Bold Bounty, page 24
“Bjorn Halden?” The duke appeared startled by the name. He regained his composure quickly and asked, “Do you come to raid?”
“I come for the woman who is to be my wife, Morwen Angmire of Wales,” Bjorn answered.
“It is as I feared,” the duke said. He lowered his sword but did not yet return it to its scabbard. “Are you three alone?” He looked at them. Bjorn saw the man’s eyes light as if they had caught a fire when he noticed Yvette.
“We are alone,” Bjorn said. “I have eight more men on my ship. They will remain there for the time being.”
“Let them in,” Colton ordered. The guards looked at him questioningly before they raised the portcullis. Bjorn led Sven and Yvette into the courtyard. The barrier closed behind them with a rattle of chains and a clang of iron. “Come inside, we will discuss these matters in private,” Colton said as he led them into the great hall.
Bjorn and his companions were given food and drink and sat at a long table with Colton Angmire and an older woman he introduced as his mother. The young nobleman explained the death of his father and that he was new to the title of duke. Bjorn liked the man immediately. Colton Angmire was someone who could be trusted.
“You are the man Le Chevreaux was searching for?” Colton asked.
“I have heard he used my name,” Bjorn answered. “He is lucky he did not find me. But I will find him.” He bit a large chunk from a leg of mutton, thinking of his hungry men aboard the ship.
“We are to leave for France tomorrow,” Colton said. “We should already have been gone from here, but the storms and matters of state have kept me home. My sister is to be married to the Marquis in six days.”
Bjorn dropped his mutton onto the plate. “She is not yet married?”
“No, she made the Marquis give his word that he would allow her thirty days to mourn the death of our father,” Colton answered.
“The word of Le Chevreaux is like whispers in the wind,” Bjorn muttered. “But supposing he holds to it, and I know Morwen could hold him if any mortal could, you say it is six days before they will be wed?”
“Yes. We are leaving with the morning tide, and will barely make Bordeaux in time, if the weather allows swift travel,” the duke replied.
“What is your view of the Marquis?” Bjorn asked. “Is he a man you would be glad to see your sister marry?”
“He is a villain,” Colton answered. “Maybe worse. I suspect him of killing livestock and even people while he was a guest here.”
“Colton,” Bronwyn spoke for the first time. “You are speaking with the Viking who had our Morwen carried off in the first place. Le Chevreaux is not a saint, but is he a thief who would steal daughters and sisters?”
Bjorn laughed, though Sven became agitated beside him. Bjorn steadied his friend with a hand motion as he spoke to the lady of the keep. “I am very sorry my men disturbed you,” he said. “They did not act with my permission. I was not chief when this raid was made, and I knew nothing of it until Lars and the others returned to the village with nearly two score Welsh maidens. Did Morwen not tell you of our plan to return the women?”
“No,” Colton answered. “She would speak very little of you.”
“I made her promise to keep our plans private,” Bjorn said. “My people would not have liked the thought of returning captives.” Still, why would she speak little of me to her brother?
“As for the Marquis not stealing women,” Colton said to his mother. “The daughter of the farmer Sayer has not been found. I would stake my dukedom that it was Le Chevreaux who kidnapped her. And killed her entire family.”
“That was an animal attack,” Bronwyn said.
“You may both be right,” Bjorn said quietly. “However, I can promise you that Le Chevreaux would steal a woman, or a young boy, given the chance. It is his habit to keep pleasure slaves in his home.” Both the Welsh folk gave him horrified glances.
“Then Morwen shall not marry that devil,” Colton said, slamming his fist down on the table.
“She will marry me,” Bjorn said. “She agreed to it of her own will. I will fetch her back here, we will wed, and then return to my village.”
“To a Viking?” Bronwyn moaned.
“Both Glynis and Rhonda chose husbands from these folk,” Colton said. “Bjorn Halden seems a good man, and you saw Morwen’s face when we tried to get her to speak of him. It is he that she would marry. I am sure of it. So be it.”
“But what of France?” Bronwyn asked. “The marriage was to be a bond of friendship between nations.”
“Morwen will be stolen by a Viking,” Bjorn answered. “Wales will not be to blame.”
“It is a good plan, if you can achieve it,” Colton said.
“Bjorn will get what he goes after,” Sven promised.
“Yes, I will get Morwen,” Bjorn agreed. “I will sail to the coast of France and then travel over land to the home of Le Chevreaux. I will go alone and no one will realize I am a Viking until the Marquis himself recognizes me. I will return with Morwen to my ship and we will come back here.”
“Can you get in and out of the chateau alone?” Colton asked. “Le Chevreaux will have guards.”
“I will manage,” Bjorn promised.
“And if you should fail?” Colton asked. “If you fail, we should be there to attend the marriage.”
“Then go,” Bjorn said. “Sail at dawn, but you will have no need to step onto the soil of France. I will bring Morwen to your ship if you anchor to the south of the river. I will show you she is safe and willing to be my wife.”
“I will be there. But on the day before the wedding, if I have no word from you, I will have to go to the home of Le Chevreaux,” Colton agreed. “May God help you succeed.”
“There are two more things I would discuss with you,” Bjorn said.
“You need only speak,” Colton responded. “Anything I can do to aid you in this matter, I will do it.”
“I need food and drink for my men. We were long in the teeth of the storms and our supplies are nearly gone.”
“It will be done,” Colton promised.
“We will sail tonight,” Bjorn said. “Does that give you time enough?”
“If I say no, will you raid the land?” Colton cocked an eyebrow and put a hand on his sword hilt.
“We will raid the land of England, if necessary,” Bjorn admitted.
“I will have supplies sent to your ship at once,” Colton said. “I would not have you spend time raiding.”
“Thank you,” Bjorn answered. He looked sidelong at Yvette, then back to the duke. “The other matter involves a stowaway who thought she might find a friend among the Welsh.”
“Lady Yvette.” Colton’s gaze softened when he turned to the woman. “I am happy to see you again.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Yvette said shyly.
“Did you come seeking me?” Colton asked. Yvette blushed and could not answer.
“She thinks you may have fancied her,” Bjorn commented. “And I can vow that she fancies you.”
“You are welcome to stay here,” Colton said. “I will put you in my mother’s care, if you both are willing, until—” He broke off and looked at Bjorn.
“If you decide to marry her, do it.” Bjorn laughed. “She was raised a Viking and has had no father for many years. As her chief, she is under my protection, and I can give permission for her to marry. She is free to do as she will.”
“Will you accept her in your court, Mother?” Colton asked.
“Is she a Christian?” Bronwyn looked at Yvette.
“I know of your God, my lady,” Yvette answered. “My own mother taught me. She was a Saxon, taken in a raid. I would know more.”
“Very well,” Bronwyn agreed with a sigh. “With the other girls all gone to marry Viking men, I will keep a Viking woman company until she marries my son.”
“What of your mother?” Colton asked.
“She knows what I have done, and I left the village with her blessing,” Yvette answered.
“Then it is settled,” Bjorn announced. “I will leave for Wales as soon as we are supplied.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Morwen stood still while a seamstress and three assistants rechecked their measurements on her body. The seamstress, a middle-aged woman who looked as though she was in need of new clothes herself, clucked and bowed to Morwen.
“You will look splendid,” she promised. “Just splendid.” Then she rounded up her apprentices and herded them out the door, leaving Morwen alone with Wynne.
The door had scarcely closed before it was thrown open again. The Marquis Delmore Le Chevreaux stood in the doorway, dressed in magnificent garments of bright shades. He was smiling and stroking his mustache as he studied the women.
“What do you want?” Morwen asked.
“You must learn some manners and respect for your husband, Morwen Angmire,” Le Chevreaux said, his voice slurred like a Viking who had drunk too much mead. “We will work on that. As to what I want, I want you, Morwen. Come with me. I have something I waited all winter to show you.”
“What is it?”
“Come along, woman, or I will have you carried,” the Marquis barked.
Morwen deliberately adjusted her skirt and walked gracefully toward the door, keeping her chin high and her eyes away from the man’s leering face. As she passed him, she could smell the liquor; it was as if the man had bathed in drink.
“Not you, my young one,” Le Chevreaux said, waving Wynne away. “Maybe you can see it later, but not today. I will take only my future wife there today.”
“Where are we going?” Morwen asked again.
“You will see.”
“Morwen?”
“Stay here, Wynne.” Morwen glanced at the girl again. “I will be all right.”
Morwen stepped out of the room, and Le Chevreaux closed the door. He motioned over his shoulder for her to follow. They traversed three long hallways in silence, and then descended a stairwell and walked down another short hallway. Le Chevreaux opened a door and motioned for Morwen to enter first.
Morwen looked around the room, which at first did not seem so strange. The furnishings consisted of two huge canopied beds, three sofas, and many chairs. Dozens of pillows littered the furniture and floor. Then Morwen noticed the glint of metal on one of the bedposts. She stepped forward to examine it and found that all four posts of both beds were equipped with manacles. She looked away and then saw there were more iron bands set in the walls at various locations. An open closet in one corner of the room revealed a rack of whips of differing lengths, and a leather hood, like an executioner would wear, hanging from a peg.
Is this where I am to spend my wedding night? A shiver ran up Morwen’s spine at the thought of what must have gone on in this room.
“Do you like it?” Le Chevreaux walked to the closet. He grabbed a whip and toyed with it as she watched.
“What is the meaning of this?” Morwen’s voice quavered. “Why have you shown me this chamber of sin?” Le Chevreaux locked gazes with her and didn’t respond.
“Take me back to my room,” Morwen demanded. Never before had she felt such fear, not even when rescuing Bjorn from the freezing waters of the fjord.
“Have you seen enough?” Le Chevreaux chided. “Have I given you something to think about while you wait for the consummation of our wedding vows?”
“Take me back,” Morwen repeated.
“Very well.” Le Chevreaux replaced the whip and returned to the door, pausing before opening it.
The Marquis’ hand was covered in thick black hair, and his fingers were tipped with the claws of an animal. Her gaze shifted from the hand to the man’s face. Morwen froze. No sound came from her mouth when she tried to call for help. Her arms wouldn’t budge though she wanted to block out the abomination before her.
“Do you like it?” He stroked his mustache with the claws. More hair sprouted on his face, covering his cheeks.
“You will learn to be submissive to me, Morwen,” he growled. His canines lengthened and sharpened in his mouth. “If you are unspoiled by the Viking, you will be my wife and sit in my court by day and endure my lust by night.” He stalked closer, the musky animal smell enveloping Morwen. “If you prove to be unfit as a wife, you will spend your time here, pleasuring me as many before you have done.” He grazed her cheek with a claw. “Or, perhaps, I will bite you so that you share my lycanthropic curse. Would you like that? Would you share in the damnation of my soul?”
“Gwenhwyfar…”
“Oh yes, the little Welsh slut drew a very accurate picture,” Le Chevreaux snarled as he straightened and stepped back. “Accurate enough I had her thrown overboard after she was dragged from your cabin.”
“You killed her?”
“I was quite finished with her. She wasn’t nearly as much fun as I’d hoped she’d be when I killed and ate her family.”
Morwen dropped to her knees, sobbing. “Why? Why do you do this to me? I know you have not always been what you are. My father never would have consented to our marriage had he known.”
“I admit, Morwen, I was not what I am when first we met,” Le Chevreaux said, his voice changed.
Morwen looked up and saw his features were once again fully human. He brushed away fine black wolf hairs from his face. She watched the hairs float to the floor.
“I became this way after my father was killed. It was werewolves, you see. They killed my father and our best huntsmen and, just for sport, transferred their curse to me. They thought they would be safe if they made me like them. They were not. I tried to control the urges for a while, but I am not a man of easy temperament, as you may know already. The seduction of the wolf is strong.”
“What of…of this?” Morwen gestured around the room.
“Ah, well, I have always enjoyed, shall we say, more diverse forms of sexual pleasure than most are accustomed to,” he answered. “It is amazing, though, the difference in screams when a woman or young boy is being violated by a man compared to the same person being violated by a wolf.”
“You’re a monster,” Morwen said. “Body and soul, you are damned.”
“You are right, Morwen Angmire. I am. So why bother trying for virtue? This thing that controls me, that forces me to become a wolf for several days each month, it has damned me already. So why should I deny myself any earthly pleasure?”
Morwen couldn’t answer. She only sat on the floor, silent tears spilling from her eyes.
“Now, come. I will take you back to your room. You understand now the full extent of what you will enter into. If you are not a virgin, you will come here after our marriage is annulled. You will stay here until I grow tired of you and have you killed, unless I decide you would make a worthy companion as a wolf.” He motioned to the door again.
Morwen stood and forced herself not to run for the hallway. The Marquis exited behind her, closing and locking the door of the room. He led her back to the room where Wynne waited on her and left her without saying another word.
“Morwen, what happened?” Wynne asked when they were alone. “You are so pale. What did that devil do to you?”
“I’m fine,” Morwen said. “He—he showed me a dungeon. Please, do not ask more. It’s too horrible to speak of.”
Morwen went to the basin beside the bed and poured herself a cup of water. She stood at the basin, willing her nerves to calm and her heart to slow. At last, she could face Wynne without showing her fear. She turned and found Wynne watching her with a worried expression on her face.
“I’m all right.” Morwen tried a smile. “He didn’t do anything to me.”
“What will you do, Morwen?” Wynne asked.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Morwen answered. “What happens after the wedding night will be up to the Marquis.”
“He will disgrace you.”
“Probably.” Morwen sighed and sat on the bed. If only that were the worst of it. “How do you feel?”
“I’m all right,” Wynne answered. “It feels hot here after spending all winter in the north.”
“It is warmer here,” Morwen said. “I wish you had not come. I don’t like to think of what may happen to you after the wedding.”
“If you can submit to whatever the Marquis does to you, I can do no less for you,” Wynne said.
Morwen smiled at the bravery of the young woman. “I hope it will not be so bad. Surely, not all Frenchmen are like the Marquis. You may yet be able to find a husband. You should make sure you learn who is not married among the wedding guests and be friendly toward the best of them. And do so quickly.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” the girl said, blushing.
“As mistress of this court, I order you to try to find a husband at my wedding,” Morwen said. Wynne giggled, and Morwen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I am serious, Wynne. You should leave my room more often and mingle with the guests here. You should establish connections, show yourself, be friendly and likable. The Marquis should…he should be worried that important people would miss you if you…were no longer around.”
“Is it so bad?”
Morwen could only nod.
“What of your brother, and Bronwyn?” Wynne asked.
“I have heard no word from them,” Morwen said. “I heard there was a terrible storm at sea in the area of Wales. Perhaps that caused a delay.”
“I hope they get here before the wedding. Colton may yet find a way to stop this wedding and take us home.”
“Perhaps,” Morwen said. She entertained the idea of going to the local priest and telling the man the Marquis was a werewolf. He likely would think me a frightened bride-to-be claiming my future husband is a monster for fear of the wedding night. Another idea crossed her mind. “I will not be married without my brother to give me away.”
“I don’t think you can push the Marquis much further,” Wynne said. “I’ve never seen a man get so mad. He won’t like it if you give another excuse to delay the marriage.”
“I will worry about him. We must find a way for you to get out and meet people.”
