“Don’t do it!” Stephen warned even as he was being dragged from the room.
“I won’t force her if that’s what you mean,” Hugh laughed. “All I want is one full day, and if I haven’t gotten her by then you’ll know you have a faithful wife.”
“Damn you!” Stephen cursed and made another lunge before he was forcibly pulled from the room.
Bronwyn stood before the long mirror and studied herself critically. It had taken over an hour to dress in the English gown. The skirt and sleeves were of a shimmering, muted orange brocade. Tied with ribbons at the shoulders, then drawn over her arms, was a small cloak of ermine. The skirt parted in front to show cinnamon velvet. The square neck was very low.
Her hair hung down her back in thick, fat curls with elf locks before her ears.
“You look lovely, my lady,” said the timid little maid behind her. “Sir Hugh has never had a lady here who was so pretty.”
Bronwyn looked at the woman and started to speak, but then she stopped. It hadn’t taken her long to learn how useless questions were in the Lasco household. This morning she’d had to restrain Rab from attacking Hugh as he came to her pallet in the Great Hall. For some reason Rab took an extraordinary dislike to the man.
Hugh embarked on a long explanation of Stephen’s absence before Bronwyn could ask a single question. When he’d finished his tale—that Stephen had gone to see to one of Hugh’s estates as a favor to his old friend—he stood back and smiled at Bronwyn with great confidence.
She began firing questions at him. Why had Stephen left without speaking to her? What business couldn’t Hugh handle on his own? How was Stephen more suited? If Hugh needed help, why didn’t he ask Stephen’s brothers earlier?
She watched as Hugh sputtered and seemed to trip over his words. He was looking at her oddly, sometimes not able to meet her forthright stare. After a moment he smiled, and she had the impression that an idea had just come to him. He began another story about how Stephen had wanted to prepare a surprise for her and he wanted Hugh to entertain her for the day.
Bronwyn closed her mouth on her questions. For now it would be better to act as if she believed Hugh’s obviously false words. She smiled sweetly at the man who was an inch or two shorter than she was. “A surprise!” she said in what she hoped was a girlish and innocent voice. “Oh, what do you think it could be?”
Hugh smiled at her in a benevolent way. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? But in the meantime I have some entertainment planned. Pavilions are being erected and bonfires lit.”
“Oh! How nice!” she said, clapping her hands together in childish glee and at the same time ordering Rab to keep away from the man’s throat.
Hugh led her upstairs to a clean, warm room where the brocade dress had been readied for her. The hem had been let down to accommodate her height. Bronwyn realized someone had worked on the dress all night. Hugh gave her one of his slow, seductive smiles just as he left the room, and Bronwyn had to work hard to give him the simpering little smile he seemed to expect in return.
Once alone, she ran to the window. On the grounds below carpenters worked quickly on a platform. There were six fires already lit and an enormous charcoal brazier set under an open canopy. She frowned in consternation. Why in the world would an Englishman plan an outdoor entertainment in December? Last night’s rain had turned to snow, and the ground was lightly powdered. From what she’d seen of the English, they were weak creatures who liked to stay indoors.
The maid came and helped her dress, but Bronwyn could get little information from her. She said Sir Hugh had been up all night ordering the day’s festivities. Bronwyn wondered if she was making too much of everything. Perhaps Stephen had been called away and Hugh merely wanted to honor his friend’s bride. But would Stephen leave her to prepare some sort of surprise for her? Stephen was too much of a realist. More likely, he’d make her help him with her own gift.
Before she could sort out her thoughts, Hugh came to the door. He looked at her in awe, his eyes slowly running the length of her. “You are magnificent,” he whispered. “Stephen is a very lucky man.”
She thanked him and took the arm he offered her as they descended the stairs.
“You must tell me all about this clan of yours,” he said, his eyes on her lips. “I imagine you were glad to get an English husband. Perhaps you can meet King Henry and thank him someday.”
Bronwyn nearly exploded with the force of her reaction. She thought Stephen’s vanity was the limit, but this man surpassed anything she’d ever imagined. “Oh, yes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Stephen has been very good to me, and we’ve learned so much from him.” She nearly choked as she thought how Stephen had changed but not her men.
“Of course,” Hugh smiled. “We English are superior fighters, and you Scots could learn a great deal.” He stopped. “I must apologize. I hadn’t meant to say such things. After all, you are, what is it? The laird of a clan.”
He said the words as if they were a token thrown to a beggar. She didn’t dare reply because if he said one more word, she would probably let Rab have
the worthless peacock. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed happily. “Isn’t that pretty?” she cried, referring to the gaily colored pavilion.
Hugh stopped, glanced briefly up at the walls of his house, then took her hand and kissed it. “Nothing is too good for you, nothing is too beautiful for you.”
She watched him with detached interest. When she’d first seen him, she thought his slow movements, his unusual mouth, were interesting, but now she found him rather tedious. For some reason he seemed to think, to assume, that she would like having her hand kissed by him.
She used all the control she could muster to keep from drawing away from him. Did all men consider themselves so appealing to women? She suddenly realized how little experience she’d had. The men of her clan never tried to touch her, probably out of fear of her father’s wrath. In England she’d only spent time with Roger Chatworth, who wanted to talk of his plans for her people. Stephen was the only man who’d ever touched her and, it would seem, the only man to whom she could respond. At least it felt that way, since Hugh Lasco’s touch made her want to pull away from him.
He seemed satisfied with her response, or lack of it, and led her to a gilded chair under the pavilion. Hugh clapped his hands once, and three jugglers appeared on the wooden platform before them. She gave a little smile to Hugh and pretended to watch the performers. But the truth was she was more interested in her surroundings. With each passing moment she grew more suspicious. Something was not quite right. Why were they being entertained outside?
Some dancing girls joined the jugglers, and Bronwyn could see that their shoulders were blue with cold. A raw wind began to blow in their faces. One of Hugh’s retainers suggested the pavilion be turned to block the wind. Hugh’s response was almost violent, refusing to turn the canvas another direction.
“You must pardon me, Sir Hugh,” Bronwyn said in her sweetest voice. She had to have time to look about his house. Perhaps she could find a clue to the mystery. Perhaps Stephen hadn’t really gone away.
“Oh, but you can’t leave yet. Here. I’ll have the fire made hotter. Or another brazier brought.”