Page 26 of The Unwilling Bride
Lord Carrell stopped looking at Constance. Heglanced down below Merrick’s belt and flushed. Lord Algernon followed his gaze, then immediately disappeared from view.
“I, um, that is, my lord,” her uncle began, “until you marry her, Constance is under my care and I—”
“I understand, my lord,” he replied, his voice once more calm. “I give you good evening.” He turned to Constance, and the look in his dark eyes set her heart racing. “Good night, my lady.”
She could only bow her head in response as Merrick strode from the room.
Lord Carrell smiled at his flustered niece. “Since you’re betrothed, there’s no harm done.” He gave her a wink. “Good night, my dear.”
Then he, too, left her chamber.
Alone, Constance staggered to her bed and sat heavily. God help her, what was she going to do? Should she wed Merrick or not? Obey her head, which urged her to take the way of caution and refuse, or follow her desire…and accept?
CHAPTER SIX
THREE DAYS LATER, MERRICK strode into the courtyard, followed by Ranulf and Henry. He’d been summoned from the outer ward where the men were training with quintains and swords, despite the drizzling rain, because Sir Jowan, who held the manor of Penderston to the west of Tregellas, and his son, Kiernan, had arrived.
Sir Jowan was obviously the stout, apple-cheeked, white-haired man sitting on a very fine gelding. His son, a slender young man, fair-haired, fair skinned and with a pleasant, if not overly handsome face, rode another excellent horse. They were accompanied by a troop of twenty, who were clearly waiting for their lord’s signal before dismounting.
“Welcome to Tregellas,” Merrick said, ignoring both the older man’s steadfast, measuring gaze and his son’s haughty glare. He had encountered both reactions often enough before, so he attached no particular significance to either. “I assume I have the honor of addressing Sir Jowan of Penderston and his son?”
“Indeed, you do, my lord, indeed you do,” Sir Jowan said, his deep voice hale and hearty.
Merrick didn’t recognize it, or the man himself.
Sir Jowan called for his soldiers to dismount, and the noblemen did likewise. Watching the younger man out of the corner of his eye, Merrick noted that he had come fully mailed and armed. Interesting, especially as his father had not.
“Welcome back to Tregellas, my lord. I hope you remember me,” Sir Jowan said.
“I do,” Merrick lied. If he’d seen Sir Jowan before, he had no recollection of it. But he saw no reason to create any ill will—or increase any that existed between his neighbors and himself. “These are my friends, Sir Henry and Sir Ranulf, who trained with me under Sir Leonard de Brissy.”
“I remember you, my lord,” Kiernan said, and it was clear Merrick was not supposed to be flattered.
He didn’t remember Kiernan, either, but that wasn’t so surprising. He wondered how many times they’d visited Tregellas both before and after he was gone. Not many, he suspected.
On the other hand, Kiernan looked to be near in age to Constance, and she was attractive enough to make men risk much for her company. Kiernan was also young, from a prosperous family and clearly beloved by his father. No lines of worry or hint of past sins darkened his brow. He likely had no secrets to stand between him and the woman he yearned for.
Where was Constance now, he wondered. The kitchen? The storerooms? How would she greet these visitors?
Reminding himself that he, not Kiernan, was betrothed to Constance, and that she had not yet refused him, Merrick buried his jealousy deep and betrayed nothing on his face.
“Please join me in my hall,” he said, leading the way.
Once they were inside, Demelza hurried to bring wine, bread and cheese without having to be told. Constance had trained the servants well.
There was a long, awkward moment of silence while they waited for the wine, which Henry eventually broke. “So, Sir Jowan, has your family held land in Cornwall a long time?”
“Since before the Conquest,” the older man said, his bass voice full of pride.
“Really? And it wasn’t taken from your family by William? I wonder how that came to pass.”
“By marriage, sir,” Sir Jowan replied with a frown. “A Norman married into the family, and the land passed down that way. How did your family get their land in England?”
“Forgive me if I’ve offended you, my lord,” Henry said while Merrick silently took note of Sir Jowan’s easily roused pride. “Merely my natural curiosity, as my friends will avow.”
Ranulf nodded. “He’s always asking noblemen how their family came into their estates because he has none himself,” he explained.
Henry grinned. “Alas, Sir Jowan, ’tis true. My family has no land in England at all. We did have some in Normandy, but my father lost it all through a series ofinjudicious alliances and a tendency to gamble. My brother has a fine estate in Scotland—not that it does me any good.” He gave the older man a hopeful look. “You wouldn’t happen to know any well-landed Cornish maidens or widows who might be in need of a husband?”
