The Knight's Return Page 22

  Hugh noticed his banner flew over the keep’s walls, no doubt carried there by Peter, the loyal man-at-arms who had been given the task in their plans that morn. As Hugh considered how to welcome the king, he realized there was only one way to keep Sorcha safe. Only one way to keep her by his side forever.

  He only hoped Sorcha would agree.

  “Edenrock awaits you, sire,” Hugh said, careful not to contradict the king. “My wife and I were married quietly in Ireland but we wish to have our vows recognized in front of my people.”

  The king waved the whole courtyard of people to their feet, his short mantle swaying with his brisk movement. Then he turned his attention to Sorcha.

  “Lady Sorcha, are you well pleased with your Norman lord?” he asked, taking careful stock of Hugh’s fiery Irish wife.

  The king was giving her a way out. Henry knew all too well who was supposed to wed here today. But if he could wed a new lord and keep the peace, he would do so without comment. Unless, of course, Sorcha spoke up now.

  “I am truly blessed, sire.” She bent her knee low, her eyes never leaving his.

  Hope fired in Hugh’s chest. She had acquiesced to the scheme. But did she do so only to keep the king’s peace and help Hugh secure Edenrock? Or did she wish to be joined with him as much as he wanted her?

  “Then join me, good people of Edenrock,” he lifted his voice to ring through the crowd, “in a celebration this eve that will allow me to join your lord and lady myself.”

  Hugh guessed his words were a challenge to any who would call it false. As Hugh had suspected, Henry would not wish to support any uprising against a keep as important as Edenrock. But he’d given the keep once to Hugh, and surely he must not see anything to indicate Hugh was not in charge at the moment. Still, Hugh held his breath, half expecting one of du Bois’s former followers to denounce him.

  After a tense silence, a cheer rose up from the castle walls. The cry was taken over by the villagers below. Sorcha raised her hand and waved to the people as if she had been born to be their lady.

  And, just then, Hugh wondered if she had been. Not for all the world would he have wanted this day to unfold any other way. He could not wait to take away the anxiousness in Sorcha’s fair green eyes to tell her as much.

  “You are to wed before we sup.”

  Onora’s eyes were wide as she closed the door behind her in Sorcha’s new chamber a few hours later, her surcoat stained and her hair slipping free of its circlet as she cradled Conn in her arms.

  Sorcha had been parted from Hugh within moments of the king’s pronouncement that he would renew their vows and bless their union. Because Henry had business to attend elsewhere, he wished to leave in the morning. In the meantime, he had stolen Sorcha’s groom to give him a tour of Edenrock. Part of her still feared he would discover what had happened with Hugh’s speedy takeover and charge them both with disturbing the king’s peace, but the maids and ladies she’d met in her own harried introduction to the massive keep had all welcomed her with such effusive praise that she had to think Edward du Bois had been as awful to these people as he had been to her.

  She hoped one day she would forgive herself for seeing only what she wanted to see in him. An escape from her father’s rule and ancient suitors. A chance to make her own decisions. But then, looking into her son’s gorgeous amber eyes—so close in color to his father’s cousin—reminded her that she had salvaged the best part of the deceased lord.

  She had not mourned his passing, but as she hugged her son tightly, she hoped he would not ever feel the lack for a father. If only Hugh were ready to accept her and her babe despite her flaws.

  “I know,” Sorcha responded, finally remembering her sister’s words about the imminent wedding. She called for one of the maids bustling around a large, airy solar with the tapestries drawn aside to let in air through multiple windows. “I am so happy that Hugh seems to have remained in the king’s favor despite his long absence from this place. And it is lovely that he will surely be given an earldom for his trouble, but—”

  She broke off, handing Conn to one of the many maids who had hastened to respond to the call for wedding preparations in the lady’s chamber. From the chorus of coos and exclamations that went up from the collected girls at the sight of Conn, Sorcha knew he would be in good hands.

  “If you could just wash him up,” she asked the closest maid, “and perhaps find him something to eat before the sup so he is restful?”

  As the women hastened to do as she asked, calling for a basin to wash Conn, Sorcha excused the ladies who had been kind enough to help her prepare for the meal. They had found her a surcoat that had belonged to the former lady of the keep. Not Edward’s betrothed, who was rumored to have sneaked out the gates as soon as she heard what had happened, but the lady who had ruled here before Hugh had conquered the holding. The surcoat was the deepest shade of blue Sorcha had ever worn, the kirtle a magnificently soft hue of a robin’s egg in spring.

  “But what?” Onora prodded, picking up a wet cloth on the side of a wooden tub Sorcha had recently used. “You have won the day! The king himself wants to be sure all of your people know you have his blessing to rule.”

  “Aye.” Sorcha nodded, unable to keep the heaviness in her heart out of her voice. “But I am not certain of Hugh’s position right now. I—I want him to wed me because he wants to and not because his noble, honorable, too-good heart tells him he should.”

  Onora ran the wet cloth over her face with one hand while she untied the laces on her surcoat with the other. Sorcha toyed with a few flowers one of the maids had brought into the huge chamber in a basket, knowing she should be weaving them into a chain for her hair or for around her throat.

  “You cannot be serious.” Onora slapped the cloth back into the tub, wetting it and wringing it out again. “It is entirely obvious to everyone who sees the two of you that you belong together. I heard the king of England himself wasted no time in pronouncing your wedding.”

  “For the safety of his keep,” Sorcha agreed, wishing she could take more pleasure in the preparations everyone else was obviously thrilled about. The excitement in the air to welcome Hugh home was as tangible as the scents of roasted capon and pigeon drifting up from the courtyard.

  Hugh was the conquering hero everyone wanted to welcome. And while she could not have been happier for him, she feared his reaction to what she’d done by running to the king to request that he stand by Hugh’s bid for Edenrock. She’d told him how Edward used Hugh’s banner to commit crimes and turn public sentiment against him. She had not spared a detail about the depths of Edward’s cruelty, including his bid to kill her son.

  The king had not been surprised to hear any of it. He’d been so quiet and matter-of-fact about her plea, she had feared right up until the last minute what tact he would take when he arrived at Edenrock. She would be grateful to King Henry for the rest of her days for his help in welcoming Hugh back to his rightful place as lord here.

  “Nay.” Onora eased out of her surcoat and went to a wardrobe chest filled with stored garments. “I have never seen a man look at a woman thus. It is how I imagine our father looked at our mother. It is how I knew that what Eamon felt for me was not love.”

  Sorcha stilled, remembering the way she’d left Onora in the forest with her former groom.

  “I’m so sorry.” Dropping the flowers she’d been toying with, she joined her sister on the floor near the chest. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask about Eamon.”

  “He lives,” Onora informed her. Her fingers played over a length of red silk. “And he is asking for someone named Nelda. I felt a moment’s jealousy until he told me he feared she’d been brutalized by du Bois’s guards.”

  “I will have Hugh find her at once.” Sorcha squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “You did not lose your heart or your virginity to Eamon, did you?”

  Onora’s cheeks pinkened. “I used all my boldness in following you across two countries, sister. Besides, I
might have defied Father by forsaking the betrothal he arranged, but I understood well his warning that he wanted me to remain chaste. I will make a marriage to his liking yet, although perhaps it will be with your help now that you are an English countess as well as an Irish princess.”

  Sorcha embraced her sister. “We will make it all right with Father, I promise. You do not need to wed until it suits you.”

  She was touched to think Onora saw something in the way Hugh looked at her. Perhaps the tenderness they had shared the night before would not be chased off by her disobedience in running to the king.

  Hugh could have carried the day without her help. She saw that now. But she could not sit idly by and hope that the conquest worked out to her longing. She simply could never be that kind of woman.

  A hard knock at the door startled her back from Onora.

  “Sorcha, I must see you at once.” Hugh’s voice penetrated the oak barrier, his tone tolerating no refusals.

  “Here.” Sorcha pulled a saffron-colored gown from the trunk for her sister and plunked it over her head. “This will match your kirtle well enough. It looks lovely with your eyes.”

  “Sorcha?” Hugh knocked once more.

  Oh, how she prayed they were not back to being mistrustful strangers after all they’d been through. After the sweet surrender of the night in his tent.

  “Coming,” she called out, hastening toward the door. When she pulled it open, all her hopes and dreams stood on the other side.

  “I wish to speak to my wife alone.” Hugh had never seen so many females gathered in one chamber before. Maids and ladies, well-wishers from the village and a few random servants crowded the solar he hadn’t even set foot in when he’d resided here briefly before his fateful journey to Connacht.

  Women scattered like fall leaves, taking basins and clothes, flagons and a small chest with them. Onora was the last to depart, following a beaming maid who held Sorcha’s son. Conn gave him a gummy smile that showed two fresh teeth and Hugh could not resist ruffling the lad’s silky curls. Onora arched up and kissed him on the cheek on her way out, congratulating him for his success on the day.

  He touched the place where her lips had brushed, grateful for her good wishes and hoping her mood was a sign of the warm welcome he hoped to receive from his bride.

  “Hugh, you must find a woman.” Sorcha approached him without prelude, dispensing no niceties even though she was garbed as regally and finely as he’d ever seen her.

  Her expression remained serious, her green eyes worried and her jaw tense.

  “What is it?” He had not forgotten his terse words before he left her bed this morn and hoped it was not too late to smooth them over.

  “Eamon spoke of a woman he thinks was brutalized last night by du Bois’s men.” She crossed her arms and brushed her shoulders as if to ward off a chill. “Onora says she is called Nelda, the tavern keeper’s daughter.”

  Relief slid over him as he closed the door behind the departed women and moved near Sorcha.

  “You may rest easy. Peter found the girl straightaway after he raised my banner. She was on the castle wall hoping to climb down to follow Eamon.”

  “She was not—” Sorcha shook her head helplessly. “Is she all right?”

  “Peter did not say she was overly beaten.” He pulled Sorcha to him, sorry for the hardship he’d put on all his people. “We will send a wisewoman to her hut to see if she needs care.”

  Sorcha nodded against his chest.

  “Eamon betrayed us. He knew all along Edward lived.”

  He hated the hurt in her voice. He was so accustomed to seeing her be fearless that those moments of vulnerability undid him. Wrapping an arm about her shoulders, he guided her over to a wide, polished bench beside a loom bearing a half-finished tapestry.

  “Did I not tell you how my cousin deceived everyone around him from the time he was a small child?” Hugh did not like to recall the way Edward had maneuvered people around him, hurting those who attempted to care for him. “He used charm and intelligence to lure his friends into thinking he was a good person, but he was entertained by hurting them sooner or later. He poisoned my dog when I was ten and I never could forgive him. But I also could not convince my father or anyone else that he would do such a thing.”

  Sorcha lifted her head, the fire back in her green gaze.

  “He hurt an innocent animal?”

  “I swear he did. And I do not tell you that to make you feel bad for trusting him, but only to assure you that he excelled in charming people before he hurt them. That’s why he had many knights who swore oaths to him and they are all relieved to see the end of him.” Hugh had as good as vanquished a demon. He’d never anticipated how warmly he would be received upon his return. “None of us has impeccable judgment about who to trust.”

  She nodded, her head dipping and her hands shaking just a little in a display of worry he had not expected from the bold wife who had faced down a king for him.

  “Hugh, I do not want to go through with our vows if we cannot commit our hearts to each other this time.”

  Her words came from nowhere, the blow more effectively delivered than the chop to his knees earlier.

  “You do not wish a lawful union?” He would undress her here and now and remind her why she could belong only to him forever. By God, he would—

  “Nay! It is not that.” She clenched her hands into tight fists. “I want to wed. I want to be lady of this keep and rule at the side of a man who will not relegate me to a corner to weave.”

  She gestured weakly to the loom and it occurred to him he had never seen her engaged in such a pursuit.

  “You are upset that I told you to stay out of danger today.” He knew she was distressed this morning. And while he regretted hurting her, he thought it boded well for their marriage that he had understood her feelings so readily. “I did that because I was scared for you. Because I remembered what it was like to see you chased down by du Bois’s men on that beach and know I could not possibly reach you in time.”

  “But you did.” Sorcha pressed a hand to his chest, her fingers tracing the gold embroidery of his finest mantle. “Between your arrows, your men’s arrows and my own wits, we managed it.”

  “It was not an experience I cared to repeat.”

  “But don’t you see that I wanted you to live through the day as much as you hoped that I would?” Her hand moved up from his mantle to his jaw and she stroked a cool touch along his skin. “Perhaps we could trust each other a bit more.”

  Hugh should not have been surprised that she would ask for this. Edward had hurt her so badly and maybe he had too, by accusing her of deceit when she had not told him about his resemblance to Conn’s father.

  “I will trust you. I do trust you.” He knew she was not the same woman who had given herself to his charming, false cousin. She was still strong and bold, but her reckless ways were tempered by her maternal heart and intelligence that had only grown keener.

  He wrapped her in his arms, so grateful to have this kind of woman in his life. Rosamunde had taught him how rare someone like Sorcha could be.

  “Are you certain?” Sorcha asked, head tipped up to meet his gaze. “I will not wed you again just because you are unnaturally handsome or because you make me feel extraordinary when we lay together.”

  His heart beat faster, his hope for the future soaring even higher as he held her. Out in the corridor, he could hear the galley filling with guests heading outdoors for the vows. The meal. The celebration that would last long into the night.

  A celebration that would not compare to the night he would share with his wife.

  “Sorcha, I trust you so much that I give you my heart. My love.” He brushed his lips over hers, letting her feel the words on his mouth as he spoke them. He was fairly certain she returned the sentiment even though they hadn’t said as much the night before.

  A woman like Sorcha wore her feelings for all to see.

  “Hugh, I—” Her
voice broke.

  Her arms wound around his neck and he experienced a moment of fear that he’d been wrong about her feelings.

  “I love you desperately,” she whispered against his neck and he thought perhaps the hot moisture he felt there was a tear. But then it was replaced by hot, wet kisses.

  “Wait.” He unwound her arms, mindful of a bell chiming below stairs. “We are wanted for our wedding, I think.”

  “Yes!” She leaned close and kissed him on the mouth.

  This time he could not pull away.

  Her breasts pressed sweetly against his chest, her whole body thrust into her passion. He could spend a lifetime counting how fortunate he was to have been given such a treasure and still not find the limit of his blessings.

  His skin heated as his fingers roamed her back, her shoulders. Up her neck. He sifted through the silky mane of burnished hair and tugged lightly on her veils, teasing her.

  “You will learn not to kiss your wife lightly, husband,” she threatened. “What will you say if I keep all your people and the king himself waiting for you now?”

  “They wait for us, Princess.” He bracketed her hips in his hands, calculating the hours until he could have her all to himself. “And I think we will fool no one when we arrive at the table with red cheeks and breathing hard.”

  “And I’m trying so hard not to be rash anymore,” she murmured sadly. “Perhaps we should answer the bell.”

  “Only if you are certain now about the vows we exchange.” He wanted this wedding to start a lifetime of happiness for both of them. For their people who had suffered too much at Edward’s hands.

  “There will be no going back on this marriage.” Her words were part promise, part warning.

  And that felt just right to him.

  “I will never leave you, Sorcha.” He drew her closer to the door, knowing they needed to depart and still loath to share this incredible woman who would sleep beside him every night of his life. “I hope you will allow me to claim Conn for my son. I already love the boy as much as if he was my own child.”