Lyn Stone - Bride Of Trouville

Sir Guillaume had appropriated pretty Kate, one of the young weavers, as partner. Simm, the steward, led out his wife, and young Thomas escorted his mother, Meg. Four other couples formed another circle, and the musicians began to play a lively bransle.

Though unschooled in aught but reels and flings, her people watched her steps with Uncle Dairmid and followed with only a few stumbles. Ineptitude only added to their merriment as the dance progressed. Only Sir Guillaume remained serious, executing the dance as though he had been ordered to the dreadful chore.

Bracing her lips into a forced smile, Anne glanced toward the table. Her knees almost gave way. Trouville, his large hand encircling Robert’s elbow, frowned darkly as he spoke to her son. Her uncle whirled her again and she nearly fell.

As soon as she recovered, she looked back frantically at the two on the dais. Rob was nodding and smiling as sweetly as ever while the comte held his cup aloft for another refill.

Then Rob set the flagon on the table and scampered away with Henri. Jesu, they had been found out. Now all was lost.

The dance came to a rousing finish as her uncle lifted her by the waist and set her on her feet with a thump. Hearty applause mocked the futility of her evening’s plans. Anne abandoned both her smile and her hope. She stared down at the scattered rushes and heaved a huge sigh of defeat.

“Dance, my lady?”

She felt Trouville’s fingers capture hers, and slowly turned, expecting an angry denouncement of her duplicity, a promise of punishment for the truth she had sought to hide, and a threat to toss Robert to the four winds to fend for himself.

Instead, her betrothed smiled down on her. The lyre and gittern struck a soft, slow pavane and he lifted her hand, turning this way and that as they slowly circled the floor.

He did not know yet! He did not know. Anne swallowed a sob of relief and focused attention on her feet.

How she wished to lose herself in the music, to be fifteen again and all-trusting. Trouville looked divine in his dark velvet and silver. The softness and shine did nothing to mask his formidable strength and hardness. His exotic scent enveloped her, stirring fantasies of sumptuous spice-laden feasts and unknown pleasures.

“Grace needs a new name,” he said in a voice as velvety as the softness of his sleeve. “I shall call her Anne.”

She sighed deeply in spite of herself. Here was a man who might have stolen her heart as well as her hand. A maiden’s dream, a bride’s illusion. She wished she had been allowed that in her youth, even for a brief interval. A chimera to cherish.

Would that he had come here years ago, before MacBain. Everything would have turned out the same after the birth of a child, of course, but she might have at least enjoyed the pretense of happiness for a while.

Anne shook herself smartly. She dared not afford even a moment’s lapse in her guard tonight, certainly not to recapture her long-lost girlhood and entertain romantic dreams. Her wits must remain sharp.

The comte did not know yet, even after speaking directly to Robert. Or mayhaps he did. He might well know everything, and only played this courtly game of his to increase her dread. Did all men enjoy baiting women?

Chapter Four

The dance provided Anne more dread than pleasure. The comte smiled down at her as though all was right with the world. She braced herself for what would surely come.

How long must she endure this before he would announce plans to seize everything her son owned? Until the music stopped? Nay. She suddenly realized that he would have to postpone that until after he had her safely wed for fear she would cry off. Aye, that must be the way of it. If she refused to marry him, then her uncle, as Rob’s only male relative, would take Baincroft for his own. Dairmid Hume would have done so already if he had realized Rob’s impairment.

Anne dared to look Trouville directly in the eye then, searching for the streak of cunning. All she saw was benevolent concern.

It could be that he had not guessed after all. Had Rob managed to bluff his way through an entire conversation without revealing himself? Anne had to find out.

“My son angered you tonight, my lord?” she asked tentatively.

“Angered? No, not tonight. I am afraid I did admonish him once more for his acrobatics on the battlements this mom. However, he solemnly promised me never to repeat the feat again. You should have told me earlier that he was your son, though I do understand why you did not.”

“You do?” Anne held her breath. He had recognized Rob, after all, despite the changes she had wrought with the haircut and clothes.

His low laughter rippled along her jangled nerves. “Of course. You feared I would take him to task for it again, only the second time as a father might do a son. Forgive me, for I did that anyway. I thought we should begin as we mean to go, Robert and L”

She stopped dancing and stepped away from him. glaring. “You are not his father! You have no right—”

He clasped her hands firmly and squeezed. “Robert will be my son, Anne, as near to one as he will allow. Or as near as you will allow.” His dark eyes locked on hers, soft with a glow of patient good humor. “You know what you need, do you not?”

“Need?” she asked, suddenly lost in his all-encompassing gaze. She nearly forgot his question.

“You need more children! You coddle that boy.” He forced her to move again, resuming their dance. “Perhaps coddle is not the correct word, but you hold him too closely. He should be working, preparing to squire, not teetering on merlons, courting an early death. The rapscallion’s nimble, though. I will grant him that.”

She could not form words, her heart beat so frantically.

Trouville continued, “He attends well, that one. Never once did he let his attention wander as boys are like to do. I swear he hangs on every word. Can you not see he craves guidance?”

“I give him guidance!” she declared in defense. If he only knew the guidance required for a lad like Rob. Daunting.

“Of course you do,” he replied soothingly. “But all boys of that age seek adventure. I would put a small sword in his hand and teach him skills to defend what is his when he comes of age. He needs the discipline of serving a firm master so that he will learn to give orders of his own one day.”

All too true. Anne admitted that. But how? Trouville spoke as if he would teach Rob these things himself. How could she allow the man who might be his worst threat to apply that instruction? She could not.

“I would keep my son by me, my lord. I insist he remain here. At Baincroft.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, advancing elegantly to the music. “I agree. He should remain here. Do not worry more over it, my dear. It was simply a thought.” The music ended and he led her back to the dais.

Both his son and hers had joined the others around the musicians, waiting for the next dance. Rob tugged at Jehan’s braid and took her hand, while Henri edged his way between his father’s knight and young Kate. At least while they danced, she could breathe more easily.

There was nothing for it now but to wait and see what happened. Apparently, Trouville must have asked only questions which Robert had somehow answered appropriately.

Rob’s poor speech might have seemed only a matter of difficulty with a language other than Gaelic. A jest there, for he only had command of a half-dozen words in the old tongue. But Rob did have a gift for appearing to listen intently even if he did not understand a thing. Or even if he was not at all interested. That was another tool he wielded with efficiency, as he did that celestial smile of his.

Exhaustion threatened to overcome her as the night wore on in an endless progression of songs and poems by her uncle’s entertainers. She rested one elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand. Not a dignified position for a lady, but it kept her from nodding off.