Page 7 of Wed By Proxy

“Take off your clothes.” Mathilde’s head snapped up and as she stared at him in horror, she watched some color creep into his cheeks. “I need to see that you’re at least a lass,” he said gruffly.

“Oh,” she breathed out in relief. For a moment there, she had forgotten how manly and brave she had grown, and had known a moment of paralyzing terror. She felt herself sway slightly on her feet, as she tried to pull the damp tunic over her head. Her jailers had taken her belt and Will’s dagger from her earlier. Her heart still beating painfully in her chest, she struggled until she had wriggled out of both tunic and under-shirt.

Then she stood in just her braies and chauses and a roll of linen bandages wrapped round her chest. When he made no comment, she reached up with trembling fingers and started to unravel her bindings. Her entire body had turned to gooseflesh by this point and her numb fingers were making a poor job of it. She tugged and fumbled until the bandages lay pooled at her feet. Rounding her shoulders, she let her hair fall forward to hide her mortified face. Thankfully, it was just about long enough for concealment. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then he cleared his throat.

“There’s blankets over there on the bed,” he said. “Cover yourself.”

She nearly tripped on her own feet, which felt like blocks of ice, as she turned to strip a blanket from the bed, and wrap it around herself. It was rather prickly, but in recent weeks, she had known worse. With her back to him, she managed to wipe a forearm across her wet eyes. She hoped the gesture went unnoticed.

“I want my knife,” she said desperately, as she turned back around to face him.

“Your knife?”

“They took it from me, and I need it back.” Taking a deep breath, she launched into an explanation. “It’s not really mine, but a friend’s. If I lose it, then I will have broken faith with him.”

He stared rather hard at that. “What friend?” he demanded, sounding like the words had been wrenched from him.

“Willard Peyton,” she told him, and had to stop herself from asking if he knew him. “His uncle is the Bishop of Hudde.” She did not know why she was gabbling like this, but she was suddenly terrified that if she stopped she might burst into tears. She was so disappointed in herself, she could cry. A month ago, walking across a crowded room had frightened her. Only this morning she had thought herself invincible. Then she had been bruised, arrested and forced to strip in front of a stranger. She had a creeping suspicion that he meant to lock her in this room and keep her a prisoner before ransoming her back to her mother. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

“Come here,” he bit out.

As she took a few reluctant steps toward him, he reached into his shirt and looked to be unfastening something. Mathilde’s heart was in her mouth, as he seized her and briskly started rearranging the folds of her blanket. His hands grazed her bare skin, but strangely she did not find herself flinching from his touch, as it was completely impersonal. She watched as he extracted a leather strap from around his neck and fastened that firmly about her waist to secure it. When she glanced down, to her astonishment she saw that she once again wore a sheathed dagger on the narrow black leather strip.

“Now take off your hose,” he said glancing away. “They’re soaked through.”

Mathilde hesitated, but in truth, the blanket was now swathed about her like a dress, concealing her legs. She reached beneath her impromptu “skirts” and dragged the wet chauses down to her ankles. To her surprise, he knelt and helped her step out of her soggy boots and peel the damp fabric from her feet. His exclamation made her jump. He was looking up at her accusingly.

“What happened here?”

Mathilde glanced down at her bare feet. Did he mean the bruising? She hesitated. “The carter was very fat, and trampled on me,” she explained. “And then afterward, I got rather jostled in the jail.” He stared up at her a moment. “After I got arrested,” she reminded him.

He took a deep breath in and out. For a moment, his large, warm hand covered both her feet, then he withdrew it and turned his face away from her. Mathilde watched him uncertainly for a moment. He seemed to be in the grip of some strong emotion, but she must be misreading him, for that could not be right. When he straightened up and stood before her, his expression was guarded and tense again, giving away nothing.

After a moment’s pause, he unlocked the door and stood back for her pass through. Mathilde realized she had done him a huge disservice. He had not been intending to imprison her after all! She felt almost dizzy with relief and beamed up at him, as she scuttled back through. So elated was she, that she scarcely felt the bite of the cold flagstones against her bare feet. She floated back down the steps, almost giddy, though that might have been due to the fact she had not eaten since the previous evening. She stumbled slightly on the last step and he reached out and steadied her. Then, he seemed to notice afresh that she had no shoes or stockings and cursed under his breath.

“It’s of no consequence,” she started to tell him, but he was already gingerly gathering her up and lifting her into his arms. Mathilde held her breath. She had never been carried before. At least, not since she was an adult. She glanced nervously at him from the corner of her eye. In truth, his expression was forbidding in the extreme, but she found herself relaxing against him in spite of it. Appearances might appear to the contrary, but this husband of hers was kind and considerate. Once again, she felt the optimism that there was still a chance she could still claw herself some semblance of a winning hand from the paltry one she had been dealt.

IV

Guy booted the door to the main hall open and strode through. He was incredibly angry, but the burden he was carrying in his arms right now meant he couldn’t really let loose with his temper. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure that it shouldn’t be directed at himself. “I want my knife,” she had said after he had forced her to strip to the waist. And he couldn’t say he blamed her.

Everyone turned and looked as he made his way straight to the head of the table.

“My lord —?”

Someone dropped something, which clanged noisily against the floorboards. Guy set her down at the head of the table, straightening the skirts of her blanket-gown so she was decent. He was sure they got a flash of bare leg as he lowered her, for he heard a shocked hiss, and her friend suddenly appeared, crouching at her side with a shocked and agonized look on his face. He sent a look of pure hatred Guy’s way, “I’ll kill you,” he choked out in a low shaking voice. “Even if I swing for it.”

“Rob!” She — this woman who claimed to be his wife, — reached out and seized the boy’s hand. “All is well, I swear it.” At his pointed look, she repeated, “I swear it.” Guy realized he still had no idea what their relationship was. The boy had seized her upper arms and was staring into her face intently. After a moment he relaxed, then clasped her to him, in an awkward embrace. “You scared me,” he gritted out, before thrusting her away from him as if she were some troublesome sibling. He was bright red now and scowling.

She reached out again and grasped his hand in hers. “I’m sorry, don’t be angry,” she murmured. He hunched his shoulder crossly, but did not pull away his hand.

“What in the hells —?” spluttered Firmin.

“I vouch for these two,” said Guy tightly. His angry gaze dared the beadles to dispute his right.

Thurston pursed his lips in a whistle. “So, he’s a she,” he murmured and grinned. Guy glared at him.

The first beadle cleared his throat. “You,— er …,” His eyes met Guy’s and then dropped away. “I see, my lord,” he said hastily. “I see.”