The Bride's Portion. Susan Paul

“but perhaps it would be best to consider the idea. Lady Lillis and her companion are already being kept at Gyer under unhappy circumstances. It seems a small thing to make them as comfortable as possible.”

      Driven by a demon that she, herself, didn’t approve of, Lillis said oversweetly, “Thank you kindly, Sir Willem. You are truly a noble and chivalrous man. It is certain that you’ve taken your vows to God quite seriously.”

      Alexander of Gyer’s eyes narrowed. “And I have not? That is what you mean. I have done all that I can to make your confinement at Gyer pleasant, yet you would make me a villain who has no right to call himself knight. I was fool enough to think this morn that perhaps you sympathized with the difficulty of my situation, but I now see that you are as stubborn and thickheaded as your father. I never should have supposed otherwise, Lillis of Wellewyn.”

      “Alex!” Willem gripped his brother’s tensed arm. “You know not what you say! Please forgive him, my lady.”

      Willem’s words fell on deaf ears, though his standing between Lillis and the Lord of Gyer was the only thing preventing her from slapping Alexander.

      “How dare you expect sympathy from those whom you hold against their will!” she cried furiously. “There is naught you could do to make our captivity pleasant, save to let us go free, and well you know it! As to your knighthood, Sir Alexander, you may examine for yourself how well you have kept your vows. I will not be made to feel guilty for your failings.”

      He stared at her for a silent moment, then shook off Willem’s hand. “Take them to their chamber. Mother’s chamber. That is where they will continue to stay, and I’ll not argue the matter further.” He gave Lillis an especially aggravated look. “Make certain to lock them up well. It is clear—quite clear—that one cannot trust a daughter of Wellewyn.”

      “Oh!” Lillis shouted after him as he strode toward the stairs. “I would rather be the devil’s daughter than have anything to do with Gyer!”

      But he neither stopped nor made any reply. In a moment he had made his way out of their view.

      Chapter Four

      “Damn!”

      Alexander slammed his way into his private chamber.

      What in God’s holy name had just happened? He could barely remember, though he’d walked away from Lillis of Wellewyn only moments before. He didn’t even know what he’d said to her, exactly. All he knew for certain was that he’d been unforgivably rude, that he’d behaved like a common, ill-mannered lout. What was he about to be speaking to anyone in such a way, let alone to a lady? Especially to Lillis of Wellewyn. Was he not already using her badly enough without hurling insults of the worst kind at her, as well?

      “Oh, God!” he beseeched the ceiling and the Being Above. “Tell me I didn’t say the things I think I did. Make it all a terrible mistake of my memory.”

      Why had he done it? He paced the room angrily. The very room where that morning they had talked so reasonably with each other. Where he had felt so much admiration for her. And attraction. And desire. God’s mercy! What was happening to him? He was a betrothed man. He had no right feeling such things for anyone but Barbara, no matter how fair Lillis of Wellewyn might be. She was nothing more than his prisoner, and nothing less than his enemy’s daughter. These facts he must not lose sight of. Ever.

      Turning sharply, his eyes sought the banner of Gyer, which hung above the mantel. There—the red and the white. The red and the white. Looking at it, Alexander could almost feel his father’s hand closing about the neck of his tunic and dragging him up from the muddy practice field; he could see again the rage on his father’s face, and hear the words, as he’d heard them over and over in his dreams and nightmares.

      “Weakling! Stupid, foolish weakling!”

      The faces of his father’s men, noble, fighting men whom Alexander revered, were there in his memory, too, some grinning in amusement, some watching in silent sympathy. It had been humiliating, being felled so quickly on his first day of battle training; more humiliating when the tiny blow he’d received had drawn blood; utterly humiliating when the sight of the blood had made him physically ill, right there in front of them all. In front of his father.

      Alexander could still see the silk banner his father had snatched from his steed, could remember just how the colors had looked, thrust before his face, mangled in his father’s fist.

      “The red is for courage, Alexander!” his father had shouted at him. “The white is for honor! Red for courage! White for honor!”

      The colors had blended before his eyes, the silk had felt cold when his father roughly scrubbed Alexander’s face with it.

      “Red for courage! White for honor!”

      His father had tossed him down, then, and he remembered the damp chill of the earth, and lying there as the men moved away. His father had been the last to go.

      “God, but you sicken me,” his father had said. “I’m ashamed to have such a weakling for a son. What honor will you ever bring Gyer?”

      Running one hand through his hair, Alexander let out a long, taut breath. It was good to remember that day. Always good. When he thought of that day, he remembered anew the vow he’d made himself, and remembered, as well, that he’d kept that vow. Gyer was his now. His. It was wealthy and strong and secure, as it had never been under his father’s hand, and Alexander himself was one of the most powerful men in England. Nothing was going to threaten that—not memories of his father, not Jaward of Wellewyn, not Lillis of Wellewyn.

      Lillis of Wellewyn.

      He would apologize to her. God knew he’d done it plenty of times already since he’d met her, once more would make little difference. She would understand. He would explain that he was under a great deal of stress and worry. She would accept his apology. Really, aside from her beauty, she was a most intelligent woman. And quite a worthy adversary. Barbara would have cried and whimpered if he’d spoken to her the way he had to Lillis of Wellewyn this day.

      He strolled to one of the several windows in the room and looked at the garden in the bailey below. It was almost time for the midday meal. He wondered if Lillis of Wellewyn and her maid had eaten yet, and he hoped, if they had, that the food had met with their approval.

      His prisoners.

      What was he going to do with them? He’d been avoiding the question most of the day since his interview with Lillis of Wellewyn had ended.

      A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and a castle page entered bearing a tankard.

      “There is new ale just opened, my lord. Lady Baldwin bade me bring you some.”

      Alexander gave the boy a curt nod. “Put it on the table, then.”

      “Yes, my Lord Gyer.”

      “Thank you, Cedric. I’ll be out for the meal in a few minutes. Tell the others to begin. Sir Willem may give the blessing if he is there, and Sir Alan if he is not.”

      When Cedric had gone, Alexander returned his gaze to the garden below, considering the choices from among which he must soon choose.

      “Alex!”

      He smiled before turning to look at Barbara, who stood against his chamber door. How she had gotten in so quietly and why she had closed the door didn’t matter. He was glad to see her there. She would keep his mind from his troubles. Momentarily, at least.

      “Hello, sweet,” he greeted softly, and held out a hand to her. She was across the room and throwing herself into his arms in only moments.

      “You’re not angry with me, Alex?” she asked shyly, burrowing her head against his shoulder.

      She felt good to hold. Comforting. “Why should I be, sweeting?”