How to Marry Your Wife Read online

  Marcus put the edge of his blade to his nose and squinted. “We sent pigeons and many a fast horse. When you couldn’t be found after several years, we assumed you were dead, my friend. While I’m pleased to see you, you can imagine our shock when Edward sent word you’d arrived safely back in England.”

  No doubt Lady Ann had much more to say on the matter, but Marcus leaned over and put a finger to her lips. She scowled and poked mercilessly at the mass of tangled yarn in her lap.

  Thomas stood and paced with hands in the air. “How was I expected to know you had want of me? Was it not you who trained me to go beyond boundaries known to this kingdom to fetch the rarest of items?”

  “Calm yourself. Sit, sit. I’m just saying that you must marry quickly and quietly. More than once, Meredith was nearly stoned, despite being my ward. Finally, I sent Brother James with enough coin to London to purchase a sealed parchment, proving your marriage.”

  Bowing his head, Thomas slipped off his chair. He knelt in front of Marcus with sword held high overhead. “I swear to you. I did not … I did not … Damn all the souls in hell. My lance did not breach her maidenhood. I was and still am a knight of honor. I’d never break my vow to you.”

  Marcus cuffed him on the head. “Stand at ease. I do believe that is what you believe, even though the evidence is damning to the contrary. However, I’m not willing to admit that a second Christ is among us. No insult intended, but Merry is no mother of God and you are no Joseph.”

  “I’m in your debt.” Thomas sat back down.

  “Besides, you may not kneel to me in fealty. You’re now the master of your own estate equal to mine—a free man, as I’m sure Edward informed you.”

  “What a farce. The bastard son inherits all. My father will no doubt haunt me from the depths of hell, but I warned him. Did I not? The Earl of Annandale is not a man to be trusted. From the castle Carlisle he plots to be king. Bah. I should mourn, but cannot. An evil lot, those that bore me, all of them.”

  Marcus continued making long strokes with his sharpening stone upon the blade’s edge. Every so often he stopped and brought the steel closer to his eye. He handed the sword to Thomas, pointing to a nick. “Your home-coming is quite fortuitous.”

  “So say you. A wife, a boy, and now land to keep safe from the Scots as well as the peasants? Why not shackle me, beat me, and lock me in the dungeon?” Thomas spit upon the metal, rubbed out the defect, and handed it back.

  A woman’s tiny gasp sounded from above and a door slammed. A string of curses, worse than he’d heard on the boat that brought him home to England, echoed down the stairs.

  Lady Ann stood with her hands upon her hips and the words she’d been holding back gushed out. “Well done, Sir Thomas. Now Lady Meredith knows exactly what you think of the situation. ’Tis more than enough. We’re going to have a wedding. She loves you. Well … I believe she did until you opened your ever-widening mouth. I might suggest you keep it closed for the remainder of your wedding day if you expect anything from under the blankets.”

  Thomas turned to Marcus for rescue from his wife’s wrath. “This is worse than the day you married the Lady Ann to steal her lands.”

  “Oh, no. You’ll not rain boiling oil down upon me. Ann was bestowed to me from Edward, and all the gold in England would not have been a finer gift.” He winked at Ann and she beamed back with adoration.

  Thomas rolled his eyes and muttered, “Doth bleats the former Beast of Blackwell.”

  With fire in her eyes, Ann took two steps across the front of the hearth. The bottom of her wool tunic swished against the tiles. She pushed at his chest with flat palms. “Just what did you say to Merry in the bathhouse?”

  “It’s too horrible to speak aloud.” He closed his eyes, wishing to go back in time to repair that moment. The sting of the flat of a blade to his bicep brought him to the present.

  He grabbed for the hilt of his sword. “Damnation. If you want to meet my mettle, meet it outside, not in front of your hearth.”

  “You’re a horse’s arse.” Marcus stared with face carved of stone.

  “Aye. So I’ve been told. Twice in fact, only today.” Thomas grinned and rubbed his throbbing arm.

  The look faded on his friend’s face to one more pleasing. “Come, I’ll walk you over to the church. Ann, see if you can get Meredith to come agreeably. If not, call for help and I’ll see to it.”

  Through the center of the dozen tables, they cleared a path. Once outside, the sweet grass of the great lawn met his nostrils and he was reminded of his short stay long ago when maid Merry was a gentle six and ten and sweeter than a kitten. Thirty paces brought them to the center of the green, halfway to the church.

  Just beyond, Marcus’ village was even larger than the last time he’d visited. The fires of the pottery kiln poured smoke into the air and tallow from the candle maker wafted on the breeze. Clacking from the cloth house looms mixed with the sad song of the phoebe, lamenting the end of day.

  Suddenly thirsty, Thomas dropped a bucket into the well and cranked. He offered the ladle first to his friend, no longer master. The change in status was an odd fitting tunic. “While I’m willing to give my son my good name, I don’t believe I wish that screaming knife-wielding harpy for a wife. Too much of Ann has fallen away and stuck to her.”

  Marcus snickered. “You’ll do well with a strong woman.”

  “You see, that’s just the problem. I wish to wed Merry, the maiden of sixteen years who waited on our tables. Whose eyes sparkled and whose cheeks glowed red. The girl who ran joyfully around your manor and sang frivolous songs like an angel.”

  Setting the bucket upright into the metal bracket, Marcus sighed and gazed at the sky as if waiting for heavenly intervention. When none was forthcoming, he spoke. “Six years have passed. She’s now two and twenty. A woman. And a woman who was wronged by you.”

  Thomas opened his mouth. “Bu—”

  “Uh, uh, uh. Hold your tongue. I would’ve gutted you the instant I saw you if I didn’t know you better. I told you back then, the girl was under my protection and you were not to have her without marriage.”

  “I swear by all the Gods I did not.” Thomas scraped mud from his boots on the first stone of the three steps that led into the small church and tried to remember that night. Like always, a disturbingly large portion of the evening remained hidden.

  “Your seed was sown. Whatever miracle you both profess, her womb bore your son. Come, Brother John awaits and we must put this wrong to right. After, we’ve more missives from Edward to discuss.”

  James, the elder of the two brothers in residence, came forth from behind a carved screen at the altar. He strode down the center of the church with his hand gripping the missing hilt of a sword he hadn’t worn for years.

  Bobbing a tonsured head, he gave a happy greeting to Marcus, but his eyes shot arrows in Thomas’ direction. “God forgive me, but I’m not sure if I’m gladdened to see you.”

  “Even you, James? Certainly as Meredith’s confessor, you know the truth.” Thomas stopped and waited in the center of the church.

  “The truth is, Sir Thomas, that you shouldn’t have done any of the things you did that day.” Wide brown sleeves whipped as he pointed an accusing finger.

  “I did hand-fast myself to her that night, forever, and God heard. Isn’t that all that matters?” Thomas shifted his eyes away, but ’twas no better. The fierce countenance of a bearded God-the-Father glared at him from a side mural.

  James circled a fist around the thick gold cross at his neck and pointed toward the altar. “Move. I’ll hear your sins, you’ll say your contrition, and I’ll leave forgiveness in God’s hands.”

  With a smirk, Thomas wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “If you wait for me to confess all, we may die of starvation.”

  Marcus snickered and pushed him forward. “For heaven’s sake, man, try to abbreviate the more menial and clump the worst together. There’s much to do.”

 
; The not-so-amused Brother James stepped forward and struck out a heel that hit just behind the knee. Thomas stumbled and the priest pushed him to the floor. From atop his back, James said, “Mayhap laying prostrate before the Lord will help speed you on your journey toward holiness.”

  “Blast the saints. You’ve gained weight.” Thomas’ back screamed for mercy.

  Stifling a snort of amusement, the younger Brother John entered the church and lit candles on the altar where a carved figure of Christ hung with suffering in his long face. Thomas concurred. Mayhap after he wedded, he’d take his son north, and leave Merry with Ann and Marcus. She seemed happy enough here.

  The subject of his thoughts cleared her throat from the back of the church. Struggling onto his elbows, he turned his head and gasped with pounding heart. Backlit by the evening sun, a halo of lace blazed over her burnished locks. The golden chain around her waist pointed in a ‘V’ to where he’d soon hold the right to have her.

  Her son … No, correct that. Their son was at her side, mimicking her jutted jaw and clenched fists. She raised her voice while disengaging from Ann’s clutch at her elbow. “Sir Marcus, I beseech you. I have a betrothed. I need not marry Thomas. He was dead yesterday and the day before. Why can’t he continue to be so today?”

  Marcus strolled from the altar to where the rest stood. “I’ll work out an agreement with my brother. I’m certain he wouldn’t want to interfere in this miraculous reunion.”

  Her voice quivered and she bowed her head. Gold-red curly locks tumbled forward to hide her tearful face. “But we’ve already agreed. You’ve been too kind. If you’d not lied for me, I would’ve been stoned to death years ago.”

  Thomas wondered if braying like a donkey right about now was an appropriate response. He opened his mouth to speak, but grimaced when James put more weight upon his already aching back. Mayhap he’d best stay quiet if he wished to ever move again.

  The evening light poured out of the stained glass window and lit particles of dust. When Marcus walked the three to the altar, long wings of rose and gold lit their backs. They all stepped over where he lay flat on the floor. The heavenly scene was ruined when they turned and glared.

  At the front of the church, John stood with Bible in hand. Six years ago, the brown robe dragged on the ground and flopped over his hands. Now, it strained across a man’s chest. Sleeves that had almost reached his knees, now barely met wrists. His high tenor voice had squeaked and broken during Marcus’ wedding, but now came out lower than a camel’s growl. “Let’s begin.”

  Toppling James, Thomas hoisted up off his elbows and stood. “My God, man, you’ve grown bulbous balls in my absence.”

  Marcus spit out a hearty guffaw. Chortling, Ann hid her face behind a bunch of wildflowers and James brushed himself off with eyes of mirth. The only giggle Thomas craved, however, wasn’t forthcoming.

  “That’s an unholy thing to mutter under God’s roof.” Merry stared stonily at the wall behind the altar and tugged on the boy’s hand who had turned, grinned, and waved.

  Had he asked anyone what his boy was called? Dammit all. He hadn’t had a moment to think. He winked, waved back, and knelt next to Merry.

  Putting bread and wine upon the altar, James and John readied for mass. Ann stood beside Merry and Marcus to his right. When no one was looking, Thomas leaned over and whispered to the boy who sat on the lower step kicking. “What’s your name?”

  The boy stood straight up and shouted. “Thomas. Like my papa. A knight who killed dragons. He’s dead now.”

  Merry shot him a glance with eyebrows raised. He’d dare not correct the lad right now and fire up the wrath of Medusa yet again. He patted the boy’s head.

  At a motion from John, he folded his hands and tried to appear pious for the rest of the unfamiliar mass. God did all right without any input from him and so he wasn’t much of a praying man. And he wasn’t one to ask for anything, because he figured the payment for such a request would be more than he could afford. He made an exception for his wedding day.

  I’d ask for her joyful laugh again, Lord God Almighty Majesty. Just let me know what you’d have in trade and I’ll make a note.

  Brother John doled out a litany so long that even the cupids lining the ceiling dropped off in slumber. The sun sank low and the church grew dark. Apparently, it decided it had suffered long enough upon this day. Thomas wished he could follow it into the next town and beyond. A sharp elbow hit a rib, bringing him to attention, and Marcus thrust an unfamiliar ring into his hand.

  He recognized the Latin words requiring his response. “And Thomas D’Agostine, wilt thou have this woman, Meredith Umfraville, to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “Aye, I will.” Had anyone else heard the quiver in his voice? Apparently not, for all eyes now rested on his beautiful bride.

  “Meredith Umfraville, wilt thou have this man, Thomas Stephen D’Agostine, to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will no—”

  Ann shot a hand over Merry’s mouth.

  “Mmmph.”

  “Go on, Brother, of course she does. She’s just overwhelmed with the shock of having her husband return to her, wanting to renew their vows. Prithee continue.” Ann’s voice soothed like sweet honey and she beamed.

  John glanced up at James, who nodded his tonsured head that the vows should finish.

  What a God-forsaken farce. Thomas should end it, but he’d not have another man bedding Merry nor raising his son.

  He used the opportunity of her head bowed low to study her angelic features for once not contorted in anger. His body stirred in want and his mouth went dry. Years he had waited to thrust into her.

  Damnation. He gave a quick prayer of apology to God for where his thoughts wandered, but the mass was interminable. Bread and wine miraculously turned into the body and blood of Christ and final prayers were uttered. He thanked St. Stephen that a cantor couldn’t be found or they’d still be at the first gospel acclamation.

  With the long awaited final amen, he stood from where they knelt and held out his hand to his beautiful bride. She refused to take it. With hands upon the floor, she thrust herself up onto her own feet.

  “I hate you.” Grabbing her son’s hand, she dashed down the center of the church and turned at the door.

  “I hate you all.”

  Thomas shrugged at Marcus. “That went off quite well, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 3

  Meredith exited the church with little Tom in hand and rushed across the green. That … That … man was insufferable. She’d see to it the marriage was annulled, even if she had to walk all the way to Constantinople. If that annoying arse could find it, so could she.

  How dare he call her a you-know-what. Oh Merry, just say it. Certainly she’d heard it whispered behind her back. Magdalene. Harlot. Loose woman. Broken belt. The names were none she’d not called herself. And despite it all? He still caused the heat between her legs to flow at the sight of him. How was that possible? No other man had ever affected her so.

  She shook her head until her locks came loose out of their net and made the memory of that night fade. She kicked at the base of the well before storming toward the keep. Magdalene. Better to be shackled and locked in a dungeon. That’s what he thought of her now.

  For six years, Brother James had insisted that with penance all would be forgiven, at least by God.

  Ha, had she not prayed for all that time? Done charitable works? Kept her eyes lowered and her voice chaste? She’d given up all laughing and giggling in hopes that would appease
the Father above. But no, no, it was never enough. Now, he’d allowed the devil to come back to life.

  He had to be a demon. Why else would her body respond as it wouldn’t to any other? Why did just a glance from him make her melt at the knees and think wanton thoughts?

  When she arrived at the arched door of the Roman fortress she called home, she gave little Tom a kiss on the top of the head and a fierce hug. “Be off to find the other children and to sweet dreams. I’ll come with kisses in a moment.”

  He nodded with a face so much like his fathers that it hurt. How she’d grieved when Thomas had left without a word. Dear Lord. It was the kind of grief that had no ending. There was always a glimmer of hope, like an escaping sunbeam through dark clouds. Mayhap today, she’d think, a pigeon would announce word of his arrival in England. Day after long day, month after month, she waited and prayed for his return. Finally, all that was left were memories. And that is where she’d lingered in a life worse than death for almost a year. She could nay let that happen again. That devil would need to be expelled from her once and for all.

  She sat upon a large pallet, upstairs in the chambers that Marcus and Ann had vacated for her marriage night. Thomas would be coming any moment now. There would be no gay party for her. No giggling maids brushing her hair and telling lies of giant genitalia. No mother with tears, giving final advice. No. She’d ruined all of that a long time ago.

  She wept. Wept for the maiden who’d loved Thomas with abandon. Wept for the family she’d lost. Sobbed for the many years when she thought him dead and the dried up woman she’d become. Merry. She’d not heard that name since it came off his lips the day he’d left for London. Why had he not come back for her? How could he claim he loved her after all the pain he’d put her through? Outside in the hallway, she heard footsteps and the door creaked open.

  He waited some time before speaking so low she could barely make out the words. “Merry?”