Page 3 of May Queen: May Day

Ricard had never spoken back to the baron or any of his liege lords until now. It must have been the result of last night’s alcohol that was making his lips so loose. It wasn’t usually in his nature to act so disrespectfully. Baron Oswald Braxton was Ricard’s direct link to the king. If the baron were to speak unfavorably about Ricard to their sovereign, it could bring about devastating results for Ricard. King Edward III had recently made Ricard Lord of Black Creek Castle in Somerset, and all the surrounding lands that were formerly held by his father. At the death of Ricard’s parents, nearly a year ago, he was granted the title. It meant the world to him, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his position. Or at least, he hadn’t thought so, until tonight.

But the king aside, this had to do with the baron. Ricard didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t been a part of this decision to switch the betrothal. “We had a deal,” Ricard reminded him. “I find it odd you should change your mind and arrive here in the middle of the night without bothering to send me a missive.”

“There was no time for missives,” said the baron, starting to pace for some odd reason. “Something needed to be done immediately. You will thank me in the long run.”

“Thank you?” Ricard studied him from the corners of his eyes. Something was amiss and, whatever it was, it seemed very suspicious. “I think we should stick to the original agreement. I’ll marry your daughter, Lady Gretta, as planned.”

“Nay!” The baron stopped pacing and fear flashed in his eyes. “You can’t. That’s impossible.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ricard. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“You can’t marry my daughter because . . . because . . . Gretta is already getting married. To someone else.”

“My betrothed is marrying another?” Ricard cocked his head. Something was certainly not right here. “Do tell me how this happened when we’d already agreed upon the betrothal? Are you looking to start a battle between us, Braxton?”

“Nay. Of course not. It’s just that my daughter, Lady Gretta, had to marry someone else.”

“Go on,” said Ricard, feeling his blood boil. He tried to keep his composure, but his fingers flicked across the hilt of his sword. The baron noticed.

“It’s just that . . .”

“She is with child,” Lady Flora interrupted her uncle from atop her horse. She spoke with her head down and her face remained hidden.

“Lady Gretta is pregnant?” Ricard blurted out in shock, trying to understand what was going on.

Lord Oswald’s eyes opened wide in surprise as well. Then they narrowed and he glared at Flora. Turning on his heel, he started pacing again. His eyes darted back and forth. “Aye,” he said, clearing his throat. “But please, do not speak so loud. This is not something I want everyone to hear. I thought marrying her off quickly would be the best thing to do in this situation. I hope you understand.”

“Oh, I see.” Ricard’s hand fell from the hilt of his sword. He felt disappointed to hear this but, like the baron said, it was for the best for all concerned. It was hard to believe, because Ricard had met Lady Gretta on several occasions and had been certain she would make an obedient and loyal wife. The girl had seemed so meek and shy and like she’d be no trouble at all. She didn’t seem the type to get pregnant out of wedlock. Still, he decided it best not to question the baron further. “Aye, you did the right thing,” he agreed, not wanting to be saddled with a pregnant bride. “I am thankful you found out before our wedding took place.” No knight wanted his wife bearing another man’s bastard.

“Then we still have an alliance?” asked Oswald, hope resounding in his voice. “You’ll marry Lady Flora instead?”

“Well I . . . I don’t know.” Half-asleep, Ricard couldn’t think straight to make a decision. “Perhaps we can talk about this in the morning.”

“Nay,” snapped the man. “I have to get back to Wiltshire immediately.”

“Well, surely you’re not leaving now?” asked Ricard with a chuckle. “It’s the middle of the night,” he pointed out. “It’s not safe, and your horse might twist its leg in the dark.”

“I assure you, the night doesn’t bother me,” said the man. “I want to be home before sunup. My wife isn’t happy I left, so I think it is best I don’t tarry. I wanted to make things right between us before the gossip about Gretta traveled to your door.”

“I understand. Still, I don’t know anything about your niece,” explained Ricard. “Besides, you just told me she has no father and that he didn’t have any holdings. What does she bring to the marriage? What am I getting out of this deal besides an alliance with you?”

The man thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “The same dowry holds true that I offered you for Gretta. I’ll have my servants deliver it to you tomorrow, along with Lady Flora’s handmaid.”

“Aye, of course.” Ricard’s mouth felt so dry he could barely swallow. His head pounded and he wanted more than anything to get back to bed. “Well, at least stay and have an ale with me before you take to the road.”

“I can’t. I’m leaving now.” Lord Oswald held out his hand. “We need to seal the new alliance with a handshake. Please see that the wedding banns are posted first thing in the morning. You’ll marry Lady Flora within a sennight. I’ll be back then for the wedding.”

“A sennight?” Flora interrupted. “But Uncle, that is so soon. I need more time.”

Ricard found it odd that Flora was asking for more time. Perhaps, it was because she felt uncomfortable by this situation as well. “The usual posting of the wedding banns is three weeks, my lord,” he said, hoping to comfort the girl as well as himself. This was no ordinary betrothal.

“Aye, I suppose it is,” said the baron. “But this is what I’ve decided and so it will be. Now, let’s shake on the betrothal.” The baron’s proffered hand shot out.

Ricard found himself automatically accepting the man’s hand, shaking it, and sealing the deal. As soon as he did, the thought hit him that he had not even had a chance to see his betrothed yet. The baron was in such a hurry to leave that it made Ricard’s head spin.

“Until then,” said Ricard, talking to the man’s back since he had already headed to his horse and was pulling himself up into his saddle.

“Goodbye,” Oswald called out.