently prepared to battle the elements to prove his devotion. He appeared completely oblivious to the rain weeping on his hair, running down his face and dripping onto his armor-clad chest. Both he and his mount were unmoving and could have been a stone statue.

  Eada was sure he must be cold, wet and miserable, yet he'd remained there since the break of dawn that morning. That was when a knock at the door had drawn them from their sleep. Eada had waved Willa away when she'd scrambled to answer it, and had gone to the door herself. She'd found herself confronting the same man who had accompanied Dulonget the day before. He'd not been alone. Lucan had been attended by a smaller, more colorful fellow who had tried to peer past her into the cottage. Scowling at him, Eada had done her best to block his view, then had turned her attention to Dulonget's friend. He'd started to pass a scroll to her, only to pause and ask if either she or "the girl" could read, or if he should read it to them.

  Willa had suddenly appeared at her side, snatching the scroll from his surprised hand, saying, "Thank you, my lord. I am able to read. "

  Eada had closed the door on the men's startled faces. When Willa had read the scroll aloud, the vow to stand guard over her loveliness sounded almost poetic. For a moment, Eada had feared she intended to rush out and accept the offer. However, Willa had merely opened the door to peer out at the mounted man in the clearing.

  Eada had barely glimpsed him before Willa closed the door and turned to ask, "You are sure he will die if I accept before he crawls?"

  Eada had nodded, wondering if perhaps Willa's pride had not been pinched by Dulonget's refusal. She was normally the most sensitive of creatures, hating the thought of any man or beast suffering in the least. Despite her question, however, she had not seemed overly distressed by the sight of Dulonget sitting his steed in the pouring rain.

  Dawn had been many long hours ago. Dusk was falling now and the man still kept his post. His demeanor was as staunch as it had first been, despite the fact that the rain had increased in violence with the passing of time. It now poured over him like a waterfall. There was no doubt in Eada's mind that he must be terribly uncomfortable, but none of that showed in his expression.

  "Stupid man!" Willa snapped impatiently, moving toward the door. "He shall catch a chill and die from this. "

  "Perhaps," Eada agreed calmly. "But he'll surely die if ye go out there and accept him ere he crawls. "

  Willa paused with her hand on the door, then turned back in frustration. "Well, what if he does not crawl?"

  "He'll crawl. "

  Willa scowled at her confident claim. "When?"

  "When the time is right. " Eada was not surprised by the flash of frustration on the girl's face. Nor was she surprised when it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared and a calm facade covered the struggle taking place in her. Willa had learned young to control herself and her emotions. When a girl had everything taken away from her, she learned to control the only thing she could. Herself. And in her short life, Willa had lost everything there was to lose. Her mother. A father. Her friends. Her home. Even the man who had been like a father to her. . . twice; first during those years right after they had moved to the cottage, then most recently to death's icy grip.

  On top of that, she'd lost her childhood far too early. The veil of innocence had been ripped away with Luvena's death, casting the responsibility for the very survival of others onto her slender childish shoulders. Willa had grown up aware that someone wanted her dead. She'd shunned the company of other children so as not to endanger anyone else. She had grown up in the company of adults. . . and her animals. Her upbringing had made her a mass of contradictions in some ways. She could be the most biddable of people one moment, and incredibly stubborn the next. She was sad and lonely due to her self-imposed solitary state, yet by nature full of optimism and a love of life. Willa was also wise beyond her years in some matters and terribly naive in others. She appeared soft, but was as hard and strong as the Toledo steel now so much in demand for swords. She was, in Eada's considered opinion, an amazing young woman. Worthy of a king. Certainly more than worthy of an earl, and Eada had no doubt that Dulonget would eventually come to see that. Oh, he was showing interest now, but she knew this sudden turn around was most likely due to his discovery that the will left her the wealth. In time, however, he would discover that her worth was more than that of a couple coffers of gold and jewels. The question was whether he would discover her value in time to save his life, or on the moment of his death, when it would be too late to do anythin
g about it.

  "I am to bed. "

  Eada felt herself relax at that abrupt announcement from her charge. It was early to go to bed, but it had been a long, dreary day, the rain trapping them inside the small airless cottage with only the immobile Dulonget outside to look at. She hoped the morrow brought sunshine and some relief from this nerve-wracking boredom, else she feared the soft-hearted girl might accept his offer ere it was safe to do so.

  Blinking against the rain, Hugh turned his eyes miserably toward the cottage. A small sigh escaped him when he saw the flickering candlelight that had been spilling from the window blink out. This was absolutely the very worst idea that Lucan had ever had, he decided. And he himself had once again proven his stupidity by agreeing to it. It just went to show how dealing with the fairer sex rattled him, he thought. Hugh had never felt very comfortable around women. They were all so small and delicate. He tended to feel big and clumsy around them, like a colossal giant bumbling about in a tiny room filled with breakables. Men were different. A man could thump another man on the back and he would laugh and thump you in return. Try that sort of affectionate greeting on a woman and she would most likely fall to her knees with a cry of pain. And women did not like to relax by exchanging war stories over a pitcher of ale. What was a man suppose to say to them? All they ever seemed interested in hearing was how lovely they looked, or what a pretty gown they wore.

  Hugh tended to avoid women because of that. He felt like a tongue-tied fool around them, which raised his ire and made his speech short and harsh in their presence, as he had been when he'd come upon Willa singing in the field. He hadn't given a good hoot what she was doing or that she hadn't been collecting garlic as she'd been instructed, yet he'd snarled at her like an ogre. It was not the first time he'd allowed his discomfort around women to make him act an ass. That kind of reaction on his part was the reason he'd hired a bride-seeker to approach various ladies at court about the possibility of a marital alliance with him. Better to hire someone who would not drive them away with harsh tones and harsher words.

  Unfortunately, the responses to his proposals had been upsetting, to say the least. Each one of the "biddable virgins" his man had approached had responded that while she found Hugh quite handsome and knew him to be a skilled warrior, an alliance of marriage was out of the question due to his impoverished circumstances. However, almost every single one of them had hinted that another, less proper association would not be out of the question. Hugh had accepted this news with an apparently unconcerned grunt, but inside he'd felt like something was shriveling up and dying. He knew it was to be expected, but having his value equated with his wealth and title, or lack thereof, had left him feeling like a warrior standing alone on a battlefield with an entire army lined up against him. He'd felt small and overwhelmed.

  Thinking about that now as he sat his mount alone in the dark and rain, however, he supposed he had made a lucky escape from those ladies. What man wanted such a woman to wife? Her husband would be an unsuspecting cuckold before he ever married, with chicken or goat blood secretly spilled in the wedding bed to falsely prove the bride's purity.

  Considering that, Hugh admitted that his brief determination to flaunt his newfound title and supposed wealth had been a rather petty and childish response to his hurt. He was now even more ashamed of his rejection of Willa. He'd treated her no better than those ladies had treated him. Which was why he still sat his mount, stiff and cold in the dark and pouring rain, he supposed. And why he would stay there through the night. It was a penance of sorts. One he felt he deserved. He just hoped it would soften Willa so that she would listen to the apology he owed her. . . before the rain and chill killed him.