Page 68 of The Unwilling Bride
Eric came forward, holding Annice’s hand. Annice flushed with a becoming modesty, and didn’t raise her eyes as Eric announced, “My lord, I’ve come to ask your permission to marry Annice, the chandler’s daughter.”
Constance glanced again at the alley. There was no sign of Kiernan. Maybe she’d been wrong, and it wasn’t Kiernan at all. The alley was dark. It could have been someone else.
Even if Kiernan was still angry and unhappy, he would surely never resort to violence. He would sulk and mope and glare, but he would never burn a mill or…
She suddenly realized the yard was completely silent and that Merrick hadn’t yet given his answer to Eric.
Eric’s smile had disappeared. Annice openly wept and the people in the assembled crowd began to mutter with confusion and impatience.
What was Merrick doing?
Her husband got to his feet. “I will speak to Annice alone.”
Constance gaped as he held out his arm to Annice as if she were a lady. The young woman’s hand trembled as she placed it on Merrick’s arm, and tears fell on her cheeks as he led her a little distance away, where they could speak quietly without being overheard.
Fear and doubt grew as Constance watched them converse, Annice with her head bowed and Merrick leaning forward as if eager to catch every word. It wasa disconcertingly intimate pose, and Constance was hard pressed not to squirm with dismay, or give any other sign that she was disturbed. After all, there was a crowd to see her, too.
Again she glanced at the alley, and saw no one.
At last Merrick escorted Annice back to the dais. He put his hand over hers—another intimate gesture—then faced the assembled crowd. “I forbid the marriage.”
Constance stared in stunned disbelief. Annice gave a sob, pulled away from Merrick and fled through the equally shocked, surprised crowd.
“My lord!” Eric cried in dismay. “Why, my lord, why?”
Merrick’s face darkened with scorn. “You dare to question my decision?”
Angry murmurs rose from the crowd. Men and women exchanged fearful or angry looks—expressions Constance well remembered from the days of Wicked William. In her mind’s eye she could see his father dragging that poor girl toward his bedchamber, treating the women of Tregellas as his possessions, to use at his will.
“Why not give an explanation, my lord, as to why you have forbidden a marriage long in the making?” Constance asked, seeking an answer that would calm her fears, too.
Merrick’s great dark eyes were as hard as coal when he looked at her. Then he addressed the angry crowd, speaking loudly so that his words carried to the far wall and the soldiers standing guard, his voice cold as the bitter north wind. “The hall moot is over. Go home.”
He started to leave the dais.
“He’s robbed me!” Eric shouted. “He’s had her! He’s just like his father!”
Drawing his sword, Merrick charged toward the distraught young man. “Do you question my honor?”
Constance ran between them. “My lord!”
Breathing hard, Merrick kept his fierce gaze on Eric as if Constance wasn’t there. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, white-knuckled, the sinews raised and tense. “If you make such an accusation again, I’ll kill you.”
“Eric has a right to know why you refuse permission,” Constance asserted. And if Merrick didn’t reveal it, more than Eric would wonder why.
“I refuse to allow them to marry,” Merrick retorted. “That is all I’m going to say. It should be enough.” He raised his voice again. “That should be enough for you all.”
His sword still held in his hand, he wheeled and marched into the hall.
Constance didn’t hesitate for a moment. She hurried after him into the hall, and up the stairs to his solar. Although the door was closed, she burst into the chamber without seeking his permission.
His hands balled into fists, Merrick stood at the window. He had to have heard her enter, yet he neither turned nor gave any other sign that he knew he was no longer alone.
“Why did you refuse them permission?”
His face was a hard mask when he finally faced her. “Because I couldn’t, in good conscience, grant it.”
“In good conscience?” she repeated. “Why would approving the request of two people who want to marry trouble your conscience? Everyone knows they were just waiting until Eric’s father gave him the smithy.”
