Catherine Archer - Fire Song

In spite of his unexpected reactions to Meredyth, Roland could not help seeing that the man appeared so distressed by her reply that he did not heed her words. Instead he went so far as to reach out and place a detaining gloved hand upon her arm when she made to turn away, speaking to her hoarsely. “Meredyth, you do not know what the two of you have done.”

Roland felt an incredibly powerful wave of possessiveness streak through him at seeing that large hand on Meredyth’s small bare arm. The sheer depth of the reaction left him feeling as if he had been broadsided by a battering ram. Yet even as he sprang forward, he told himself that his degree of vehemence was simply brought on by the fact that Meredyth was his wife, wanted or not. No other man had the right to touch her.

He was at Sir Giles’s side instantly, his fingers closing on his wrist. “Take your hand from my wife.”

Sir Giles looked up at him with dawning clarity as if he, too, were surprised by his own temerity. Then even as Roland watched, his gaze became hard and guarded as he said, “Very well, Lord Roland. I can see that no one is allowed to trespass upon what belongs to you.”

Roland did not waver in his regard of the other man. “No one.”

Sir Giles looked as if he wished to say more. Then unexpectedly he swung around and strode away from them without a backward glance.

Feeling Meredyth’s gaze upon him, Roland faced her. Her small chin was raised in stubborn defiance. She spoke, with regal conviction. “I did not require your assistance in this, my lord. I am more than capable of rebuffing that oaf.”

Roland felt another unexpected surge of respect for her self-assurance. He quickly pushed it aside, telling himself that respect was not an emotion he wished to feel in connection with any woman—and most definitely not this one. She and her sister had had no right to dupe him. He would make his own position quite clear. “I have neither need nor desire for you to protect yourself, Lady Kirkland. I hold well what belongs to me. ”

Outrage darkened her green eyes to jade. Roland had no wish for further debate. She would soon come to understand that his position as her overlord and husband was absolute. He turned and strode down the corridor without another word.

It was clear that his abrupt and obvious dismissal did not please her, for he heard a loud gasp of outrage, then the slamming of a door. A cool smile played about his lips as he heard this. That wench was sadly in need of lessoning, and learn she would, did they remain wed. There could be but one master in his household.

Her capitulation last night had been complete and gratifying. It would be so again, in bed and out. He felt an unexpected stirring in his blood.

Quickly Roland pushed aside all pleasurable thoughts of his bride. He had another matter to attend to. That of ensuring the dower he had been promised.

No woman would sway him from his purpose, no matter how delightful a night in her arms might have been. And Jesu help him, his far too vivid recollections of the evening told him it had been delightful, more so than he would ever have expected. He set his shoulders with determination. Did the dower not come with Meredyth, he would not have her.

Impatiently Roland found himself brushing aside an unwelcome and unanticipated sense of disappointment at his own decision.

He found Penacre in the great hall, where he was just finishing his morning meal. The older man’s gaze was not welcoming as he saw his new son by marriage coming toward him where he sat at the head table.

Roland lost no time in stating his demand. “Penacre, I would have a private audience with you, immediately.” He meant to find out first if Penacre had indeed known of his daughters’ trickery, and second, if he thought to withhold the dower.

Clearly the elder man did not care for Roland’s tone, for he raised a haughty silver brow. “You are free to speak here.” He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the others who were partaking of the morning meal.

“Nay,” Roland replied, “I will converse with you and only you. If your daughter speaks truth you will be glad I have afforded both her and you the courtesy of telling you what I have to say in private.”

Penacre stood, frowning. “As you wish.” Without waiting to see if Roland was indeed following, he strode from the hall. Roland went after him, feeling many sets of unfriendly eyes upon his back. It was obvious that those who had overheard his brusque words to their master did not approve. Roland gave a mental shrug. He had no care for what the folk of Penacre thought of him. He was the one who had been wronged here.

He was led to a small chamber that contained several tables and two chairs. The tables seemed to groan under the weight of the ledgers that rested atop each. Peripherally he found himself thinking that Penacre must have a care with his holdings to keep such detailed records. Then he quickly told himself that Penacre was likely only being miserly. Yet he could not help knowing that Penacre’s home was finely furnished and his daughter richly garbed.

With a wry twist of his lips, Roland told himself it did no ill to Penacre’s lot to be good friend to King John. What matter was it to him now, whom the man supported? Richard was dead.

Roland concentrated on the baron’s possible duplicity toward himself. Penacre made no motion for him to sit, nor did he do so, which was fine with Roland. He had no wish to affect any facade of polite civility.

Roland got to the point immediately. “Lord Penacre, your daughter has assured me that you had no knowledge of what she was about. That is the only reason I am even here discussing this with you rather than with the king himself.”

Penacre’s already stiff expression became even more so. “What are you jabbering about, Kirkland? What has Celeste told you that would make you go to King John in complaint?”

Roland watched the man closely. There was no indication that he was hiding anything, but Roland was not finished. “Not Celeste—Meredyth.”

“Why would Meredyth offer you offense?” The older man shook his head in obvious bafflement. “You have no cause to speak to Meredyth. Have had no need for contact with her of any kind. I’ll thank you to stay away from her.” The pain in his voice was clear as he said, “You’ve already taken the one person who means most to me and will have no more.”

Roland thought this a most odd thing to say, but pushed it aside. He could not be distracted. He continued to study Penacre for any sign of treachery as he said, “Oh, I have had opportunity for the most intimate of contacts with the lady Meredyth. You see it is she who passed the night in my arms.”

Penacre started toward him, his face a mask of anger and confusion. “You had best explain yourself, Kirkland, for I’ve no more patience in me.”

Unmoved by this and determined to learn the truth, Roland said. “It is Meredyth Chalmers who married me in the chapel last eve, Meredyth who is my wife.”

Even Roland could not doubt the utter shock and amazement that drained Hugh Chalmers’s face of all color. As Roland moved to help the older man into a chair, he could not explain the strange sense of relief he felt on finding out his wife had not lied to him on this matter, at least.

He quickly dismissed it. Betrayal was the way of women; his own mother had lessoned them in that when she had abandoned her husband and children by running away with his father’s squire. Even these more than twenty years later the memory had the power to squeeze his heart in a painful grip.

Learning that Meredyth Chalmers had told the truth of this one small matter did not change the fact that she had tricked him into marriage. In fact, it made her reason for doing so even more of a mystery. If not in some attempt to cheat him of the dower, then why indeed?