The Knight's Bride. Lyn Stone

lie of his, he knew he must team.

      Father Dennis cleared his throat. “Pardon, sir, my lady, but the hour grows late. If there is to be a wedding—”

      “No!” she shouted, throwing up her hands.

      “Aye!” Alan declared, rising again on steadier legs. “Go, Father, and gather all who will come to yer chapel.”

      “We have no chapel, sir. The hall must do.”

      “There will be no wedding!” the lady said heatedly, her arms crossed over her chest.

      “Leave us, Father, and make ready,” Alan repeated. When the door had closed, he turned to his new intended. She looked ready to scratch out his eyes and he could hardly blame her.

      He forced himself to speak calmly, reasonably. “If ye loved yer husband, Lady Honor, ye must mind his last wishes.”

      “That fever you spoke of baked his brain! Rightminded, Tavish would never have wished this on me. Or on you,” she added belatedly, obviously hoping now to enlist him in her rebellion.

      Alan wondered if she had the right of it. Had the fever affected Tav’s mind? No matter. “Even were that true, my lady, Bruce made Tav’s wish a command. We dare not go agin’ the king.”

      She laughed, a mirthless sound if he had ever heard one. “La! King, indeed!”

      “Aye, well, he is that and owns Scotland now. Ye might flee to France and yer father if ye wish to escape the royal wrath. Where am I to go, then?”

      In truth, he had no fear left of Robert Bruce. The man would either kill him or not, and everyone died sooner or later. He only thought to stir a bit of guilt in the lass. She had hurt his feelings, calling him ignorant. Even if it was true, she had no call to treat him as pig droppings on her foot.

      Her fury seemed to die out on the instant and leave her sad. The tears were back, trailing one after another down those petal soft cheeks. “You don’t want this any more than I,” she said softly.

      “Ye have the right of that. But ’tis a matter of duty now, yer own as well as mine. Tavish asked it of us.”

      He cocked a brow and gave her a half smile for her forlorn little nod of agreement. “I know ye grieve for him, sweet lady, as do I. But come now and we’ll make the best of it, eh? ’Tis all we can do for him.”

      “Wait!” she cried as he grasped her hand more firmly and headed for the door. “Hold a moment, sir. We must speak further before we do this thing.”

      Alan capitulated with a weary sigh. “Look ye, we have years in which to know each other. As yer priest said, the hour grows late and I’m fit to drop to the nearest pallet.”

      She colored to a bright rose hue and glanced guiltily at the curtained bed in the corner. “Well, that is the problem, you see. I cannot... that is, we must not—”

      “Lie together?” he said and laughed at the thought. “Lady, I’ve ridden four long days wi’ no rest or aught to eat but dry oats, dug Tav’s grave one-handed wi’ a broken sword, faced down the king and near lost my head to the bargain. All that, after herdin’ a hoard of lowland pikers through the bloodiest battle of the century. ’Tis not bed sport on my mind this night; so dinna worry on it.”

      She shook her head and wrung her hands. “I must tell you, I am enceinte,” she blurted.

      Alan frowned. Enceinte? Enchanting? In sin? What?

      “Verra well, then,” he said agreeably, hoping she would elaborate so he wouldn’t need to admit to further ignorance.

      She looked vastly relieved. “God bless you for your understanding, sir. This babe is all I have left of Tavish.”

      “Babe?” The news hit him harder than Bruce’s fist had done earlier. “God’s truth, ye carry Tav’s bairn?”

      Alan had not grasped until that moment how the thought of bedding her had wormed its way into his mind. He had not intended to do it this night because of the reasons he had just given her, but he certainly meant to do it soon. Guilt washed over him like a cold wave. Taking Tavish’s woman to bed ought not have occurred to him at all. Even with Tav’s blessing—and king’s orders—it seemed devilish wrong even to consider it, let alone do it.

      “You will wait until after the birth?” Her fingers worried her lips as though she were frightened he would change his mind.

      “Aye, of course I’ll wait,” he said gently, nodding, even as the import of his promise sank in. He had been celibate for nigh on a year, since just before he had joined Bruce’s army. Now he must needs delay until Lady Honor delivered of her child and recovered from the birth.

      Easing himself with another woman after wedding Honor would be unthinkable. Even were she not breeding, Alan wondered if he could really allow himself to bed his best friend’s widow. But he would have to bed somebody. Eventually.

      Ah well, his own discomfort was not the lass’s fault, and she looked nigh to collapsing from fretting over it. He smiled and reached for her hands. When she allowed him to clasp them, he squeezed her fingers with gentle reassurance. “Ease yer mind, my lady. We’ll share yer chamber for the looks of the thing, but ye need no’ worry I’ll risk Tav’s heir. ’Tis precious to me, too.”

      A single tear broke over her lashes and trailed down one cheek. With a callused thumb, he brushed it away. “There now, dinna greet. Come, let’s go and give yer wee’un a foster da, eh?”

      Honor sniffed and nodded. “We will need protection.”

      “Just so,” he agreed as he placed one of her hands on his mailed arm and led her to the hall.

      Three women surrounded her as they entered, the skinny one gabbling excitedly in French and shooting him wary looks. He kept an eye on Lady Honor as they led her away from him, noting the quiet reserve in her manner now that she had accepted her lot.

      A pang of longing pierced him like a crossbow quarrel. What must it be like to win the heart of a woman like herself? Fairer than dawn, she was, so cool and clean, and sweetness itself until she thought something threatened her babe.

      He blamed her in no way for her recent defiance. She did not know him at all, and had only sought to protect the child. Honorable as her name, she was. So brave, for a lass.

      Tavish had known and appreciated her well. He had loved her dearly despite their short acquaintance and brief union. Two months of heaven, Alan did not doubt. Tav had declared as much, more than once. How proud he would have been of his wife’s courage, and to know of the coming child.

      Alan knew Honor had led a sheltered life until now; born and reared in her mother’s castle in Loire Valley in France, a frequent visitor to the court. No doubt shamelessly indulged by her father, a Scots baron embroiled in the tangle of French politics. Coming to Scotland with naught but her women and one lone priest must have been a shock for one born into cultured splendor.

      She had weathered it well, Tav said. The hall Alan stood in shone as proof of that. She had made this keep a home, a comfortable refuge and delight to the eyes. Tavish often had boasted of it and rightly so.

      Now, newly widowed and pregnant, hardly more than a child herself, wee Honor risked the wrath of a rough warrior husband by denying Alan his marital rights even before they said the vows. All to protect Tav’s bairn. Her loyalty and courage stirred something inside Alan that pushed aside his dread of a loveless union. It would not be completely loveless, after all, if he loved her. For all he knew of the woman now, he believed what he felt might be more akin to worship.

      “Ah, Tav, I see now. I ken why ye sent me here. She’ll be needing a strong arm and I’ll try to do ye proud,” Alan whispered. “Lady Honor has, and so shall yer son. I’ll see to it.”

      Chapter Three