Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior (16 page)

“Sir…?”

“Malcolm,” was the gruff reply.

“Sir Malcolm,” he commanded, “come with me. And you, too, Garth.” To the others, he said, “Try no trickery, and I won’t harm your lady. I only wish to speak to her in private.”

The Scots glanced uneasily at each other, and Malcolm explained. “Speak in private. That’s what your man said to Angus Gavin right before he slew our good laird.”

Holden frowned. “My man. Roger Fitzroi?” While that revelation in itself didn’t condemn Roger, it did cast a shadow on the story Roger had told. He nodded in agreement. “Then let’s surrender our weapons in good faith.”

Garth set aside his blade. Holden dropped his dagger, but replaced it with an arm around Cambria’s throat. His message was clear. He could kill her as easily with his bare hands. Of course, he wouldn’t harm a woman in a year of fortnights, but the Blackhaugh men didn’t know that.

Malcolm looked to his knights to assure their cooperation, unbuckled his sword, and then withdrew with the others to the adjoining chamber.

When they were safely closeted, Holden relaxed his hold on Cambria slightly.

“First, Sir Malcolm, I suspect there may indeed have been foul business afoot for your good laird to have been slain,” he confided. “Roger Fitzroi frequently overstepped his authority. For that, I extend my deepest apologies.”

Malcolm looked him in the eye for a long while. Then he nodded. “My lord, I think I’ve known all along that the de Wares are not men to ply such treachery.”

Cambria snapped her head around toward the steward in amazement. “What do you—?”

Holden halted her words with a warning squeeze of his forearm. “Secondly, I hope you understand, sir, that it’s not my habit to hold women hostage. I would prefer to release her and have her swear no treachery, but her word has proved worthless.”

“I’ve never broken my word!” Cambria argued.

He raised a dubious brow.

She averted her eyes. “I did
not
attempt escape while you were away.”

He stared at the top of her head in grim amusement. “I’ll have to remember to be careful about how I word your promises. Very well, then, swear no deceit and I’ll loosen my hold.”

Cambria remained stubbornly silent.

“Come lass,” Malcolm coaxed. “Let’s end the bloodshed now and listen to what the Englishman has to say.”

Cambria didn’t want to listen to what he had to say. It was all lies anyway. But she supposed she couldn’t stop the arrogant bastard from speaking.

“Fine,” she said sullenly.

He immediately released her. She winced, rubbing her neck from an imaginary injury. Then the Wolf began to pace the small room, weighing some heavy thought, rapping his knuckles occasionally on the oak table.

“There
has
been too much bloodshed,” he said. “The rebel forces are increasing, but Edward’s army is far superior—in number, in skill, in organization. The English
will
win.” He turned, flinching as pain lanced across his ribs, but waved Garth’s eager attentions away. “You must choose sides. Whatever wrongs have occurred in the past, you must choose sides now. I can retain Blackhaugh for our people, yours and mine, but I must have your cooperation. Neither of us can afford to play this game of chess, taking rooks back and forth until Edward or the rebel Scots arrive. We must prepare for battle now.”

Garth hung on his brother’s every word. Malcolm nodded slowly in agreement. Only Cambria stared at him, incredulous. They were lies, all lies. How could Malcolm be taken in by Holden’s deceitful English tongue?

Holden continued, addressing her. “When England subdues the rebellion, Cambria, you’ll be under English law. A Scotswoman may not hold property under English law. Your father apparently was unaware of this, or he wouldn’t have struck such a useless bargain. In essence, he has left you powerless.”

“What?” She slitted her eyes at him. “That’s not true.”

Malcolm sighed. “He’s right, lass. Laird Angus had… Your father had hoped… He’d thought that one day…that you’d wed before…”

“Nay.” Her heart twisted with grief. She’d told her father time and time again that she had no intentions of marrying. Had he truly believed she would change her mind?

Malcolm clasped her shoulder. “He assumed you and Robbie…but then Robbie left and…”

“Robbie?” Surely not Robbie. He was like a brother. She shook her head. It couldn’t be true. The land that had been in her family for hundreds of years couldn’t be snatched from her like this.

“I’m sorry,” Lord Holden said, “but no matter which side wins, Blackhaugh will not remain in your hands. The English won’t allow you to hold it, and the Scots—“

“Have already turned against me,” she finished bitterly, jerking her shoulder from Malcolm’s grasp.

She closed her eyes against the pain. One by one, her hopes were being dashed by this imperious invader. Soon she’d be left with nothing.

Holden spoke softly. “I know of only one way to prevent the spilling of more blood, to guarantee peace between our people, and to allow you to keep Blackhaugh.”

He waited until she reluctantly returned his gaze.

“Be my wife.”

The silent moment that met his suggestion grew so pregnant it was almost comical. Holden supposed it came as a shock to the other three, but he’d given the idea much thought while he lay abed over the past few days. To his mind, it was a brilliant solution.

The sacrifice wasn’t so great. Although he’d bedded his share of wenches, Holden had never considered himself a romantic, unlike his brother Duncan, who pursued women as if they were his Holy Grail. Holden was a warrior, a successful one, and his success had come through careful strategy and a practical nature. He had no intention of giving up his soldiering, but now he was a lord in his own right. It was time he married and began producing legitimate offspring.

He had what he considered a healthy outlook when it came to taking a wife. A wife was neither a burden nor a blessing. A good wife could be as valuable as a good squire. She represented a man when he went off to war, kept his castle running smoothly, provided him with children. Cambria Gavin could certainly do that. Indeed, she could prove quite helpful, being more familiar than he with the Scots ways. Their union was the perfect answer for peace among their people.

King Edward would likely approve the match, as long as the details of Roger Fitzroi’s death remained vague. The king had granted Holden permission to use whatever tactics he required to gain the Border alliance, trusting Holden’s good judgment.

Of course, the most compelling reason for Holden’s decision had nothing to do with good judgment. It was based on neither strategy nor practicality nor honor.

He simply wanted Cambria. In every sense of the word. He wanted her to share his name, his table, his bed, his future. He wanted to wake up each morn to the Scots faerie who flavored his dreams.

Oh, she’d fight him. She’d fight him every step of the way. But he’d never failed to tame a wench once he had her between the sheets. And he intended to have her there soon and often. His loins stirred just thinking of it. He found he relished the game to come as much as he did jousting a worthy opponent.

Garth finally broke the long silence, appalled at Cambria’s lack of response to the more than generous offer. “There must be another way,” he proffered gently. “Any other woman would welcome you, Holden, and be grateful.” He shot Cambria a caustic glare.

Cambria wore such a comical look of disbelief that Holden nearly laughed aloud. He’d never been rejected by a female. It was a curious feeling.

“Come now, Garth,” he scolded. “Let’s not press the lady. The decision is hers to make.”

“You bastard!” Cambria finally exploded, making Malcolm and Garth clinch. “Do you imagine I’ll let a bloody Englishman wed and bed me? I’d sooner die than—“

“Cambria!” Malcolm interceded, urgently grasping her shoulder. “Listen to me!”

Lord Holden’s offer had sparked a fatherly instinct in Malcolm. He’d been vexed with Cambria for days now. That cryptic message the squire had delivered when she’d recklessly gone alone to seek revenge on Lord Holden had left him weak with worry.

He was too old to agonize over her every adventure. He’d already lost his best friend. He didn’t want to lose Angus’s daughter, too. He’d prayed for an answer and saw it in Lord Holden’s offer. Already he envisioned Cambria in wedding garb, standing beside this handsome lord, pledging her troth, keeping the castle in Gavin hands to be passed down to the many children they’d have. He could even imagine Angus smiling down from heaven.

He’d be damned if he’d let the bullheaded wench play games with the future of the clan for her own vanity.

“Cambria,” he said gruffly, “your father would be disappointed. He would never have thrown away his life when Blackhaugh was at stake. He gave all he had to ensure that the title would pass to you. Will you now cast it away, make his death in vain, for your pride’s sake?”

Cambria clutched her head in her hands. Her thoughts were whirling like a spindle. She could hardly believe that her own man was turning against her, and wondered with what poison the de Wares had infected Malcolm’s mind.

Marriage was as appealing to her as jesses to a falcon. Malcolm knew that. The whole clan knew it. Being a bride to any man, let alone the enemy, was abominable. She was more prepared to be executed by the Wolf than to be wed to him.

Still, a small part of her knew it was the only rational thing to do. It
was
the kind of thing the laird of Gavin would have done, sacrifice himself for the good of the clan. She felt her own rebellion slipping away as her options narrowed to the inescapable one Lord Holden presented.

Collecting herself at last, she turned to Holden. “What do you hope to gain by this? I’m no simpleton, de Ware. The fate of my entire clan rests on the decision I make here. I can see how
they
will benefit from this alliance, but what are
your
motives? What do you intend? Will you lure my people into false trust, and then slaughter them like sheep? Or will you murder me on our wedding night and claim Blackhaugh for your own?”

“I could claim Blackhaugh now and have you tried for the murder of Sir Roger,” he said evenly, giving her pause. “Nay, my motives are simple enough—I need a fortress, supplies, and loyal soldiers to wage this battle, and this is the swiftest, most effective way to achieve that end.”

“I see.”

At least he was honest, she thought. Brutally honest. And though she wouldn’t admit it except in the deepest recesses of her heart, his careless words stung her. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected in the way of a marriage proposal. She’d had no suitors before, but she’d always imagined that if the time came for courtship, a kind, sweet, gentle Scotsman might come and beg for her hand. She’d refuse, of course, and he’d have to learn to content himself with standing behind her as she commanded the clan, supporting her, admiring her, as faithful to her as a good hound.

That was the dream she’d had before her father’s death. Now that dream fled like leaves in a winter gale. This man had no intention of standing behind her. In fact, he’d probably insist on standing
above
her.

She shuddered with distaste just thinking about it. But what other option did she have? Slowly she paced before him, solemnly weighing her limited choices, considering his offer solely as a political proposal. Then she stopped and lifted a brow. If it was only a political matter…

“All right,” she finally decided, “I’ll marry you, but only if…certain provisions are made.”

“You’re hardly in a position to bargain,” he reminded her, folding his arms across his wall of a chest.

Her gaze strayed to the taut fabric of his tabard, her mind sculpting the perfectly formed chest beneath, the powerful shoulders, the firm stomach. Her heartbeat increased. This was going to be difficult.

“It will be on my terms,” she managed, “or not at all.”

He measured her with eyes that seemed to penetrate her garments, her thoughts, her soul. “What ‘terms’ do you intend?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I will wed you…provided there is no consummation of the marriage.”

Malcolm and Garth gasped simultaneously.

“What?” Holden exploded on a laugh, flinging his arms outward. “You’d mock vows given before God? You’d deny me my conjugal rights? That isn’t marriage, lady—it’s a farce!”

“Those are my terms,” she affirmed, despite Malcolm’s embarrassed squirming. “You need only say aye or nay.”

“Nay,” Holden replied.

Garth looked well pleased.

She nearly choked in surprise. “What?”

She knew no man relished the idea of chastity, but she never dreamed he’d
insist
upon that aspect of their marriage. Wasn’t it, after all, only an alliance for the sake of their countries? “You withdraw the offer then?”

“Nay,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But let the contract read thus: The marriage will remain in name only until such time as the bride
consents
to honor the consummation.”

She glanced at Garth, who was suddenly consumed with a coughing fit. She reviewed Holden’s words skeptically, drumming her fingers on the table. “Do you plan to beat me until I consent?”

“There will be no need,” he said with irritating smugness.

“You jest,” she scoffed, stilling her fingers. “You know I’ll never come willingly to your bed.”

Garth seemed about to strangle on a cough.

“You
will
come to my bed. It’s where a wife sleeps,” Holden informed her. “But while you’re there, I won’t take my marriage rights from you until I hear assent from your own lips. And I swear this before your steward.”

Malcolm was looking at Holden with amazement, as if he’d just promised Cambria the moon. She smirked. How gullible Holden was. He obviously had no idea how strong-willed she could be.

“Done,” she agreed.

The marriage contract was drawn up, their marks attached. The wax seals were still warm when Holden took hold of Cambria’s arm, speaking for her ears only.