Love and Deception: a Clean Medieval Historical Romance (2 page)

B
raxton Hall was beautiful
.

Situated strategically on top of a steep hill, its walls of deep, honey-colored stone shone in the pale rosy light of the rising sun. It stood majestically before them, beckoning its visitors with its warmth and yet, it managed to present an immutable augustness that seemed to deter attackers in the same breath.

“Milady, it is glorious!”

Without taking her eyes from the breathtaking sight, Lady Rosamund smiled. “Yes, it is quite splendid.”

“And to think Lord Braxton is still so young to command such a castle!” her maid, Celia, exclaimed. “He must be quite powerful to be lord of such a magnificent home.”

A smart knock rapped on their jostling carriage door and Celia opened the curtain only slightly to maintain the modesty of its female occupants. Sir Blaine, one of her father’s most loyal knights, nodded his head in greeting to Lady Rosamund.

“Milady, we are nearing Braxton Hall,” he told her.

The carriage shook to a sudden stop and Sir Blaine nodded at Celia to drop the curtains close before nudging his horse up to the front of the caravan.

“Is something wrong?” Celia murmured, her brown eyes darting around.

Lady Rosamund smoothed a hand over her kirtle without glancing back at the closed curtain. “’Tis probably just the knights of Lord Braxton come to escort us back to the castle, Celia. There is greater security in numbers and it is thoughtful of the Count to send his men from their posts to meet us.”

Her maid released a sigh of relief. “For a moment, I feared there would be bandits or mercenaries, milady. There has been talk of your betrothal stirring the pot with the other lords.”

“Men are wont to think of conflict where there is hardly any,” Rosamund smiled softly. “They might be a little skittish for some time over the betrothal but once they perceive no threat to this alliance, they will be less likely to think of attacking.”

Another smart rap on the door and Celia nudged the curtain open once more. Sir Blaine nodded his head in greeting once more at his lord’s only daughter. Beside him rode another young knight. Rosamund dared to risk a glance at him and looked away as fast as she could.

He was young, hardly more than two score of age at a glance. His brown hair hung to his shoulders in thick waves. Full lips framed by a neatly trimmed beard smiled at her. He was quite a handsome young man but his eyes were what intrigued her the most — as green and brilliant as the emerald in her mother’s necklace, which lay close to her breast.

Let not yourself be guiled by outward looks
, she admonished herself. On a colder note,
Remember Catherine.

Four years had passed since her favorite cousin had leapt from her bedroom hardly a week before her own wedding. Madly in love with a merchant’s son, Catherine had chosen to die on her own terms rather than be wed to someone she did not love.

Rosamund had been aghast and since then had vowed never to fall in love with someone who was not her betrothed. Oh, she had heard of other noblewomen falling prey to the sin of lust but she would not be one of them. Worse still, she would not be a suicide like her cousin and disgrace her father by dying for the love of another man.

“This is Sir Stephen,” Sir Blaine explained to her. “He was sent by Lord Braxton himself to ensure our safe arrival in Braxton Hall.”

“Tell him we are honored by the thoughtfulness of Lord Braxton,” Rosamund replied quietly. She nodded at Celia to close the curtain once more.

She felt her spine lose some of its strength and she fought the urge to sag against the velvet upholstery of the carriage. She could not let anyone see how the young night unnerved her so. It would be unseemly for a noblewoman to worry herself with the presence of a man who was not her husband. In any case, Celia would accompany her at all times as was proper for an unmarried woman.

“You were right, milady,” the maid nodded. “His lordship is indeed quite thoughtful, sending his men to escort us to the castle.”

Rosamund could only nod quietly in the rustling carriage. She had no high hopes for her betrothed. She had heard things about him from the maids. By all accounts, he was an intelligent man and he always seemed to come up with some things the other lords had not thought of. He had raised Braxton Hall from a crumbling, decrepit structure to the shining magnificence that stood before them now.

“He would make a suitable husband for you,” her father had told her on his deathbed. “Are you anxious, little Rose?”

She fought back the tears at the memory of one of their last conversations. “Hardly, milord. I trust that my father will find me a good man for a husband. He is quite a wise man.”

She had to trust her father on this one. Lord William had never let his daughter down and certainly, he would not allow her to marry an unsuitable man.

H
is first glance
at his betrothed told him that she was a lovely woman. No, Lady Rosamund Westin was a very beautiful woman, what little he had managed to see of her from his limited view.

Her face was a delicate oval shape with dark, delicately winged brows over intelligent blue eyes. Her rosebud mouth had smiled slightly in greeting at Sir Blaine but straightened in formality when she regarded him. Her skin was smooth alabaster. Despite the confines of the carriage, her back had been ramrod straight, as befits a woman of her station. When her mouth opened to acknowledge and permit their company, she had spoken with authority despite her soft tone.

From all outward appearances, Lady Rosamund Westin would be the perfect mistress of Braxton Hall. And yet, he, the Lord of Braxton Hall, was not quite convinced of the merits of the young woman.

A brown charger fell into step beside his own and he looked sideways at his mentor, who regarded him with a grim smile.

“It would seem that you have quite a task ahead of you, my friend,” Bram noted.

He nodded. “I do so enjoy a challenge.”

“This will be unlike any other game you have played before,” he warned. “The mind of a woman is a very difficult thing to navigate. From all accounts, your betrothed is neither the vapid virgin nor the veritable harpy you have imagined her to be. Rather, she appears to be a rather intelligent young woman who has set her mind on marrying you to fulfill the betrothal contract.”

“A loyal woman is very rare, Bram.”

The older knight regarded him sadly. “How very disappointing for you, milord. This one appears to be just that.”

“You can tell her character just by gossiping with a handful of maids?”

“You were the one who taught me to keep an ear and an eye out for anything, milord,” Bram reminded him with a mischievous smile that was quite out of place. “’Tis not only gossiping maids that have whispered in my ear regarding Lady Westin. She is known for her level head and intelligence, almost as much as you are. I suppose that a woman of brains seems such a novel idea that they have forgotten that she is utterly divine.”

The young lord fought the urge to roll his eyes. While it could not be denied that Lady Rosamund Westin was quite a lovely maiden, he had not expected his old mentor to be so taken by her looks. It was Bram who often reminded him to never judge a book by its cover and yet here he was, singing the praises of a comely maiden.

He urged his steed to a steady trot as the castle loomed before them. He would learn more of Lady Westin in the coming days, he was certain of it. Given some time, he was sure that she would drop the façade and show her true colors.

And if, indeed, she was the virtuous maiden everybody deemed her to be, he would be the envy of at least three neighboring lords, if Bram was to be believed.

R
osamund sat by the window
, in the warmth of the sun, her feet tucked under her neatly. Her slippers lay long forgotten on the floor just beside the seat. There were few joys that could compare to a good book and at that very moment, the world beyond the window ceased to exist as she allowed herself to be absorbed by each page she turned.

She was halfway through her book when a mild scuffle caught her attention. She raised her eyes to find the distraught Celia shooting dirty glances at Sir Stephen. The knight, for his part, was mostly unaffected by the venom oozing from the young woman.

“Sir Stephen insists on a tour of the village, milady,” Celia reported. “I told him that you were not to be disturbed.”

She closed her book and raised a delicate eyebrow at the unrepentant knight. “Is this how the knights of Lord Braxton normally treat young ladies?”

The knight had the temerity to blush. “I thought you might enjoy the fair today, milady. It is a fine day and Lord Braxton thought you would like a breath of fresh air.”

It was not a lie, particularly. He really did think the lady might enjoy a bit of sunlight away from the drafty castle. He also thought it would be a fine way to discern her character from how she would interact with the common folk.

“It sounds like a lovely suggestion,” Lady Rosamund conceded. “But you must understand that Celia and I are inseparable.”

Stephen nodded. Indeed, the maid must be with them at all times to protect the lady’s virtue.

“And I must require you both to be on your good behavior, if we are to go on this jaunt,” she continued.

“If the lady is in accordance with this plan, I will suffer his presence,” the maid said obstinately.

He did not miss the warning glance that Lady Rosamund shot her maid and the blush that suffused the latter’s features before murmuring her apologies.

“In that case,” the lady stood and serenely smoothed her skirts, “let us be off while the weather permits.”

Rosamund was not as giddy about the whole affair as she portrayed. After all, Catherine had first met the man she had fallen in love with at a fair. A merchant’s son, the maids had told her. Young and very handsome and so very charming, Joseph had been every bit as madly in love with her cousin, if gossip was to be believed. Still, their union was doomed to failure and poor Catherine had paid the price for allowing such a relationship to carry on.

She watched as Celia bargained with a youth manning a stall of colorful ribbons. Her maid had a penchant for haggling, which was almost legendary in their hometown.

“Would the lady care for some ribbons for her hair?”

She glanced at Sir Stephen and she slowly shook her head. “They are quite lovely, but I must refuse.”

“You do not approve of the craftsmanship?” he queried. She saw his spine stiffen briefly but made no comment of it.

“’Tis lovely, Sir Stephen,” she replied. “I can see that the detail is very fine. But I cannot accept a gift from a man who is not my betrothed. I will not dishonor Lord Braxton by doing so.”

I already risk much by agreeing to this trip
, she thought sullenly. But if the young knight was to be believed, this was at Lord Braxton’s suggestion and she had been chomping at the bit already to stretch her legs after spending several days cooped up in the castle.

“I thought you were one of those ladies who would look down on common crafts,” he said.

She shook her head. “Oh no, not at all. It is in our best interests to support our own merchants and craftsmen. It is, after all, the support of the nobles that will allow them to perfect their crafts. If this happens, they will be able to attract more consumers and increase their revenue.”

Stephen watched as her eyes lit up with the topic of economics before her mouth suddenly clamped itself shut.

“But I am sure Lord Braxton already knows this,” she mumbled, the vibrant twinkle in her eyes replaced by a shuttered look that halted any questions he might have had.

“I am sure Lord Braxton will be quite pleased to know his betrothed has wisdom in such matters,” he said instead.

She nodded but said nothing further and Stephen felt that the highlight of their tour had passed by before he had the chance to savor it. They passed by a stall selling the most wondrous fabric and he noted how her eyes lit up when the woman held up a deep blue velvet with intricate gold embroidery. It would have looked lovely on her, bringing out the cerulean of her eyes. As with the ribbons, she praised the cloth and the craftsmanship, bringing out the joy and pride in the woman’s eyes, before saying that its owner would be a very lucky lady indeed.

“It would have looked beautiful on you,” he had argued.

Her spine stiffened and she turned to him, her eyes deadly serious. “Sir Stephen, I cannot and will not do anything that will dishonor my betrothed. I will accept any gifts he would give me with great pleasure but I shall not purchase my own nor accept gifts that will undermine his role as my provider.”

He watched her walk back towards the castle with her back ramrod straight. She stopped to accept a handful of half-wilted flowers from a young boy who looked at her with stars in his eyes. He noted with some irritation that it was irrational for him to feel so aggrieved that she would accept this meager offering from a dirty street urchin but she would spurn his offerings of velvet and silk.

On the same note, he was vastly relieved that his betrothed was not wont to accept the attentions of men as they came.

“She is sworn to Lord Braxton and no one else,” a soft voice spoke beside him.

He looked wryly at the maid whose arms were loaded with her purchases. “And how would you know, milady?”

“You might want to ask her,” Celia continued. “But there is no telling if she would give you a straight answer for that matter.”

The conversation ground to a halt as they walked back to the castle. His eyes followed Lady Rosamund as she ascended the stairs, her bearing noble and regal, her movements graceful and precise. She curtsied when Sir Gregory came into view and he almost glowered when he pressed a chaste kiss on her hand before he caught himself.

His betrothed was tying him in knots and heaven help him but he was beginning to enjoy it.