Page 30 of Hers To Command
No doubt he did. But surely he could see that they would be foolish to refuse whatever counsel and advice Sir Henry had to offer, especially now.
Unfortunately, he didn’t. “I say we don’t need this Norman sniffing around your sister’s skirts,” he growled. He walked up to Sir Henry and shoved him hard in the chest. “Keep away from Lady Giselle.”
The Norman grabbed Cerdic’s hand, twisting it back and away from him. “Even if I did want her,” Sir Henry said through clenched teeth, “what is more important—the fact that I might try to woo and wed her, or that I can help you defeat Roald?”
Evenif he wanted her? What man would not?
Cerdic’s face flushed and the veins in his neck stood out, but he would not give ground either. “She will never marry thee!”
“Are you her father or brother to dictate who she may marry?”
“Stop!” Mathilde cried before they came to blows. “We have enough trouble without fighting over Giselle!”
Sir Henry immediately let go. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said with a courtly bow. “You’re quite right.”
Cerdic, meanwhile, rubbed his arm. “I am sorry, too, Mathilde,” he muttered, although he continued to glare at the Norman.
“Cerdic, you said you would accept Sir Henry’s command,” Mathilde said sternly. “I expect you to hold to your word.”
Once more he flushed, and then he curtly nodded. “Aye, I will.”
It might not have been an enthusiastic response, but it was enough to content Mathilde.
“Good,” she said briskly. “Tell the men Sir Henry will be inspecting the barracks and their armor.” She looked at the Norman. “Is that not right, Sir Henry?”
After he inclined his head in agreement, Cerdic nodded once more, then marched from the room.
Mathilde sank down into her father’s chair. Now that Roald had come and gone, and Cerdic had left the chamber, she was bone weary and all her doubts and uncertainties about the future, all the shame and humiliation of her past, came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her.
“He’s certainly a proud fellow,” Sir Henry remarked, once more standing by the window.
And he was not?
Although the look in his eyes remained grave, he gave her a small, rueful smile and spread his hands. “I regret I alone was not enough to strike fear into Roald’s black heart. Perhaps if I were bigger or had a nasty scar…”
She appreciated his attempt to lighten her dismay, even if it was hopeless. “I was wrong to think he could be so easily dissuaded, yet I hoped…”
Her words trailed off in a sigh as she laced her fingers in her lap.
“You hoped he would see sense.”
“Yes,” she replied, raising her eyes to look at him.
“What was this business about your father’s will?” he asked. “He had more than one?”
Mathilde nodded. “Before Roald attacked me, my father intended to leave Ecclesford to him, with provisions for dowries for Giselle and me. We were to be under Roald’s guardianship, too, because my father trusted him then, as did we all. But…afterward…my father wrote a new will, for he would not leave his daughters or his land in that man’s hands. My father was ill, his sickness brought on by what had happened, but I assure you, he was not addled in his wits, as Roald claims. The new will is perfectly legal and must take precedence over the old.”
Mathilde went to the aumbry standing against the opposite wall. She opened the wooden doors of the cupboard and drew out an ebony box inlaid with silver. She unlocked it with a small key from the ring of household keys at her waist and pulled out a rolled parchment. “This is my father’s will, marked with his seal. You may read it for yourself and see that my father’s wishes were clearly, competently stated, and witnessed by Father Thomas.”
She handed Henry the will, then hesitated to let go of the precious document. “Can you read?”
“Yes. Sir Leonard made sure of that, too.”
As Sir Henry took it from her, their hands touched. It was only for a brief moment, but it was enough to make her feel as if her fingertips had caught fire. She didn’t dare look at him to see if he noticed, or felt the same thing as he took off the riband binding the will and unrolled the scroll.
It seemed forever until he finished reading it and handed it back to her. “This was written in August,” he noted.
“Yes.”
