Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore

before she bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the room.

      Mavis watched her go with a sigh, then washed, combed her hair and put on her traveling gown. She picked up her cloak and made her way to the taproom.

      Roland wasn’t there, either. Nor were any of the men. Elrod was, though, beaming at her as if she were the light of his life. “Ah, my lady! Here you are and looking lovelier than ever!”

      The man would have done very well at court. “Thank you. Where is my husband?”

      “In the yard overseeing your men saddling the horses and getting the ox into the yoke.”

      Polly came into the room carrying a tray bearing a bowl, slices of thick bread, a smaller vessel covered with waxed cloth and two mugs. “Don’t stand there boring the poor woman, Elrod! Go out and see if you can help.”

      As he started to obey, she set the tray down before Mavis. “Here’s porridge and bread and honey, and mead or ale if you like, my lady. Eat hearty now. It’s warm and the day’s cold, and I hear you’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”

      A long, lonely journey, Mavis thought, unless Roland—

      “It’s time to leave, my lady,” Roland declared from the door leading to the yard before Elrod reached it.

      She rose immediately, as an obedient wife should. “As you wish, my lord.”

      “She has to have something to eat, my lord,” Polly protested.

      Although Roland nodded his agreement, he didn’t sit down. He stayed standing, his gaze upon her. Mavis quickly ate a slice of bread, sipped some mead, then got to her feet. “I’m ready, my lord.”

      He nodded once again before reaching into his belt and pulling out a small leather purse. “For you, innkeeper,” he said, tossing it to Elrod, who deftly caught it. “With our thanks,” he added before he took Mavis’s arm to lead her into the chilly yard where the escort and horses waited.

      Walking beside him, Mavis glanced at the sky. She was glad that there were no dark clouds today. She was also aware that the men were watching, and so were Elrod and Polly at the door, so she made sure that she smiled.

      “Godspeed, my lord!” Elrod called out.

      “God bless you, my lady!” his wife added.

      After Roland helped Mavis onto her horse, she waved a farewell, wondering how soon she might travel back this way to visit DeLac or Cwm Bron. Roland, meanwhile, mounted Hephaestus, raised his hand, and once again the cortege started on the journey to Yorkshire.

      * * *

      This time, when they stopped to water the horses, Roland stayed with the soldiers, although keeping a little apart from them.

      Nor was her husband any more inclined to speak to her as they traveled along the road. He was again riding several paces ahead, making it clear he had no wish for conversation.

      What was she to make of this, and him? That he did indeed crave only her body? That she had been wrong to think there was more to his longing than lust? That she had only imagined that wistful look in his dark eyes? That she had been completely wrong about him?

      Yet if he only lusted after her, surely she would have known it from the first, and especially on their wedding night. And he would be forcing his way into their bed, not sleeping on the floor.

      He was a mystery, an enigma she was beginning to fear she might never understand.

      One thing was different today, though. He sent Arnhelm and Verdan on ahead. She could think of a few reasons why: that he feared danger (which she truly hoped was not the reason) or to send word to Dunborough that he was on the way home, or to seek a place to stop for the night. She hoped it was the latter, but nevertheless prepared herself for another long day in the saddle. Fortunately, the right answer was indeed the last. They stopped much earlier at an inn, and it appeared the host was waiting for them.

      Unfortunately, this inn was not quite so prosperous looking as Elrod’s. The main building was rather small, the yard untidy, the wall missing several stones. The host was a thin, sallow fellow, and none of the servants who came to help with the horses and the wagon seemed any healthier or more robust.

      The taproom was dim, for the shutters were open only a little. Nevertheless, she could see that it wasn’t as clean as Elrod’s establishment. At least there was a good fire blazing in the hearth.

      She joined Roland there, removing her gloves and tucking them into her belt, then holding out her hands to warm them.

      She hadn’t intended to speak to Roland, but silence was not her natural state. “It seems we were expected, my lord. Was that why you sent Arnhelm and Verdan on ahead?”

      “Yes,” he replied, looking around. “Elrod suggested we stop here. I begin to doubt his recommendation.”

      “We can ride on and seek another,” she offered, and despite her fatigue.

      He slid her a sidelong glance. “No. You are too tired.”

      Mavis didn’t disagree nor did she say anything else. She sat quietly by the fire, waiting for wine and refreshment, while Roland sat just as silently beside her, staring grimly at the fire.

      * * *

      “He don’t look pleased,” Verdan said to Arnhelm as they entered the taproom along with the rest of the men after seeing to the horses.

      They took their places on benches some distance from the hearth. It was colder there, but they didn’t want to get too close to Sir Roland.

      Looking around, Arnhelm spoke quietly, so that only his brother could hear. “I’ve stayed in worse, and we could have found worse.”

      Verdan nodded his agreement as the innkeeper—a reed of a fellow who’d been only too happy to have such a large company and for even less than the last innkeeper—hurried toward the keg that had caught Arnhelm’s eye the moment he’d walked in.

      “Here, Halldie!” the innkeeper called out to a not-so-young serving wench who scurried into the room like a squirrel on the hunt for nuts for the winter. She had a pitcher in her hand and two goblets that she set in front of Lady Mavis and Sir Roland before she faced the innkeeper.

      “Bring mugs for these men,” he ordered.

      As she hurried to fetch them, the innkeeper addressed Verdan and Arnhelm. “So, where are you from?”

      “Castle DeLac,” Arnhelm replied.

      “That’s his lordship’s daughter, newly wed,” Verdan added.

      “DeLac? You’re a ways from home,” the innkeeper replied as the serving wench returned with a tray full of clay mugs.

      “We’re her escort to Dunborough.”

      The tray of mugs crashed to the floor. The serving woman’s face flushed and her whole body began to shake, while the innkeeper regarded Roland with a glare of hate. “And who might he be, then?” he demanded.

      Before Arnhelm or Verdan could answer, Sir Roland slowly got to his feet. “I am Sir Roland, Lord of Dunborough.”

      The innkeeper straightened his slender shoulders. “Your men should have said who you were. You aren’t welcome here, neither you nor your wife nor your men!”

      Lady Mavis turned as pale as snow while the stony visage of Sir Roland didn’t alter by so much as a wrinkle.

      “Aye! Go! Get out!” the serving wench cried, pointing at the door.

      Arnhelm rose and motioned for the other men to join him as he sidled toward the door, his gaze darting from Lady Mavis to Sir Roland, who did not move, to the innkeeper and the serving woman. “I am willing to pay—” Sir Roland began.

      “I don’t give a tinker’s damn how much you’ll pay,” the innkeeper exclaimed. “We know the kind of man you are.”