Their Lady Gloriana Read online

  Their Lady Gloriana

  Starla Kaye

  ISBN 978-1-936556-11-3

  Their Lady Gloriana Copyright 2011 Starla Kaye

  Cover design Copyright 2015 R. J. Savage

  Published 2011 republished 2015

  Published by Black Velvet Seductions Publishing at Smashwords

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters in this book are completely fictional. They exist only in the imagination of the author. Any similarity to any actual person or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental

  Chapter One

  Middlemound Castle, England, June 1272

  “Riders come, my lady! Two of them,” a guard called down from the parapet to Gloriana where she stood in the gardens. “They bear the King’s banner.”

  She raised her head toward the guard and felt chills spiraling up her spine. News. Bad news. She sensed it to her soul. “Allow…” she had to clear her throat before she could finish. “Allow them entry.”

  The two maids working with her to gather vegetables looked worriedly at her. One of them hurried to her side. “Are ye all right, my lady?”

  No. She was far from being all right, but she refused to show weakness to her servants. They’d witnessed enough of that in the past. She forced a reassuring smile and handed the younger woman the basket she’d been holding. “I’m fine, really. Twas just a surprise.”

  With that said she walked around the corner of the keep and heard the unusual silence in the bailey. She noted the dozen or so soldiers who had been training there now stood still, tense and cautious. All had heard rumors from traveling tinkers that the last battle of the Crusade had ended. All were awaiting the return of their lord and the men who had gone off to fight with him. Like her, though, none were overly eager to have Geoffrey Stewart back. He was a hard man, cruel and vicious at times…especially to her. No, she did not look forward to hearing news that her husband of barely three years would soon be home.

  Her red-haired bailiff, Sir Gerald, strode toward her. He’d become her fierce protector during her second difficult year with Geoffrey and had often dared to come between his lord and her. She’d worried that Geoffrey would one day lose the last of his patience and kill the man, and that worry returned now at seeing her knight’s expression.

  “He will not harm you again, my lady,” Gerald vowed. His nostrils flared and cords stood out in his thick neck.

  “You must not put yourself in harm’s danger, Sir Gerald.” She held her chin high, tried to keep from showing the tremble of alarm spreading through her. “Your lord would never truly hurt me.” Twas a lie and they both knew it. He’d seen her bruised face on occasion; he’d seen her walk gingerly after yet another sound lashing. Yet it wasn’t the beatings that hurt her the most. No, her husband flayed her even worse with his harsh tongue. Gerald’s brow furrowed and his gaze darkened. She noticed the way his hands fisted at his sides. But before he could respond, they were interrupted by the pounding of hooves across the wooden drawbridge.

  Gloriana stiffened her spine, prayed her knees would not fail her, and waited for whatever news the messengers were to deliver.

  The small contingent of soldiers in chainmail and bearing the king’s banner rode between the rows of silent men straight to her. She fought against rubbing her nervous stomach and sucked in a breath to calm her racing heart as she ran her clammy hands over the sides of her gown.

  She watched as Gerald stepped forward and stopped next to the lead soldier. Both men nodded in acknowledgment. Without saying a word, the man extended a rolled parchment. “You may find food and ale in the hall,” Gerald offered. He waved a page over. “Tend to their horses.”

  The men glanced toward Gloriana. She had to swallow down a lump of distress before she could force a hint of lightness to her tone. “Please go inside, as Sir Gerald said. The maids will see that you are fed and given drink.”

  The tension eased from the soldiers’ expressions and they began dismounting. Her own men watched in continued silence. She wished they would go about their business again, but she knew they were waiting for her to read the message. They waited to be told the news that might affect the castle.

  As the king’s soldiers moved away, Gerald extended the parchment toward her. She shook her head. Her hands were trembling too much, her thoughts scattering in fear of hearing that her husband would be here within a day or two. She wasn’t ready to see him again, even if she had no choice. “Nay, I would ask you to read it to me.”

  He glanced around. Gloriana was aware the silence remained heavy around them. Nearby, soldiers, villagers and servants waited for the news the king’s men had brought.

  “Please,” she prompted, her voice quavering. With a nod of acceptance, he untied the parchment. The paper crinkled loudly as he unrolled it. His eyes widened as he read it over quickly and then frowned at her. “Tis two items of importance, my lady. Are you sure you don’t wish to read it yourself?”

  She shook her head, and then commanded, “Read it.”

  He pulled in a breath and said with grimness, “Lord Middlemound will not be returning, my lady. He died over a month ago in the battles.” Gloriana’s knees gave out in her shock, and one of the nearest soldiers hurried to steady her. “Not returning? Dead?” The words left her mouth in a whisper. Relief filled her instead of sadness. But that was wrong. She would beg forgiveness for such an awful sin in her prayers later.

  A quiet hum began around the bailey as word spread quietly but speedily of their lord’s death. She sensed relief from her people as well. She could pick out not one word of unhappiness or regret in the soft din of voices. How very sad it was that one should die and no one expressed sadness at the death. But, there it was, Geoffrey Stewart had been a man no one would miss. Certainly not her.

  Gerald caught her attention once more and said with clear unhappiness, “King Edward has decreed that you will marry Lord Montrose upon his arrival at Middlemound. He is travelling here with his men and with Lord Middlemound’s men.”

  The buzz around her became louder as the additional news spread. She heard the mixed opinions, sensed the mixed emotions. She’d seen Lord Montrose once at Edward’s court. What she remembered was a big man, even taller and brawnier than Geoffrey. He’d had striking dark blue eyes and a hardened look to his handsomely carved face. Yet not one of the women who’d danced with him at the ball appeared to fear him. No, most all but drooled over him. She, of course, had been with Geoffrey and had not danced with him, nor even been allowed very close to him.

  Gerald watched her. “Lord Montrose is a fierce warrior, I’ve heard. They say he’s the very devil in battle, but a good leader.”

  A devil in battle…fierce warrior. Nerves twisted and twined in her stomach. Geoffrey had been fierce, too. A devil as well.

  “Those who have sworn allegiance to bear a sword at his side do so with pride.” His awe toward the man rang clear in his words and in his eyes. “He was widowed long ago and has a son. Fostered out by now, I’m sure.” He shifted uneasily. “I’ve never heard that he treats a woman poorly.”

  Again she thought of the man she’d seen at cour
t, a man that none of the ladies had seemed to fear. Dare she hope… Gerald’s unspoken promise replayed in her mind, “He will not treat you poorly.”

  It was much to take in: learning she was widowed and betrothed again in the same moment.

  “Mayhap you should go lie down, my lady,” the soldier still holding her arm said gently. “That is much news to deal with.”

  She blinked out of her musings and nodded as he released her. “Mayhap you are right.” She glanced at Gerald. “Does the missive say when we should expect Lord Montrose?”

  “Nay, but I will question the messengers. Mayhap they have an idea of when they will arrive.”

  Needing time alone, Gloriana nodded and walked toward the keep. She noted the sympathetic and relieved expressions on the servants she passed; their uncertainty as well. She suspected many had heard of Lord Montrose’s reputation as a warrior, but she doubted any knew the man himself. He could be as hard a leader as Geoffrey had been. Had not Gerald just told her of his fierceness in battle? To be such, would not the man have to be cruel at times, demanding much of himself and of his men?

  Her footsteps slowed as her thoughts tumbled about. Mayhap Montrose was a strong warrior and yet a good and loyal leader, not a cruel one like Geoffrey. How did his intensity as a leader affect him beyond the battlefield? Gerald had not heard that Montrose treated a woman poorly. Yet what a man could do behind closed bedchamber doors… She had far too much experience with the horrors of that.

  She shivered at the memories, but shoved them back. Instead her mind recalled watching Montrose from across the ballroom. She saw the politeness, the care he had shown the women he’d danced with. Would such a man turn around and be cruel and demanding in bed? She didn’t think so. She prayed that would not be so. She did know that he had gotten under many women’s skirts at court, as those rumors spread quickly. Surely that meant he most likely was nothing as vile in bed as Geoffrey. But it could mean that he, too, would find his way into more than just her bed. She could probably live with him seeking other women’s beds, since she was already used to that. Still, she would like him to give her a baby.

  Gentleness curled through her. Tears misted her eyes. How many nights had she lain awake recovering from Geoffrey’s cruelty and longing for something to give her life meaning? How many times had she ached to hold a wee babe in her arms? Longed to feel its softness, to know its loving trust in her? She would wrap her baby in all the love she had within her. She would protect it with her life. Having a baby to cherish and care for would give her the strength to survive anything.

  ***

  North Yorkshire, England

  Thomas stood next to the River Ure while his horse drew in water beside him. He looked out over the valley leading to Middlemound Castle. A faint breeze swept over him carrying the scents of sweet clover from the patches bursting with flowers nearby. Along with it, he drew in the heavy smells of sweat; his own and that of Rowan, who stood quietly a few feet away. He imagined all of his men—including his new men—smelled equally as unpleasant after these last long days of travelling.

  “I suppose we should all bathe in the river before we head toward Middlemound.” He said the words without hazarding a look at his first knight. He dared not think about the roughly handsome man being naked anywhere near him as long as his other men were nearby. Even the mere thought of Rowan in all his hard-muscled glory, naked, had Thomas’s cock showing interest.

  Understanding the problem, Rowan said, “Aye, I’m sure everyone there would appreciate not smelling the stink of our many days on the road.” He turned to head back to where they’d camped last night. “I’ll pass the word.” He hesitated before walking away. “I’ll go into the river farther upstream.”

  As he heard his friend move off, Thomas felt the strain of arousal slip away as well. He and Rowan had discovered an appreciation for one another quite by accident almost half a year back. An appreciation that had quickly led to some of the hottest sex he could ever remember experiencing. At first Thomas had been shocked, not sickened or appalled, just surprised. He’d always loved being with women, quite lusted after them actually. He had a hearty appetite for sex and he’d never had any complaints from his more than willing bed partners. Yet he’d never been drawn toward a man before that time with Rowan. He still wasn’t drawn toward other men. Only Rowan fired up his need to make love to a man.

  His glance shifted to Castle Middlemound in the distance. It was impressive, sprawling over a large piece of prime land. Even from here, he thought the gray stoned main structures were three stories high along the east and north sections, and not far from its curtain walls stood a village with many houses. This was a holding of great value. It still surprised him that King Edward had commanded he hold Middlemound and marry Geoffrey Stewart’s widow. He’d met Stewart on more than one occasion at court and disliked him. He’d distrusted the man even more on the battlefields in Tunis. His death did not bother Thomas at all. But being ordered to wed the man’s young widow did. He tried to remember seeing her at King Edward’s court, but couldn’t place her. Yet he was certain Lord Middlemound would not have married a woman displeasing to the eye. Not that her appearance would matter to Thomas. He’d bedded his share of homely women and been satisfied. He and Lady Middlemound need only be agreeable in bed together to please him. He would not seek out relief from maids or find a mistress. He’d been faithful to his first wife during the short time they’d been together before her death in childbirth. He would be faithful again.

  He heard Rowan’s deep voice telling the men to bathe in the river and his thoughts returned to Rowan. Although he’d tried to convince his first knight to take over Montrose castle from him, Rowan had refused. He’d also refused to accept a holding of his own offered to him by King Edward. Rowan wanted only to become Thomas’s first in command at Middlemound. He didn’t want to leave Thomas. While Thomas was certain there could be problems ahead, he was grateful for the man’s loyalty both as a soldier and as a lover. For if Gloriana Stewart couldn’t fully satisfy his hungers in bed, at least Rowan could.

  ***

  Middlemound Castle

  They were coming. Soon. Dear God, what was she to do?

  Lady Gloriana stood in front of one of the small windows in the chapel and peered out. She’d fled up here after Gerald had talked to the king’s men and learned Lord Montrose and his soldiers were camped not far from the castle. She’d wanted time alone to find some way to make peace with the latest changes in her life. But her time was quickly running out.

  Even now she heard the powerful hooves of the many horses passing over the wooden drawbridge. She looked out the window and saw the large group of men merging with the castle’s guards in the bailey. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. She could barely draw in a breath. This fear, this caution and timidity sickened her. She hadn’t always been this way. Her life with Geoffrey had done this to her. He’d battled down her self-worth, her dreams of having a happy family, and her natural zest for life.

  She refused to continue on like this. She needed to find the strength to face this new marriage to this war-hardened warrior. She had to make him respect her where Geoffrey never had. She had to make him allow her to be the keep’s chatelaine as was her rightful duty, although Geoffrey had never allowed it. Most of all, she had to endure relations with him until he got her with child.

  Determined, she stepped away from the window, smoothed down her gown, and gathered her courage. She left the comfort of the small chapel and headed for the stairs. With each step, she considered bolting to her bedchamber and locking herself inside. Keep moving. Don’t be such a weakling!

  Her steps faltered as she neared the bottom of the circular stone staircase. The great hall rang with the sounds of joyous reunions. The families of the Middlemound men, who had been gone for nearly a year, happily greeted the returning soldiers. Men who had stayed behind to guard the castle welcomed the soldiers as well. She heard unfamiliar voices too, no doubt Lord Montro
se’s men. And then the deep tone of another unfamiliar voice. It rang with authority, with power, much like Geoffrey’s voice had. Yet something about it drew her instead of repelling her as his voice had. Something about it called to her woman’s place, and she felt warmth spreading there. The reaction surprised her, but there was no time to think about it now.

  “Lady Middlemound,” Gerald said, snagging her attention. “Lord Montrose asks to see you.”

  She couldn’t read Gerald’s expression, couldn’t tell if he was unhappy about the situation or resigned to it. At least he didn’t appear angry or overly protective of her. She gave a slight nod and joined him at the foot of the stairs.

  The deep rumbling voice she’d heard drew her focus to the raised dais. Two men stood there drinking cups of ale, talking, looking over the hall full of people. Two such different—and yet the same—men. The darkly handsome man she’d seen across the ballroom at King Edward’s court and an almost equally handsome man with blond hair both glanced her way as if sensing her presence. Neither smiled. Both seemed to study her, their gazes sliding from her carefully braided hair to her suddenly aching breasts, down her best jade green gown to her slippered feet. Then as their gazes lifted, her breath caught at the obvious heat in their eyes. Lust. She’d seen it in Geoffrey’s eyes many times, but never directed at her. No, he’d lusted after nearly every other woman in the castle and nearby village but never for her.

  Gerald held her arm by the elbow and guided her to the dais. “Lady Middlemound, my lord.” He released her and nodded toward the two powerfully built men. “Lord Montrose, my lady, and Sir Montgomery, his first knight.”

  “Thomas,” Lord Montrose said and stepped down in front of her. He towered over her by at least a foot. His breadth and brawn made her heart race. Yet she didn’t feel intimidated by him as she had been by Geoffrey. His dark blue eyes assessed her from beneath thick dark eyebrows, pinched together in thought. Yet they were not cruel eyes. “You may call me Thomas.” She bobbed her head and had the oddest desire to run her fingers over the dark stubble on his face. Or gently touch the long, thin white scar on the left side of his face running from just to the side of his eye to his jaw. Or to smooth them over his full and tempting lips. All such notions made her blush, made her look away. “Gloriana,” she whispered.