Brides of Ireland Page 3

  Somehow, he’d managed to throw the bolt and yank at the door before Pearce and Mylo could stop him, but he couldn’t get the door open wide enough to escape before Pearce threw his body at the door to slam it shut again. Swords were up and flying, and Bric had to fend off two good strokes from Mylo, meant to disarm him and nothing more. They weren’t trying to hurt him, but they were attempting to disarm him. Bric would die before he let that happen.

  The little whelps were going to pay dearly.

  The sounds of swords could be heard throughout the keep. On the top floor, Daveigh was roused from a deep sleep by his manservant, who announced that the knights were fighting down in the keep entry. With a smirk, Daveigh tossed off the coverlets and hurried to dress, as did his wife beside him.

  Keeva de Winter knew what was happening. This was something that had been building for two days, ever since Bric MacRohan had been informed that he was to be a bridegroom, courtesy of an offer from Dashiell du Reims, heir to East Anglia’s earldom. That didn’t sit well with the big Irish knight, and he’d locked himself in his chambers for two days. No amount of pleading or shouting from Daveigh could get him to come out. But Daveigh knew, at some point, that Bric would attempt an escape. He’d prepared for that eventuality.

  It seemed that he’d been right.

  When Daveigh saw that his wife was dressing, he waved her off. “I do not want you downstairs right now,” he told her. “If Bric is in battle mode, then you could be injured. You know the man stops for nothing when he is in a fight and I do not want you in his line of sight.”

  Keeva, pretty and pale, with deep red hair in long spirals down her back, waved him off. “Don’t be stupid.” Her Irish accent was strong as she pulled on a long, heavy robe that was warm against the cold morning temperatures. “Bric would not turn against me.”

  “He may not even know it is you until it is too late.”

  Keeva tied off her robe and headed for the chamber door as her husband hurried to follow, pulling on his boots. She wasn’t about to take any foolishness from her husband’s premier knight, a man who happened to be her cousin.

  “I will stop this right now,” she said. “You and your knights have coddled Bric too much. This is ridiculous that you’d let a grown man rebel like this.”

  Fiery was a word to describe the woman. She was stronger than most men. Keeva charged out of the bedchamber as Daveigh followed, both of them racing for the narrow spiral stairs that led to the level below. Once they entered the darkened first level, where the great hall and several smaller chambers were, they could immediately see the fighting near the massive, double-doored entry.

  Instead of two knights against one, several soldiers were now involved, too. They’d been summoned through the kitchens by frightened servants and now a line of armed soldiers stood around the three knights doing battle. There was some shouting going on, mostly shouting encouragement at Bric, who had disarmed Mylo and had the man in a chokehold around the neck, using him as a shield against Pearce, who was genuinely trying not to hurt anyone. All he wanted to do was disarm Bric, but now it had turned into a hostage situation.

  But Bric was having no part of Pearce’s attempts. As Daveigh and Keeva approached, Bric lashed out a big foot at a soldier who got too close, smashing the man in the knee. As the soldier went down in pain, Keeva’s shout brought everything to a halt.

  “Bric MacRohan!” she yelled. “If you don’t cease your fighting and release Mylo, I will enter the fight and you’ll not like it in the least. Do you understand me?”

  Odd how one angry woman could stop what dozens of men couldn’t. Bric came to an immediate halt at the sound of her voice and released Mylo, shoving the man far away from him. Back against the wall, he stood there with his sword raised as Keeva and Daveigh broke up the ring of soldiers, sending them all back the way they’d came.

  But Keeva was genuinely angry. As Pearce and Mylo backed away, she came up to Bric and pointed to his sword.

  “Put it away,” she grumbled. “How dare you embarrass me. How dare you behave like this.”

  Bric eyed the woman; she was his cousin, and he had been part of her dowry when she’d come to marry Daveigh de Winter. That was how the bred-and-bled Irish knight had ended up in the service of the English de Winter war machine. But she was also foul-tempered at times, and bold, and she wasn’t beyond taking him on in a fight if she was mad enough. Bric wanted to avoid that, but he also wouldn’t let himself be pushed around by a slip of a woman.

  Even if she was his liege’s wife.

  “Lady de Winter,” he said deliberately. “I am defending myself. It would have done you greater embarrassment had I allowed myself to be captured like a fool.”

  Keeva scowled. “Go over there and sit down,” she said, pointing into the great hall and the nearest table. “Sit yourself down, Bric, and keep your lips shut until I have had my say in all of this.”

  Bric sighed heavily, eyeing her unhappily before complying. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her if he was attempting to avoid a physical altercation with the woman, so he lumbered over to the table she was indicating and planted himself on the end of the bench. He could see from his periphery that Daveigh, Pearce, and Mylo had followed, hiding behind Keeva because they, too, were fearful of her spitfire Irish temper.

  They would let her take the lead. Between two Irish hotheads, that was all they could do.

  “Now,” Keeva said as she faced off against her cousin. “I have been listening to this foolishness for two days, ever since my husband informed you of your bride. Clearly, you have no understanding of how important this is, so I will explain it to you.”

  Bric started to open his mouth, but she put up a hand. “Silence!”

  He shut his mouth.

  Keeva continued. “When I wed my husband, you were part of my dowry,” she said. “That meant that you became Daveigh’s property. Do you understand that?”

  Begrudgingly, Bric nodded.

  “Good,” Keeva said. “And, as his property, he has the right to do anything he wishes with you. Are we still clear?”

  Bric rolled his eyes and looked away. That made Keeva move closer to him to ensure he heard everything she was going to say.

  “The House of de Winter is linked by blood to the Earls of Norfolk,” she said. “It is a strong alliance. But it is not linked by anything other than an oath to the Earls of East Anglia. Oath alliances can be broken, but alliances by blood or marriage are much harder to break. Dashiell du Reims, your very good and true friend, is the next Earl of East Anglia. Is this a true statement?”

  Bric knew where she was going with all of this and he was resisting her with every cell in his body. But he knew he couldn’t deny her much longer. In the end, she would have her way, and he was well aware of that.

  But he was going to go kicking and screaming all the way.

  “It is,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Keeva was standing over him. “Dash wishes for the Earls of East Anglia, and the House of du Reims, to be joined to the House of de Winter by marriage. His missive to my husband explained this. A marriage to the House of du Reims would make the most powerful alliance in all of eastern England, Bric. Norfolk, de Winter, and East Anglia will be a legendary alliance and you are to be a key part of that by marrying Dash’s cousin. You, Bric. You play a vital role in all of this. You understand how allegiances work and how important they are. How can you turn your nose up at such an opportunity?”

  Bric knew all of this, but when she put it that way, it made him look like a bloody ingrate. “Dash mentioned this alliance two months ago, in Lincoln,” he muttered. “We were in the midst of battle when the subject came up about his cousin. But I did not believe he was serious.”

  “He was,” Keeva said. “And I am sure he did not suggest a marriage between you and his cousin simply to make you miserable. I am sure he did it because he loves you.”

  Bric had nothing to say to that; any man who loved him as a bro
ther would know his views on marriage, as Dashiell did. But Dashiell evidently didn’t care. As Bric sat there and fumed, knowing he was on the losing end of this discussion, Daveigh summoned his bravery and stepped forward.

  “Bric,” he said. Seeing how miserable the man was, he sighed heavily. “I did not agree to Dash’s proposal to shame you or punish you. Surely you can see that. I did it because it was important and because I think enough of you to wed you to the cousin of the future Earl of East Anglia. Do you truly think I did this to make you miserable?”

  Bric knew he hadn’t, but he wasn’t ready to concede anything. Everyone knew he was staunchly against marriage, so it wouldn’t do any good to reiterate that stance. It didn’t matter now, not when Daveigh was determined to make an alliance. Still… he was so damned frustrated.

  “But why me?” he finally asked, turning to look at Keeva and Daveigh. “Why must it be me?”

  Daveigh sat down on the bench next to him. “Because Dashiell mentioned you by name,” he said. “And because I have no sons or daughters to offer. But I do have you, and you are my relation since you are my wife’s cousin. We are cousins. Bric, I come from one of the ten great ruling families that came to these shores with Gaetan de Wolfe, the Duke of Normandy’s Warwolfe, those years ago. My ancestor was so important that he was charged with the security of the great River Ouse and the wash that led to the sea, protecting it from the Northmen invaders, among others. That is why I now hold the Honor of Narborough, and my properties all along the river. You are in command of my army, one of the greatest armies in all of England. You are an important and great man in England – but you remain unmarried.”

  Bric began to chew his lip, a habit he had when frustrated. “For good reason,” he said. “I do not want to be.”

  “No man does,” Daveigh said with a smirk, a smirk that quickly vanished when Keeva shot him a nasty look. “But you are too valuable to remain unmarried. I have no sons to give, so in matters such as these – with marital alliances – I must use other relatives to ensure my empire survives. It is a great honor you have been given, Bric. Not only will your marriage bind de Winter to East Anglia, but you will also be related to the House of du Reims by marriage. Your friend, Dash, becomes your cousin. Is this so unattractive to you that you would shame me by running from it?”

  Daveigh was hitting him hard with facts that he could not deny, and Bric could feel himself folding. He was feeling increasingly unsettled and foolish for trying to run from what any sane man would consider a great honor. Bric was more than happy to accept any honor, but he just wished that marriage wasn’t involved. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed a hand wearily over his face.

  “I am not trying to shame anyone,” he said. “But you have many knights under your service. You could use any one of them for a marital contract if an alliance is what you seek.”

  “True,” Daveigh said. “But I only have one knight who is related to my wife, and only one knight who is descended from the O’Briens, the high kings of Ireland. Royal blood runs through your veins, Bric. You are unique and valuable, in so many ways. Do you not understand this?”

  Bric did. He was simply trying to find some argument to get him out of this mess, but he realized with sickening certainty that nothing would. He was going to find himself with a wife no matter how badly he didn’t want one. In looking at Daveigh, and then to Keeva, he realized that his fight was over.

  They’d won.

  Bric hadn’t lost a battle in his entire life, except the most important battle of all – the battle against having a wife. Grunting miserably, he sat back against the table.

  “I understand,” he said. “I understand all of it. I understand why you would make such an alliance, but I also understand that you have no consideration for my feelings in this.”

  “That is because it is a command,” Keeva said firmly. “You are a knight, Bric. You have no feelings when your liege gives you a command. You simply do as you are told.”

  Bric realized that he had to look at it that way, because it was the truth. Keeva was correct. Frustrated, and grossly unhappy, he stood up and sheathed his sword. He’d been holding it in his left hand the entire time.

  “I will do as I am told,” he agreed. “But in this case, there is something more involved than a simple command. This is a command that will change my life and I do not have to be happy about it. I will do as you wish and marry this girl, but the marriage will be in name only. I draw the line at being ordered how to conduct my marriage, so I will conduct it as I see fit.”

  It was a defiant statement. “I will respect that,” Daveigh said, “but remember this – the woman you are marrying is also Dashiell du Reims’ cousin. Offend and hurt the girl, and I have a feeling Dash will not take kindly to that. If you wish to damage your relationship with him then, by all means, be unfeeling and cruel to your wife. If I were you, I would think carefully about that.”

  Bric looked at him. “I never said I would be cruel and unfeeling towards her,” he said. “All I said was that I will conduct my marriage in my own way.”

  Daveigh still didn’t like the sound of that. He looked at Keeva to see if his wife had anything more to say. Her gaze was fixed on Bric.

  “I will say this once and I will say no more,” she said. “You will behave as a member of the House of de Winter and the House of O’Brien. You will conduct yourself with honor in this marriage, for it is no different than any other task or assignment that has been bestowed upon you. I know you do not wish to be married, but this is beyond your control and you will accept it with dignity. Shame me, or my husband, I will send you back to Ireland with dishonor. Do you understand me, Bric?”

  He looked at her. “Have I ever dishonored you?”

  “Nay.”

  “I do not intend to start now. But know this; as you mentioned damaging my relationship to Dash should I be cruel to his cousin, know that forcing me to marry this woman has damaged my relationship with you. Do not expect me to be the loving, kind cousin any longer. If my feelings in the matter are of no concern to you, then I am clear on your regard of me. I understand now that I am only a tool, something to be used, and I will behave accordingly.”

  With that, he bowed his head slightly, begging his leave, and headed back to the chamber he slept in, just off the entry.

  When they heard the chamber door shut, quietly, Keeva and Daveigh turned to each other. Daveigh was more emotional and empathetic than his wife, who tended to be no-nonsense in most things. Keeva was a tough woman but, deep down, she had a tender heart. That’s what made Daveigh love her so. Reaching out, he put a gentle hand on her arm.

  “He does not mean what he said,” he told her quietly. “I would not worry.”

  Keeva didn’t share her husband’s opinion. “He means it,” she said, turning once more to look at the closed chamber door. “Bric MacRohan never says anything he does not mean. But he must accept that this is his destiny. I cannot help him with that.”

  Daveigh squeezed her arm and released her. “Then, mayhap, we can only pray that the girl is somewhat attractive,” he said. “If we saddle him with a hag, he’ll truly never forgive us.”

  Keeva didn’t reply right away. Truly, she didn’t know what to say. It was sad to think that her relationship with her favorite cousin hinged on the quality of the bride he didn’t want. If the woman was a dog, then the damage would be done. But if she was pretty and accomplished, then at least there might be a chance Bric could be happy in his marriage.

  But it was done. None of them could change it. Keeva turned to her husband.

  “Tell Dashiell we will send for the lass,” she said. “We shall ensure the marriage happens.”

  Daveigh simply nodded. The marriage would indeed happen, but at what price?

  He wondered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aye, she’d heard tale of the man. Everyone in Norfolk and Suffolk knew of him, and beyond that even. He was famous throughout England.

  But she n
ever imagined it would come to this.

  It had all happened so fast. But now the time was upon her and there wasn’t a thing she could do in protest. Any argument, sage or otherwise, had died long ago and she had approached this day with all of the excitement as one does when anticipating a bloodletting.

  A bloodletting, in fact, would have been preferable. She was about to face the man they called the High Warrior, a man soon to be her husband, and the anxiety boiling in her gut was enough to set her to burping in a most unladylike manner.

  Unfortunately, she had a nervous stomach that she often couldn’t control and, God help her, surrounded by people she did not know made her painfully self-conscious about it. The House of de Winter had sent a carriage to her home, along with a pair of big knights and about twenty men-at-arms. Faced with an armed escort cheerlessly determined to be of service, she’d bid her weeping mother and joyful father a farewell and settled in for the trip to Narborough Castle, seat of the great House of de Winter.

  It had been a long and uncomfortable journey. The carriage had rolled and bumped along the way, and she had tried to be discreet as she belched her anxiety away when she thought no one was looking or listening. But when the carriage rolled through a series of sharp ruts about an hour after leaving her home, she burped loud enough to be heard. Though her escort didn’t react, she knew they had heard her.

  Sweet Jesus, let the earth open up and swallow up my appalling, ill-mannered soul, she prayed silently. These men are going to think I’ve been raised by wolves!

  Embarrassment did not quite encompass what she felt but, unfortunately for her, the earth remained closed and she had no reprieve from her embarrassment. The more the miles rolled on, the worse her nervous stomach became until nearly every other breath had some sort of gastric emission to it.

  But it was truly a pity that she was focused on her churning stomach and not on the lush Suffolk countryside. Lady Eiselle de Gael had spent her entire life near Thetford, the only daughter of a bastard grandson of a long-dead Earl of East Anglia who made his living importing fine fabrics from France to sell at his business in Bury St. Edmunds. Her mother, being a worrisome woman of ill health, did not like her daughter to stray too far from home, so consequently, Eiselle had spent a good deal of her life sequestered at home or in her father’s shop.