Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund
~ 15 ~
AMIDSTSHOUTSOFMENand the frightened squeals of the horse, Marian found herself slipping off. Somehow Will managed to hold her, and as they made impact with the ground, he braced her fall. Even so, the hard jolt wrenched the breath from her lungs and sent pain through her already sore body.
What was happening? Were they being attacked?
A boot connected with her ribs. “What do we have here?”
In an instant, Will stabbed his dirk, and her attacker’s agonized scream rent the air. Through the darkness, Marian tried to make sense of exactly what Will had just done. When she righted herself, she glimpsed the handle of his dirk buried deep into the peasant’s boot, pinning his foot to the ground.
Her stomach lurched with queasiness, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Although she’d known Will was a seasoned knight, the reality of who he was hit her. He was a trained warrior accustomed to killing others—who, in fact, made a regular job out of it.
Will sprang to his feet and planted himself in front of her, legs spread, his sword unsheathed. “If anyone touches the lady again, you will die.”
From what she surmised, at least a dozen men surrounded them. Without torches, they were shrouded by the night. But she could still make out their simple garb and rough features, along with crude weapons—hoes, axes, knives, and other sharp objects.
Dread trickled through her at the possibility they might be the same peasants who’d attacked the convent. Even with his sword, how would Will be able to fight them all?
His broad back faced her, his cloak tossed aside revealing chainmail. She wished she had a knife and could stand next to him, but she doubted she’d be able to do anything other than get in his way. Even so, she unraveled her tangled habit and stood, ignoring the new aches that shot through her body.
“I am Sir William Durham.” Menace radiated from his body and tone, making him a formidable foe. From the exclamations and whispered oaths, the peasants clearly knew Will’s name as well as his reputation. “I mean you no ill will. Let me pass.”
The man with the dirk in his foot groaned, but no one came to his aid. While Marian didn’t want the man to suffer needlessly, she hoped the inaction meant the others were sufficiently afraid of Will and would do as he commanded.
“Whose side are you on?” One of the peasants stepped forward, a gray-bearded man wielding a two-pronged haymaking fork. “Ours or theirs?”
Before Will could answer, horse hooves pounded behind them. A moment later a rider reined in on the outskirts of the circle of peasants. “Hold your weapons!”
In the faint starlight, Marian recognized Will’s companion from earlier. Thad. But he was alone now, without Christina. As if noticing the same, Will visibly tensed.
“Sir William Durham is my master.” Thad’s voice rang out. He’d thrown back his hood, revealing a humble but earnest expression. “I’ve pledged him my fealty. He is fair and honest and kind, not only to me, but to all his vassals.”
Another murmuring arose.
“He’s renowned for his feats of valor in battle.” Thad spoke hastily, clearly attempting to sway the group before hostility broke out. “We would do well to have a friend in this strong warrior rather than a foe.”
Marian moved out of Will’s shadow to his side. His raised sword remained unswerving, ready to cleave anyone in half if they made the wrong move. From their frozen stances, they must have realized that too.
“If he is on our side,” called a younger man with a bold white scar running the length of his face, “then why is he helping a nun?”
For a heartbeat, Thad didn’t answer. And suddenly Marian was relieved Will’s servant had the foresight to leave Christina behind.
“She is my betrothed.” Will broke the silence. His jaw flexed, and Marian marveled that he could state a bold-faced lie so calmly.
“A nun, your betrothed?” The same man released a guffaw.
“I’m not a nun.” Marian stepped forward, deciding if Will could act, she could add authenticity to his fabrication. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shake his head curtly, as though cautioning her to stay silent. But she pretended not to notice him. “I was staying at St. Sepulchre Priory until our wedding could be arranged.”
At her pronouncement, the men eyed her with suspicion and grumbled to each other.
Apparently she needed to be more convincing. She drew in a fortifying breath and spoke again. “Since Sir William expects to leave for France any day, we hope to be married as soon as possible. So if you will let us be on our way, we would appreciate it.”
The volume among the peasants escalated. Thad exchanged a look with Will, a grave one that said the two would fight their way free if need be.
What had she said wrong? A shiver raced up her spine.
“If ’tis a wedding you want,” shouted the older man with the hay fork, “then we durst give you one.”
The others rumbled their agreement, and within seconds, their voices turned boisterous—a new sense of excitement inciting them.
This wasn’t going well. In fact, it was going from bad to worse. She tried to catch Will’s eye, nodding at him to say something—anything—to make things right. But he wasn’t looking at her, was instead exchanging terse words with Thad.
“Father John’s up the road.” The proclamation echoed in the night air. “Methinks he can perform the wedding!”
The men cheered at the suggestion.
“No!” Her protest resounded above the commotion. As the men quieted and stared at her again, her mind raced to find an excuse. “It’s just that we want to be married in the presence of family—and—and in a chapel.”
“Are you saying we’re not your family, milady?” The question was drenched with spite from a man on the perimeter of the crowd. “That we’re not good enough to be witnessing your vows?”
Before she could think of a way to get herself out of this new dilemma, Will spoke. “Do not heed her words. She is only a woman and knows not what she says.”
Irritation rolled in to replace her panic. Although she didn’t know him well, he hadn’t struck her as being chauvinistic. Was she wrong?
As though sensing her ire, he grasped her arm and guided her so that she was out of sight behind him. “I welcome you to witness our exchange of vows. All of you. But once I have wed the woman, I shall take her home to bed straightaway.”
The peasants burst into raucous laughter and lewd jesting.
With a fresh burst of exasperation, Marian jerked to free herself from his grip. His gentle squeeze stopped her. Was that a signal he was only playacting? She surely hoped so. Whatever the case, she knew he was asking her to cooperate if they hoped to leave this group peacefully.
Amidst more laughter, the men lowered their weapons, their animosity dispelling as they started down the road.
Will retrieved his dirk from the foot of the peasant who’d kicked her. After sheathing his weapons, Will turned to her and encircled her waist. As he lifted her toward the saddle, he leaned in, his body brushing hers. “This is the safest course.”
His nearness, the hard length of him, the strength of his hold—everything about him made her weak so that she could only nod, somehow rendered mute. Then he gently deposited her in the saddle sideways. He didn’t join her atop the horse, but instead led the magnificent creature by the reins as he followed the peasants, their voices raised in song and laughter.
Leading his horse too, Thad walked alongside Will. Every now and then, they exchanged terse words, as if arguing. But Marian couldn’t hear anything above the ruckus the peasants were making.
After walking a short distance, they came upon what appeared to be an encampment of peasants not far from Canterbury’s city walls. Several large fires crackled and spewed flames and sparks high in the air. Men loitered around them, the loot from their raids strewn in piles and spilling from bags. Food, wine, garments, belts, blankets.
The men were eating and drinking in celebration. The waft of roasting meat mingled with the heavy, almost stinging, aroma of smoke. By the light of the fire, Marian was able to distinguish the clothing—the long hose that hugged their legs, the tunics that fell to below their thighs, and the strange variety of hats including one that resembled a hood with a long dangling tail.
A few women mingled about, tending large pots or turning spits. Most appeared older and haggard, as worn as the frayed tunics and cloaks they wore.
Everything fascinated Marian and yet sent trepidation through her at the same time. The sights, sounds, and scents told her this was real, that she wasn’t simply dreaming this in her coma-induced state.
She remained on Will’s horse as he stalked off with his purposeful stride. Thad held the reins of both horses, and she wanted to ask him where Christina was. But she prayed that soon enough they’d be on their way, and she’d be reunited with the young nun. Just as soon as Will managed to find a way to convince these peasants that a wedding wouldn’t be necessary . . .
As she waited, her backside grew stiff, and she shivered in the dropping temperatures. She hugged her arms over the habit and shift underneath. What she wouldn’t give for the smooth leather seats and heated interior of the Bentley. And the speed. Even if Bojing’s driving had been crazy, at least he’d been able to whisk them away from danger.
After speaking at length with a different group of peasants, Will returned, his expression unreadable—except for the ever-present tension and determination. He spoke again to Thad in low tones before looking up at her. “My lady.” In the flickering glow from the flames, she could see that his gaze was somber and yet resigned.
“Are we ready to be on our way?”
He shook his head and reached for her, his hands spanning her waist, gentle and strong at the same time. “We are to be wed now.”
“You’re joking.” The words came out louder than she intended.
He situated her on the ground.
“I thought we were pretending.” She stepped away from his steadying hold but bumped into the horse. “I didn’t think you were serious about going through with the charade.”
With one long step forward, he ate up the space between them, so that she found herself boxed in by his towering frame on one side and warm horseflesh on the other. “I see no reason to deny them what they want.”
“I do.” She almost shouted, but at the warning mirrored in his dark eyes, she swallowed her frustration and forced herself to think rationally and speak calmly. She must have misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly think they should get married. It was too preposterous to even consider. “We can’t get married.”
“We can and shall.” His statement was confident as though the decision was a foregone conclusion. “Since you are on your own and cannot return to your kin or St. Sepulchre’s, I shall avail you with my protection. As my wife.”
Speechless, she stared up at his darkly handsome face, the thin scar above his eyebrow lending him a formidable aura. Since she’d hinted she was running away from a bad betrothal, she couldn’t contradict herself now. Besides, she had no money, nowhere to go, and no one else she could turn to. This strange suggestion of marriage might be her only means of survival. If she turned him down and walked away, she had no idea how she’d make it through the night. In fact, with these bands of peasants roaming the countryside carrying a vendetta against the nobility and clergy, she dreaded to think what might happen if she ventured out on her own. As much as she wanted to hang on to her independence, she felt trapped.
Will lifted a hand to her face and combed back a strand of her hair, surprising her with his gentleness. “I shall not force you into a union.”
His fingertips were coarse against her temple, but his touch was infinitely soft. “We’re strangers.”
“No more or less than any other woman I might consider taking as my wife.”
They truly were from different worlds. This was an era when love and romance weren’t always considered important in making marriage matches.
“I don’t understand.” She fumbled for a response. “Why would you want to marry me? What benefit do you receive?”
He dropped his attention to his boots as though to hide his embarrassment. “It is past time for me to take another wife.”
“Why not some other lady? Surely you can find someone more suitable.”
“There are others.”
She suspected his other prospects had to do with dowries and land and how each family could benefit from the marriage. She had nothing to offer him. And besides, she was going home just as soon as she could manage it. “You must choose someone else.”
His gaze shot up and met hers. The connection was instantaneous and powerful, one that never failed to magnetically pull her in. “I would have you.” His voice was low, and something in it blazed a trail through her belly.
“Why me?” Did he remember her from the visions? Did he recognize her and feel as though they already had a bond too? She drew in a breath and waited for his answer.
She expected some kind of explanation, some statement of her attributes, or at the very least that he had no reason. But he said nothing. Instead, his hand snaked to her back at the same time that he swooped down. His mouth caught hers. Not gently or sweetly or carefully. No, his lips were sure and strong and commanding, sweeping her up and squeezing the air from her lungs.
The urging pressure of his mouth against hers seemed to awaken her to a deep and consuming hunger of her own. She found herself pressed tightly to him. Within seconds, she could think of nothing but her desire for this man, the desire to know more about him, spend time with him, and go on kissing him.
He broke away, abruptly releasing her and taking a step back. “That is why.”
Her breath came rushing back much too quickly. Her knees trembled, and she was glad for the long robe that hid her reaction.
“You cannot deny you feel likewise, lady.”
She couldn’t deny it even if she’d wanted to. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate, and her mind was too scrambled with desire and confusion.
When he held out the crook of his arm toward her, she clasped her hands together. This was his proposal of marriage. If she denied it, she suspected he was too honorable to offer again. But how could she possibly accept? It was ludicrous to contemplate getting married after less than a week in the past when she’d lived for twenty-eight years in the present and had never considered it.
Now, here she was. Weak-kneed from a kiss with a man she barely knew. She couldn’t deny the chemistry. He’d made clear he’d felt it keenly too.
But physical attraction wasn’t enough of a basis for marriage.
“I vow to be a good husband to you, Marian.” He spoke sincerely, as though sensing her question. His eyes were filled with the same kindness she’d noticed before.
When she’d been beaten, he’d shown compassion toward her. His instructions to the prioress had kept her safe at the nunnery. He’d helped her escape from the convent when doing so had put him in great danger. He’d protected her from the peasants who’d attacked them. And he’d vowed to kill on her behalf.
From what she’d witnessed of him so far, she guessed he’d make some woman a good husband—a woman from the Middle Ages, not her.
Yet, what if marriage to this wealthy nobleman was an answer to her problems? Did she dare go through with so audacious a plan? She would not only have his protection, but she’d have his money and his resources. She could ride back to Canterbury whenever she wanted, visit the nunnery or the cathedral without sneaking around. Such trips would surely be within her rights as a nobleman’s wife.
What did she have to lose? After all, if she had her way, she’d find holy water as soon as tomorrow and be gone within a day or two. At the very least the marriage would get them out of their current predicament without putting them into more danger.
The thoughts whizzed through her head in the span of a few seconds. Before she could talk herself out of marrying William Durham, she slipped her hand into the curve of his arm.
He didn’t move except to glance at her fingers tucked there before looking back at her face. “You are certain, lady?”
She swallowed the rational protest that threatened to choke her and lifted her chin. “Shall we?”
* * *
Kneeling beside Marian in the grassy field, Will could feel her fingers tremble against his, betraying her uncertainty, although throughout the short ceremony, she’d remained outwardly composed.
John Ball, the priest, stood above them and was almost done reciting the last of the prayers that would officially unite them as man and wife.
Thad had warned Will not to go through with the wedding, had claimed he was being rash. His manservant had implored him to do things aright—post the banns, wait the customary period, and have a loyal priest of the Church marry them, not one who preached and prayed in the common tongue rather than Latin.
In hushed tones during the walk to the peasant camp, they’d discussed the possibility of fighting their way free—if need be. But Will hadn’t wanted any bloodshed this night. Not so close to his doorstep. Not when doing so would make him an enemy to these rebels and put his kin and home at greater risk than they already were, especially when he’d leave for France erelong.
He would appease them with this simple act. ’Twas not much. And if Marian was running away from an arrangement to a man she didn’t want, perhaps someone cruel, then he’d prove to her she’d chosen aright with him.
Will had no doubt she would have survived a cruel match—she had an inner fortitude that could not be easily broken. Yet, she was too kind to be matched with a harsh man.
Not only had he noticed Marian’s kind spirit, but he liked her quick wit and their ability to talk so easily. He’d never been smooth-tongued, especially with Alice. Their brief times together had been filled mostly with silence. He blamed himself for not taking more interest in her and putting her at ease. Perhaps with a more forthright woman, he would do better this time.
The firelight flickered over Marian’s face, highlighting her elegance and grace and beauty. She was exquisite. Her auburn hair was stunning, especially in contrast to her pale skin. Her brown eyes had the power to captivate him, make him forget about himself and his nightmares, even if just for an instant.
He could admit he’d been attracted to Marian from the first time he’d seen her—even before, when he’d imagined her in his dreams, felt her touch, and experienced a strange peace within her presence. But now after kissing her, the delectable taste of her had seeped into his blood, and he didn’t know how he’d remove that taste without draining himself completely.
Maybe his first declaration about their betrothal had been an excuse to protect her. But once he’d offered the suggestion, he knew it was exactly what he wanted. He wanted this woman of his dreams to be his. And why tarry? Why give his mother opportunity to object? Why give Lord Percy cause to interfere?
Once he was wed to Marian, there would be naught anyone could do to change it. After all, he had an army of yeomen and freemen as witnesses to the marriage.
Will didn’t have to look at the men gathered around to know most were grinning like drunken fools. They relished the chance to see a nobleman taking his wedding vows. They would talk of this night for years to come.
As John Ball made his final proclamation, Will rose and assisted Marian to her feet. From the slowness of her movement, he could tell she still nursed wounds. Nevertheless, as she stood to her full height, which only came to his shoulders, she held herself regally.
“You must stay and celebrate with us.” Ball smiled widely, revealing the jagged gaps where teeth had been knocked out—likely in beatings he’d endured during his arrests. Even if Will didn’t agree with Ball’s methods and preaching, he wouldn’t begrudge the man sympathy for the hardships he’d endured.
Ball was skeletal and his skin an almost yellowish color. His time in prison had wasted him away, but his expression exuded hope and determination. ’Twas easy to see why the rebels flocked to him.
“My deepest gratitude. But I must hasten away with my bride.” At the chorus of protest, Will added, “To my marriage bed.”
The ensuing roar of cheers was exactly what he’d expected. The proclamation, as before, made Marian squirm with discomfort and brought a spark of indignation to her eyes. But Will wasn’t embarrassed in the least. He relished the prospect of the coming night with her. Even so, he hoped she understood he’d had no choice but to speak the words. If the onlookers believed he was in a hurry to bed his wife, they would easily forgive him and release him to be on his way.
Amidst vulgar well-wishes, Will hoisted Marian onto his stallion and mounted behind her. This time, when he wrapped his arm around her middle, he didn’t hesitate to rest his hand on her hip. She was his now in the sight of both God and man. He had every right to touch her. Although she didn’t resist, she held herself stiffly again, as she had when they’d first started the journey.
Once they were out of sight of both the city and camp, Will kicked his mount into a gallop, and Thad did likewise, except his manservant circled off to backtrack and retrieve Christina where he’d hidden her. Will prayed they would encounter no more trouble the rest of the ride home. All he wanted was to ensconce Marian inside the walls of Chesterfield Park. It was his sacred duty to ensure her well-being. That realization pounded through him with each beat of the hooves.
He wouldn’t deny his decision had been impulsive, but now that they were bound, he would gladly accept the full weight of his responsibility to her. She was his to love, honor, and protect, and he’d do so to the best of his ability. Even though his remaining days home were numbered, he endeavored to win her heart. He could do nothing less.