The Heiress Bride. Susan Paul

      “Damn you, Hugh! Must you win at every game?” Peter Brenten scowled and picked up the dice before him. “It’s ungodly, that’s what it is. We should have you tried for sorcery. God only knows what a blessing it would be for all the honest gambling men in England.”

      The dark-haired man sitting across from him laughed, settling back in his chair and draining off a good part of his ale.

      “Now, Peter, don’t go saying things that aren’t true.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You forget that you won against me only three days ago, at Newcombe.”

      “At Newcombe!” Peter repeated. “Bah! We wagered for a mere draft of ale. Why is it that I always win whenever the stakes are little, while you win whenever it pleases you?” He tossed the dice on the table, saw the outcome and swore loudly, drawing more laughter from his friends.

      “You’ll never learn, Pete, lad,” Stewart of Byrne said with a laugh. “I was well taught back in Rouen not to wager with Hugh Caldwell. I’ll never forget how he fleeced me till I was naked as a babe. He has the devil’s own luck, don’t you, Hugh?”

      Hugh paused only long enough in counting the money Peter had passed him to flash his companions a charming smile. “Friends, friends,” he said soothingly, “I deny such a charge. I have it on the very best authority that I am always innocent in such matters as these.”

      Stewart of Byrne laughed outright. “And what poor, misguided soul ever told you such a lie, man? ‘Twas certainly no man who has ever met you across a table.”

      Grinning, Hugh pocketed his winnings in a leather pouch. “Nay, ‘twas my mother,” he admitted, gazing heavenward. “God bless her sweet soul.”

      “Mmm,” Sir Gerald Walson intoned. “That may be as it is, Hugh, but your mother probably never had the pleasure of gambling with you. It’s a damned good thing we’ll be quit of one another on the morrow, else none of us but you would have a mite to call his own. Oh, hell. Hand me the dice, Peter. I’m ten kinds of fool but I’ll try my luck once more on our last night together. What odds will you give me, Caldwell?”

      “The same as always, Gerry,” Hugh replied. “But first I want more ale. Gaming with you fellows is thirsty business, I vow. Here, girl!” he called into the smoky depths of the Red Fox Inn, but the serving maid who had hovered dutifully about them all night didn’t appear. A commotion at the far end of the room kept her, and everyone else in the tavern, occupied.

      “What’s going on there?” Peter Brenten wondered aloud, straining to see better.

      “It’s…a woman, I think,” Stewart of Byrne said, standing half out of his chair. “Mmm, covered down to her feet and arguing with the innkeeper. I wonder what she’s about.”

      “A whore, mostlike,” Sir Gerald put in, making an experimental toss with the dice. “Though she must be an ugly one if she’s covered up.”

      Hugh contemplated the situation across the room with growing anticipation. His nightly brawl was going to come about easily, it seemed.

      “I rather think she’s trying to cover her beauty,” he said thoughtfully. “Our portly innkeeper is drooling over the sight of her. I’m sure she’s having none of that, though.” He laughed. “That old man is the last thing I’d want to take to bed, and that’s as sure as the new day dawning.”

      “I don’t think the old man’s going to get her,” Stewart of Byrne said, sitting down again. “Her first customers for the night have just arrived. Three knights of the realm it seems, though she looks no happier with them than with the innkeeper.”

      “I’d welcome having a woman tonight,” Peter Brenten said, his eyes wandering over the girl’s slim, cloaked figure. “I wonder how quick she is. Mayhap I’ll have a visit with her when she’s finished with those fellows.”

      “Not with her, you won’t,” Hugh said, standing and placing a light hand on his sword. “It’s the tavern wench for you, Pete, old lad. This one’s mine.”

      All three of his friends looked at him and groaned as one.

      Peter Brenten put his head in his hands. “God’s toes, Hugh, not tonight.”

      “Tonight of all nights!” Stewart of Byrne said angrily. “Can we not have a little peace on our last eve together?”

      “One would think you’d have had enough troublemaking at the inn we destroyed last night,” Sir Gerald added, putting the dice aside with a look of regret. “And I’ll have you know that I don’t appreciate setting up against my fellow knights.” Hugh Caldwell’s green eyes glittered mischievously. “Don’t start feeling badly for what you are, Gerry. You’re the only dubbed man I can tolerate next to my own brothers. And we did not destroy the White Bull last night,” he insisted. “We only…rearranged it.”

      “Damn you, Hugh Caldwell!” Sir Gerald returned angrily, checking the readiness of his own sword. “What’s gone wrong with you? We haven’t had a night’s peace since setting foot in Britain three weeks past. You were never so troublesome in France.”

      Hugh made no reply but kept his eyes on the girl, who was struggling with the biggest of the men facing her. Stewart had spoken true…the girl didn’t want these particular customers, which only made the matter of taking her for himself that much simpler. What the big fighting men would think, well…Hugh’s mouth relaxed into a confident smile.

      The knight who held the girl didn’t turn when Hugh tapped his shoulder. It took a strong hand on his arm to make him look around.

      “Your pardon,” Hugh said politely, making a slight bow. “Is aught amiss?”

      The big man surveyed Hugh’s muscular frame from head to foot, then replied in a surly tone, “None that I can’t take care of myself.” The two knights behind him laughed. “Leave us be.”

      Hugh smiled. “Good sir, you mistake me.” He pushed past him. “I addressed the lady.” He looked into her frightened face inquiringly. “Mistress,” he began, then stopped and held his breath. She was more beautiful than he had expected, more beautiful than any woman he’d seen in a long time. Not since Lillis had he met with such perfection. Without thinking, Hugh reached up to pull the hood of her cloak away from her head, causing her wheat blond hair to spill free and removing the shadows that hid her eyes… sky blue eyes that gazed at him, pleadingly.

      “Please, sir,” she whispered, “I pray you, help me.”

      With only those few words falling from her pretty lips, what had begun as a game for Hugh became something deadly serious.

      “God, she’s a greater beauty than you thought, Cyril,” one of the other knights said. “My turn comes after yours.”

      The girl’s eyes lit with fire. “I am not…” She didn’t seem to know how to finish. “I am not a…a…” Struggling against the knight who held her, she pleaded with Hugh once more. “Please, good sir. I beg you.”

      “I told you to lose yourself, man,” Cyril repeated in a tone full of warning.

      Ignoring him, Hugh gazed into the girl’s distressed face and tried to decide what it was about this situation that disturbed him. There was something here that wasn’t right. She was far too beautiful to be a whore. And she was pale, as if she were in pain, as if she might faint.

      “She doesn’t want you, Cyril, lad,” Hugh said slowly, “and a lady should always be given her choice, is this not so?” He graced the girl with his most charming smile. “What say you, mistress? Would you rather go with him or with me? I’m clean, I promise, and I’ll be gentle with you. I swear it on my own soul.”

      “Be gone!” Cyril shouted angrily.

      “You!” she cried.

      Hugh looked at the big knight. “You have your answer,