Page 32 of The Unwilling Bride
“Do I look a complete dolt?” Henry demanded with a grin.
That grin did nothing to improve Ranulf’s mood. “You look like a man quite capable of getting a young woman to do whatever he likes for his own purpose. Maybe we should find another way to keep the Cornishman away from Lady Constance.”
“I tell you, this is perfect,” Henry declared, too enthused with his plan to see any problems. “I’ll becomemuch too busy to spend time with little Lady Bea and suggest Kiernan play chess with her, or go riding. That way, we can see if Lady Constance turns peevish, or welcomes his absence.”
“I’m not convinced this is a good idea,” Ranulf said slowly.
“Of course it is,” Henry insisted. “You want Merrick to be happy, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ve got to be sure Lady Constance won’t break his heart.”
Ranulf didn’t disagree, or voice any further objections to Henry’s plan. But he was no more thrilled to think of Beatrice spending time with the not unattractive young Kiernan than he had been to see her with Henry.
AT THE SAME TIME THAT HENRY was voicing his concerns to Ranulf, Sir Jowan was confronting his son in the wall chamber given over to their use while they were in Tregellas.
“For God’s sake, show some sense!” he cried, looking at his son with both annoyance and concern. “God help us, boy, keep your feelings to yourself or the man’ll kill you.”
An oil lamp filled with sheep tallow hung from the ceiling by a slender chain, and its flickering flame illuminated Kiernan’s baleful face as he looked up at his father from where he sat on one of the two beds madewith fresh linen and wool blankets. “Can I help it if I love her?”
“You’d better help it,” Sir Jowan declared, sitting heavily on the cot opposite his son. “They’re going to be married, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
Kiernan rose and started to pace in the center of the narrow room. “He doesn’t even pay attention to her,” he grumbled, rubbing his fist into his palm. “You saw him tonight—he barely spoke to her.”
“He barely spoke to anybody.”
“I don’t care what agreements have been signed—he doesn’t deserve her.”
Sir Jowan reached out to stop his son in his agitated tracks. “Whatever we think of him, agreements have been signed, and the only people who can break them are Lord Merrick and Lady Constance.”
“You know she won’t,” Kiernan muttered as he threw himself down on the cot. “Her family honor means too much to her, and she’s anxious to ensure that the tenants don’t suffer. Look what she endured with his father.”
“But who are you to interfere? Has Constance ever given you any reason to think she wants to be free of the agreement? Has she ever told you, or given any sign, that she cares enough to marry you? That she loves you?”
Kiernan couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. “She may not love me yet, but I love her, and in time—”
“In time is not now,” his father declared. “If she doesn’t want you, you shouldn’t try to come between her and Lord Merrick.”
Kiernan raised his head, his eyes blazing with righteous passion. “I’d rather die than see her married to that grim brute.”
Real fear lodged in Sir Jowan’s heart as he pleaded with his beloved, headstrong son. “If you challenge him, you will die. He’s been trained by the best and he’s won tournaments all over England. He outweighs you by at least five stone. You’d have to train for a year to come close to beating him, and even then, he’d still be bigger than you.”
“Big doesn’t mean he’ll beat me.”
Sir Jowan grabbed his son by the shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Kiernan. If you interfere with this marriage, if you challenge Merrick, he’ll surely kill you without a moment’s remorse. How would that help Constance? How will he treat her if he thinks there was something between you, when there was not? Is that fair or just to her?”
His fierceness softened. “My son, it’s her right to refuse, if she so wishes, and you know as well as I that Constance is not a woman to be bullied into marriage. If she marries this man, it will be because she wants to.”
“It will be because she’s worried about the tenants and villagers,” his son stubbornly persisted.
“Whatever reason she has for marrying him, if you do love her, if you respect her and want her to be happy, you won’t make things worse, even with the best of intentions,” his father pleaded.
Kiernan wrenched himself free, then stood with his shoulders slumped, his head hanging, the very image of despair. “I can’t stand to think of her married to that Norman lout.”
“I know, I know, my son,” his father said softly, his heart aching for his unhappy child. “But if you truly love her, you must let her choose her fate. All you can do is let her know that if things go awry, she has friends, and we will help her all we can. Do you hear me, my son?”
Kiernan nodded.
