Warprize (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 5)(MFMMMMMM) (12 page)

What would Torvig do if he knew she
was a woman? Oh, there was no question, no doubt.

Cedney had always thought that if she
could do all that a man could do— if she proved herself capable, no
one would have cause to complain, to think her inadequate. Was it
enough for them that she tried so hard?

Was it enough for her to live this lie
until her death?

Today was her wedding day and as a
woman she should shed some tears. As a man she could
not.

"We had better not keep the lady
waiting then," she said stiffly, rising up and straightening her
shoulders. "Has there been no word of the villain who pretended to
be her uncle?"

"No, my lord. He seems to have
disappeared without a trace. The soldiers, no doubt, will find
him."

"And he stole nothing before he left
us?"

Ordwyn gave her an odd look. "Nothing
of material value, my lord."

She stared back. "Curious for a man of
his reputation, do you not think?"

"Perhaps."

"It is possible he was not a d'Anzeray
after all then. They could be chasing after the wrong
man."

Ordwyn gave a faint smile.
"Perhaps."

"Since he did no harm
here."

"Perhaps."

"He hunted with us, broke bread with
us. I saw only civility and good humor. One would not expect that
from a d'Anzeray."

"Perhaps."

She frowned. "Ordwyn, for a counselor
you have too many answers that are indecisive."

He bowed his head. "Per— I prefer, in
some cases, to let you make your own conclusions. I do find, my
lord, that you are capable of judgment in those matters, after all
these years, without my answers to lead you. Just as your father
was. Even better."

"Better than my father?" she
exclaimed, not thinking it possible.

"He faced different
problems in his day. Your challenges are...unique... but I am sure
you will always do what is best for the manor in your own way. Just
as he did what he believed to be for the best, when it was
his
decision to make."
He looked at her with grave solemnity, his eyes heavy. "Each
generation must make their own choices for the good of the people.
And you will make yours— not your father's choices— your own." He
turned away slowly.

She thought about Ordwyn's
words that day and realized that she had tried seven years to live
up to her father's memory, even to
be
her father. Cedney might try to
deny her limitations as a female, but this marriage was about to
expose them so they could no longer be ignored. If her father were
there, even he would not be able to ignore them either.

Chapter Twelve

Dom waited until the
festivities were underway and the guards at the manor gates had
enjoyed a few ales. It was dusk, the light fading early at this
time of year, and with the wedding ceremony complete no one
expected trouble. They thought
him
long gone, of course, and would not expect him to
return. He'd spent the night in the marshes, after swapping his
stolen mantle for another with a pedlar on the road. It was not the
first time he'd been chased and these soldiers were a sorry set of
hunters. Could be why they were sent to find him, he mused. King
William would have to make a show of seeking justice for the death
of Barberousse, but he also owed much to the d'Anzeray who did his
dirty work on occasion. Work he could find no one else to take on.
So he needed the d'Anzeray on his side and he was careful about
their relationship. Dom had often pondered exactly how much the
king owed their father and how it had begun. His brothers merely
excepted it, as they did most things their father told them.
Sometimes, however, he imagined Salvador, the eldest son, knew more
than he told and kept secrets that lay heavy upon his
shoulders.

But, as his brothers would say, this
was no time to think of politics.

Dominigo was there to get himself a
bride. Whether she liked it or not. Whether she believed she was a
woman or not.

* * * *

The noise of the feast rang in her
ears and made her head ache. Even the minstrels could not ease the
pain. It was like a band of wool pulled tight around her head and
squeezing without mercy. She looked at Lady Rosamund and felt panic
as she faced the night ahead. She had been warned that Rosamund
knew what to expect and the woman was clearly forward, experienced
to some degree. Even now she placed her hand on Cedney's thigh
beneath the trestle table and ran her fingers along it, but Cedney
delayed as long as she could, eating more than she wanted, drinking
more than she needed.

When the widow Alaya brought another
jug of wine to the head table, Cedney was disappointed to find
there was only enough for Rosamund's cup, but it was poured before
she could take any and then Alaya hurried away again. Annoyed,
Cedney looked for another jug.

"My lord, should we not soon retire to
bed?" her bride demanded, after sipping her wine. "Oh," she looked
down into her cup and picked at her teeth, "there is something in
it."

"'Tis only spice," Cedney replied
sharply, too irritable to pay much heed to the other woman's
complaints. After all, there were so many of them.

Alaya returned to the table and smiled
coyly as she whispered to Lady Rosamund. At once the new bride
finished her wine and then dug her fingers into the cup, scooped
out the dregs and ate those too.

"What did she say to you?" Cedney
demanded, watching the curvaceous widow swing her hips again as she
walked away. Thinking of the evening when she watched Dominigo fuck
that woman, she felt even angrier suddenly. It was like a sharp
thorn stuck in her finger, a piercing, spiteful sting. Was he now
fucking some other woman? He had been so casual in the way he
caught Alaya's eye and then mounted her outside, on her knees in
the dirt.

And then another thought
heaped upon her fury. Had he thought of Cedney the same way when he
mated with her? Was she no more to him than that?
Perhaps,
as Ordwyn would
say, she mused grimly.

"It is a recipe in the wine to enhance
our evening, my lord," Rosamund slurred, satiny lashes fluttering
against her cheeks. "The serving girl told me it is tradition for
the bride."

She had no idea what Alaya had put in
the wine, but it seemed to make Rosamund sleepy and floppy. Very
soon it became necessary to escort her to their chamber. Cedney's
fears should have closed in then, but oddly enough she became
calmer. The anger she'd felt at her situation and at Dominigo for
being...well, for being a man...had helped even out her mood,
steady her with a refreshing wave of new confidence.

For seven years she had managed with
this masquerade and she would find a way to get around this Lady
Rosamund obstacle that had been pushed upon her. She had fought
like a man, let blood like a man, hunted like a man. She could do
anything. Cedney refused to believe that her lack of a cock would
bring an end to her life's work. She'd simply hire one.

* * * *

The fire and candles were already lit
in her chamber as usual. Bowers of greenery had been strewn around
the bed in celebration of the wedding, but Cedney now pulled those
down, having no patience for fripperies. She turned to help Lady
Rosamund to the bed, but the young woman was already falling and
landed flat on her face across the mattress a few seconds later
with a heavy sigh.

Cedney closed her chamber door and
shrugged out of her mantle. The minstrels still played in the great
hall and they sounded louder than ever, the music and song echoing
down the passage.

What a long day it had been. Every
bone felt weary and there was a sadness lurking in her heart, a
loneliness that she'd tried all day to smother. Now that she looked
down at the snoring woman on her bed, and an image of Dominigo
lying there instead flashed through her weary mind, that sense of
isolation and unhappiness burbled out and up, refusing to be held
down.

She warmed her hands by the fire and
then approached the bed again. Rosamund appeared to be sleeping
soundly the moment her nose hit the mattress. The spiced wine had
certainly gone to her head.

Suddenly Cedney had another thought as
she remembered how greedily her bride had eaten the remnants from
the bottom of her cup. She felt the young girl's wrist and measured
the steady pulse. Then she looked at her face, moving the long
brown hair aside. Mouth open, Rosamund snored into the bed, lashes
fluttering as she dreamed deeply. Cedney sniffed a gust of her
breath.

Mushrooms. Someone had given the girl
mashed up mushrooms from the marsh in her wine. Now she would sleep
with vivid, pleasurable dreams all night long.

"I hear it's very beneficial if not
taken to excess."

She spun around and found Dominigo
d'Anzeray in her chamber. He had come back, the reckless villain.
"What the devil are you doing here?"

He smirked. "I wanted to see how you
managed your bride. I told you I was curious."

"You gave her mushrooms from the
marsh?"

"With a little help from sweet
Alaya."

Reminded again of his tryst with the
curvy widow, Cedney pursed her lips.

"I also told you," he advanced a step,
arms at his sides, "that you're coming with me."

Before she could speak, there was a
sound at the door and Torvig, her ambitious young counselor called
out, "My lord, you required my presence?" He sounded puzzled
again.

She looked at d'Anzeray and he
whispered, "I sent for him on your behalf. Thought you might need
his help to deflower your bride."

"I don't—"

He swept her up over his
shoulder. "Oh, yes you do,
my
lady
."

Her knife was left in the folds of her
mantle. She had nothing but her fists, feet and teeth. But he was
impervious, it seemed, to all of them.

* * * *

He took her out of the manor via the
same escape tunnel she had shown him before. Outside the gates,
sheltered by a cluster of beech trees, his horse
awaited.

"I am not going with you," she
shouted, kicking at him as he tossed her up over the shoulders of
the warhorse. The animal reared up and then settled as he took the
reins and spoke soft words in Spanish to calm it. "I must go back,"
she yelled. "It is my manor, my home! I live there."

"And you have lived a lie there," he
replied, swinging up into the saddle. "Now you are
mine."

She cursed and spat, but soon found
her fight impossible. Unless she wanted to fall and be trampled by
the massive hooves of his horse she had to lay still and satisfy
her rage by screaming insults.

"Now I would know you are a woman,
even if I had not already claimed your sweet pussy," he muttered.
"Only a woman would waste her breath in this manner, exhaust
herself with these violent actions that can achieve
nothing."

Finally she lay limp, but still
cursing. Once they had travelled a fair distance and too far for
her to try running back again, he stopped and made a campfire in
the woods. He revealed a small sack of food that Alaya had brought
for him from the cookhouse— remnants of the wedding
feast.

"We will rest a while until I have
recovered from these bruises you've given me," he grunted, sliding
her down from the horse. "Then we must ride on."

"I will not give up all
that I have, all that I am, to run away with
you
! I am Cedney Bloodwynne,
Ealdorman. I have riches, land and property, folk to protect.
I—"

"You're a woman. You and I both know
you were about to be discovered. Do you think King William will
take kindly to being tricked all these years— to being made a
fool?" He handed her the bag of food as she sank to the ground by a
tree. "Your place now is with me."

"To do
what
?"

"To be my woman, my comfort. To bear
my children. My sons. Fate brought me here to you for a reason.
Your time was running out, and you know it."

She dropped the food and put hands to
her face, shaking her head.

Dom knelt before her, grabbed her
wrists and tugged her hands from her cheeks. "On the death of your
father, you would have been a spoil of war. To save you, your
father made you pretend you were a man, his heir. But he did not
think far ahead. Perhaps he did not even think you would manage it
for as long as you did. He must have known that, in the end, you
would become a victim at the hands of your conquerors."

Speaking steadily, slowly, he needed
her to understand the danger she'd faced, that he had performed a
good deed for her, not a bad one.

He watched her swallow and she closed
her eyes.

"You are a remarkable woman, Cedney
Bloodwynne," he said. "But you would have been a dead one if you
continued this ruse." He had known her for so little time and yet
it felt as if a million years had passed since she appeared in that
cookhouse door with a bloody knife in her hand. That first sight of
her had almost knocked him over. He did not know what she'd done to
him, but he wanted to keep looking at her. Even when, for those
first few moments, he had thought she was a young man, his eyes
were filled with the sight and spoiled then for any
other.