Strangclyf Secret

Champagne Books Presents

Strangclyf Secret

By

Mary McCall

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Books

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2014 by Mary McCall

ISBN 978-1-77155-174-8

March 2015

Cover Art by Ellie Smith

Produced in Canada

Champagne Book Group

19-3 Avenue SE

High River, AB T1V 1G3

Canada

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 Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other Books By Mary McCall

Highland Captive

Highland Promise

Dedication

For my brother, Robert Duncan McCall II. You are one of my real-life heroes. Thanks for always being there.

Prologue

Caen, Normandy, July, 1066

Sometimes silence is just too loud.

Bernon grunted and shifted positions, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin on his palm. He studied the game table trying to discern his next move. The raging storm without pressed gloom throughout the hall heightening the shadows about the hall and the heaviness of the air dampened every swatch of cloth. How was he supposed to concentrate on chess when his life of unwedded bliss would soon end?

To his relief, a bang broke the silence. He glanced up from the game table near the dormant hearth. Thank the Almighty his friend arrived before he was trounced by William for not paying attention. If nothing else, Geno could generally lighten Bernon’s mood. For now Geno shook his tawny curls, sending a spray of droplets splattering down to the rushes then tossed his dripping cloak over a bench.

’Tis about time you arrived. I was beginning to fear for your life, making the crossing in those winds, William called from his seat across the game table from Bernon. With ruddy cheeks and rusty hair, the massive middle-aged warrior radiated a conquering spirit despite his casual pose.

Geno approached the contestants. Carrying a leather parcel under one arm, he halted, bowed to his liege with a flourish, and grinned. Greetings, Your Grace. As you can see, my holy sire’s God has spared me.

I don’t suppose he spared me as well. Bernon drained the wine from his pewter goblet and slammed the empty cup upon the table.

Geno raised a brow and swept his gaze over his friend. Santa Anna, your mood is as black and dour as your garments. The Almighty has done more than spared you. For some reason, He has given you a pearl beyond price. Mayhap someday you will recognize her value.

Leave it to you to find perfection in every female who breathes. Lifting a pitcher, Bernon poured more wine and took a long draught.

William frowned at Bernon’s churlishness and then cocked an inquiring brow at Geno. Lord Strangclyf accepted you as Bernon’s proxy then?

Aye. Though he was not pleased by Bernon’s absence, the vows have been pledged. When Lord Strangclyf dies, the holding will pass to Bernon through his new bride after a traditional ritual of transference prescribed by the Strangclyf ancestors. A devilish gleam flickered in Geno’s light-blue eyes. Lord Sidney wanted me to make a point of telling you the holding does not pass on until the marriage is consummated, Bernon. You cannot put off meeting your bride forever.

William nodded and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture as he studied the game, then moved a rook. Nodding once at his prowess, he said, He will take care of that after England is mine.

Bernon raised a brow. Is it not enough that you ordered the marriage? Do you intend to set the date and the time of the consummation as well?

I hope such an order will not be necessary. William scowled. Strangclyf is a strategic holding for England’s defense on the North Sea and possesses a legion of trained warriors, who I would rather have fighting with me than against me when we invade. There is rumor of a great secret about the place, which makes it invincible. ‘Tis also a rich holding that you should appreciate.

Bernon flushed and raked his fingers through his short locks. I do appreciate it and an order is not necessary. You know I will do whatever is required to secure the holding.

William nodded. So, did Bernon’s bride appreciate the gift he sent her?

I sent no gift, Bernon said and banged his goblet on the table.

Bernon, quit banging the goblet. Matilda still has not forgiven you for bending the others. William snatched the goblet from Bernon’s reach and handed it to Geno. Honestly, you’ve been sulking more like the nine-year-old I caught stealing bread from me seventeen years ago rather than a seasoned warlord.

Nay, William. He simply acts like the grumpy Black Bear his warriors have dubbed him. Straight pearly teeth flashed in Geno’s face as he accepted the goblet for himself.

I am not sulking and I would not be ill-tempered at all if not for the existence of my unwanted bride. Who was it that came up with the offensive notion of attaching land to women?

Geno chuckled. I believe you refer to my holy sire’s God—about the time he put Eve in the garden.

Aye, and ‘twas because of Eve that Adam was driven from Paradise, Bernon countered.

’Twas the serpent that caused poor Eve’s woes and you have no need to complain, Bernon, Geno chided. With a wife, all the little Bernons you make in the years to come will be devoid the stigma of bastardy, which so plagued you as a child. As to the gift, Your Grace, the lady said she has never owned anything so fine and intends to fashion a gown in honor of her husband.

What did I send her? Bernon asked through gritted teeth. He had a right to be irritated. He didn’t want some crafty, greedy female disrupting his life. He had a sword and a horse. All he wanted now was land. Then his portion would be complete...and totally satisfying if it didn’t come with a wife.

A fine bolt of gold chainsil and another of black, William replied with a smile. Matilda picked them out so your bride may clothe herself in your colors.

Bernon tossed up his hands in aggravated surrender. Fie, now she will expect me to spend all my coins to clothe and pamper her—and probably never consider I face death to earn them.

Geno crooked his lips in a sardonic half-smile. I do not think so, Bernon. ‘Tis my understanding from the few moments we spoke that she believes her main duty in life is to please you. He tossed the bundle onto Bernon’s lap and a mocking tenor crept into his voice. A token from your bride. She says she does not wear ribbons or scarves, so she hopes you will accept her paltry offering, because ‘tis the best she had to send.

What kind of rich man’s daughter wears no adornments? William asked.

One with no vanity and who deems herself unworthy of her husband, Geno replied.

Bernon snorted. No woman deems herself unworthy of a bastard, Geno. You should know that by now. He turned over the bundle, testing its weight. Then he pulled the string, unrolled the leather, and stared in amazement at the wavy mane shimmering like liquid gold in the candlelight.

Good God Almighty! She had sent him her hair. No woman would do such a thing unless Geno was right and she possessed no vanity. Long hair was not only the fashion but also a status symbol. And honest to God, these strands were glorious—a crowning glory with which no woman of his acquaintance would part.

He lifted the end bound by a frayed leather string and slid his fingers through the cool silken strands. The enticing fragrance of lavender mixed with roses wafted under his nostrils, intriguing his senses. The curly tresses wrapped around his fingers like a lover’s embrace just as surely as tension coiled and kicked in his gut.

Geno raised his goblet in mock salute to his friend. "She said to tell you ‘tis the first time she has cut it and no other man has ever held it. Your bride, Bernon, thanks you for the honor you have done her, hopes she may someday prove worthy of you, and eagerly awaits your arrival, so she may welcome you home."

And just what is this paragon’s name, pray tell? Bernon asked, less sarcasm in his tone, as he gently replaced the rare gift on the leather and carefully rolled the protective cover.

Amusement frolicked across Geno’s face and he chuckled. That, my friend, I have promised her I would not tell.

This woman does not wish her husband to know her name? William drew his brows together.

She has her reasons. Geno shrugged. Then a rogue’s smile curved his mouth. Bernon may choose. I am sure she will be pleased and answer to any name he picks. Right now she is having people call her Bernon’s bride.

One

Londontown, England, March, 1067

Bernon strode down the corridor of the rambling residence William occupied in Londontown between skirmishes with the Saxon Resistance. His glower sent servants scurrying from his path. In his black mood, he ignored the stinging flesh wound in his left upper arm by focusing his fury on the gripping need to find the recreant who had injured him. Not on a battlefield like an honorable man, but from behind and safely hidden. King William’s suggestion that the culprit might be part of the resistance fell apart, considering the king wasn’t the target. Honest to God, someone wanted him dead, and he intended to ferret out the dastard before another attempt.

As he approached his chamber, he deepened his scowl. Balen, his brother, and Damon, a young lanky soldier who served in his ranks, stood guard outside the room and had the audacity to move in front of the door at his approach.

I am in no mood to talk, Brother, he clipped out, knowing how daunting he appeared at the moment. Stand aside and seek me out later.

Balen’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t budge. I am not here to talk, Bernon. He cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his forest-green tunic. Well truly, I did come by earlier to talk, but that is not why I am here now. Bernon raised an irritated brow, and Balen nudged his friend. Tell him why we’re here, Damon.

We are, ah...we are guarding the door. Damon’s wary pale-blue eyes glanced over Bernon’s shoulder, looking for nonexistent help, and he cleared his throat. No one...that is we are not to let anyone enter or leave without Geno’s approval.

Bernon narrowed his eyes to slits. And do Geno’s orders supersede mine?

Well, ah...liege, I guess...I mean... Damon sputtered then glared at Balen.

Stand aside, Bernon ordered in a voice that chilled the corridor.

Balen stood his ground as Damon moved away. Bernon, there is something you should know before you go into your chamber.

Spit it out, Balen. You can see I am in no mood for delays or riddles.

Balen took a deep breath and looked his brother in the eyes. Your bride is within and ‘tis the first time she has slept in nearly three days.

Bernon wiped all expression from his face as he reached for the door. He had been waiting for William to dismiss him, so he could claim Strangclyf and his bride. The Saxon Resistance had delayed his discharge from service. Why had the woman not stayed at home under her father’s protection?

Balen placed a restraining hand on his arm. Just remember she is not our mother, Bernon. She is a scared and gentle young woman in a strange city, married to a man whom she has never met and has heard terrible tales about.

Remove your hand, Balen, Bernon said, without so much as a blink giving away his thoughts.

Balen released his grip and stepped aside.

Bernon entered the chamber, closed the door, and silently moved to the bedside. The faint essence of lavender and roses grazed him as he stared down at the woman about to ruin his well-ordered existence.

This bride of his slept on her side, facing away from him with the covers pulled over her face. Spun-gold curls peeked over the linens. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers through the short locks, finding them as silky as the mane she sent him the past summer.

Nay! The muffled cry came from under the covers, and her head jerked away from his touch, snuggling deeper under the covers.

Bernon snapped his brows together in a fierce frown. The woman should know better than to deny him. He reached for the covers, but they were suddenly tossed aside as his bride fought some sleeping enemy.

Nay, Hadwyn! You will not do this! I belong to Bernon! One of his under tunics threatened to swallow her petite form as she continued her struggles, fighting the garment as much as her sleep-induced foe.

His eyes widened. God help him! William had married him to a babe! Her thrashing soon bunched the material around her hips. Bernon saw a massive bruise on the back of one shapely thigh just before she flipped onto her back. He hissed out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Thank the Almighty, her legs looked mature, and she had hair at the juncture between them. Not too young—just very small.

He does not want me, does he, Geno? she asked in a pathetic sleepy voice, still enthralled by her unhappy slumber.

Bernon studied her pale strained features, taking in the long golden lashes, short pert nose, tremulous rosy lips, and small pointed chin. Her features seemed to fit together well enough. At least she wasn’t an eyesore. His gaze fell upon mottled bruises around her neck, and his blood boiled. Had he been a volcano, he would have been spewing. He may not want her, but she was his and nobody marked his property.

Emerald eyes popped open and fastened on him. She looked like a terrified fairy. A gorgeous terrified fairy.

The muscles in her throat constricted and she whispered in a hushed frightened voice, "Are you him?"

I am.

"Zut! When did I die?" She sat up and raked her fingers through her hair, glancing wildly about.

Bernon frowned at the curse. You will not use—

Oh Lord! she exclaimed, cutting him off. I did not please my husband, did I? And he killed me. Now I have to spend all eternity in hell with you. She turned an anxious gaze upon him. I was truly hoping we would never meet.

What kind of game was she playing? He cocked his head and considered her through narrowed eyes. Are you daft?

Nay. I am valuable, rare, and precious. Her hands twisted in the sheets. Are you going to start my eternal torture now or make me worry about when you will strike?

If fear could kill, he wouldn’t have to worry about having a wife long. He had never seen anyone so craven in his life. You are not dead.

Am I not? she asked, a surprised tone in her voice. He shook his head.

Then why do you come to me on earth? She gasped then narrowed her eyes. Why, you no-good demon, You must think you will get my consent. She scrunched her face in what he assumed must be her version of a scowl. I’ll not let you take my soul.

Bernon closed his eyes and counted to ten. The woman lacked wit and could not even summon an expression to scare a mouse. I do not want your soul.

Well, why not? she asked in a disgruntled tone of voice and balled her hands into dainty fists. What is wrong with me that even the devil doesn’t want my soul?

Bernon folded his arms across his chest and studied her curiously. His enemies upon occasion may have referred him to as Satan Incarnate, but he didn’t expect such a comparison from a bride he had never met. Was she trying to rouse his ire to test him? Now you insult me. What makes you think I am the devil?

"Because only Lucifer could be so handsome in such a dark way, and you just said you were him." She waved an arm indicating his entire body then peered up, giving him a look that told him she wasn’t impressed. How can you expect to steal souls if you cannot remember what lies you use? Is your memory short?

He wiped a hand over his face conveying his exasperation. This had to be the most ridiculous conversation he had ever had. I am not Lucifer.

Well if you are not Lucifer, then who are you and wher— She broke off and slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she peeked up at him through her lashes. Are you Bernon?

He nodded once, compressing his lips into a thin line.

I have displeased you, have I not? she asked. All color receded from her honeyed complexion. I was having a nightmare and...

God’s bones, now she looked like she was going to cry. How old are you?

She glanced away and combed her short locks with her fingers in a nervous gesture. I will be eight and ten at the beginning of June.

She might be close to eight and ten, but she had the wits of a four-year-old. At a knock on the door, he made a curt perusal of her half-naked form. Cover yourself.

Bernon crossed the chamber and yanked open the door. Geno hurried inside without waiting for an invitation. He glanced toward the bed then turned toward Bernon and broke into a pleased smile. I had hoped to be on hand to make the introductions, but you beat me to it, my friend. Is she not exquisite?

Who marked her? Bernon asked.

"Her cousin killed her father and took Strangclyf. The swine planned to give your bride to Orlege of Strathmore, so she fled to you for protection. Was that not an excellent decision on her part?"

Give me the name, Bernon demanded.

Her cousin is Hadwyn, Geno replied.

Bernon favored Geno with an impatient growl. I meant hers.

You will have to ask her.

Damn the amusement in Geno’s eyes! His friend better remember there was such a thing as vengeance. Bernon walked back to the bedside and scowled down at her. By what name are you called?

Strangclyf, she answered, evading his gaze amidst many gulps.

Before your father died? he asked through clenched teeth and nudged up her chin, so he could look in her eyes.

I was called milady or Bernon’s bride.

Bernon fisted his hands to keep from adding to the bruises around her neck. You will tell me the name your sire gave you.

A rosy blush started at her neck and swept upward to her hairline. I would truly rather not, milord. You may call me any name you wish.

’Tis all right, little wolf, Geno said kindly and gave Bernon his stay-calm look. Bernon will not laugh or think poorly of you because of your father’s choice. Tell him your name.

Barwolf, she whispered, clearly mortified.

God’s teeth, first she called him the devil and now she deceived him. The muscles corded in Bernon’s neck. I do not tolerate lies—

She tells the truth, my friend. Her father wanted a son and never bothered picking another name when he didn’t get one. Geno lowered his voice so only Bernon could hear. He told her he would give her a woman’s name if she ever proved herself worthy.

I truly hate when people speak of me as if I am not present when I am, she muttered. Here I performed a noble geste by coming here to get you, so you could save Strangclyf from Hadwyn. Well, if you do not want me, then you can have the marriage annulled. I’ll probably not be any better as a wife than I was as a daughter anyway. Now will you let me return to my slumber? I am truly exhausted.

Bernon looked down at her strained features. All he needed was a pouter. Nay, she appeared genuinely sad and tired, not manipulative. What was he to make of her? Do not tempt me, Barwolf, he said gruffly. If I could get Strangclyf without you, then I would gladly accept your offer.

You can. She looked him directly in the eyes for the first time since learning his identity as if she hoped her answer pleased him and he was struck by the clearness in her emerald eyes.

This should be interesting. He raised an inquisitive brow.

"’Tis my duty to pass Strangclyf on to you, and ‘tis your duty to protect me. To my knowledge there is no requirement that says you must keep me after the title and secret are transferred. I could go live at the abbey and you would not have to worry about my safety there.

Bernon hooded his eyes. What was the little imp up to and just how would King William react to her suggestion? Was it possible? Wait a moment! Why in perdition did she seem so eager to have him refuse her? Both she and Strangclyf were his. And he kept what belonged to him. His tiny bride had better learn right now to accept her lot.

Geno glared at him and turned to Barwolf. King William would never allow such a thing, little wolf, and Bernon has yet to learn the benefits a wife can provide in running a holding the size of Strangclyf.

Bernon released an exaggerated sigh and wiped a hand over his face. Ah, Geno, could you not allow me—

Your arm! Barwolf cried, leaping up on her knees at the edge of the bed.

He glanced at his nuisance injury. There is no need—

Aye, there is. Strangclyf cannot lose you. Do you not know that you are the bear we have been waiting for? She grabbed his arm and pulled off the makeshift bandage. Gently prodding the sore flesh, she inspected the wound through the rent in his sleeve. You should have told me as soon as you arrived, so I could tend you. Who did this?

He pulled his arm away, taken aback by the heated current passing from her fingers into his flesh. To mask his unexpected response, he raised a brow at her angry tone. What was all this talk about a bear? ’Tis a minor wound from a hunting accident.

’Twas no accident, she firmly countered, frowning.

What makes you think...where were you an hour ago?

She sat back on her heels, stunned. You think I would do such a thing?

She was here, Bernon, Geno said, skewering Bernon with his eyes. She ate and had a bath. Balen and I were both with her—while she ate, that is. Not during the bath. We stood guard then.

Then why do you think ‘twas no accident? he asked, leaning over her in an intimidating manner.

Even from a distance, ‘twould be easy to see you are no wild beast, Her arm waved in an airy gesture. Whoever loosed the arrow must have meant to kill you.

And just how would you know ‘twas an arrow?

You have splinters in the flesh around the wound that should be removed. Who wants you dead, Bernon?

Many people. Should I add you to the list?

I would never do such a thing. How could you think so? Hurt shimmered in her eyes. I am yours. ‘Tis my duty to give you Strangclyf, to take care of you, and to please you. If you do not trust me to tend this injury, then I beg you, seek out one whom you do trust so you may heal soundly.

Bernon straightened and folded his arms across his chest. He could almost believe her sincerity. Almost. He knew better though. Women were manipulative mistresses of deception. Had not his mother and Maurella taught him that lesson well? Only Queen Matilda had ever proven different. Aye, his queen he could rely upon. Of course, he truly did not desire to be at odds with his wife. Fate would bring her into his life on a day when his mood was the foulest. He wanted her loyalty and respect, but he didn’t want her fear.

He studied his bride. She appeared gentle and honest enough. Mayhap he could mold her into a trustworthy helpmate. Though he had little experience with women out of bed, he trained raw recruits for William and himself. Aye, he would train Barwolf as he did his young warriors. He would assure she learned her place and stayed there. She would not be allowed to interfere in his daily routine either. He would be married to her till death after all and they might as well begin as they would go on.

First things first. He must remove himself from her presence until his mood improved before her wringing hands shredded the material in her grip.

Go back to sleep, Barwolf. I’m sure King William has heard of your arrival and will expect you at court this evening, so I’ll return for you later. Have you something appropriate to wear?

Aye, milord. She nodded and blessed him with a timid smile.

Come, Geno. The men walked to the door.

Please wait, milord.

Go on, Geno. After his friend left and closed the door, Bernon faced Barwolf, crossing his arms in front of him and bracing his stance in a relaxed pose. He would start her training now. Do not disturb me after I have dismissed you.

I apologize, she replied. I did not know this rule. Her shoulders slumped as she clutched her thin arms around her waist.

God’s teeth, she was as spiritless as a starving peasant. And damn, he was no cruel ogre, yet he was still taking out his anger on her when he’d already acknowledged to himself that she didn’t deserve his sour mood. Some women were so fragile with their feelings. He sighed and wiped a hand over his face, trying to rid himself of his scowl. Since I remain, you may tell me what you wished to say.

She glanced back up at him and hesitantly tilted up the corners of her mouth. I have something for you.

Her smile, so artless and genuine, made his heart skip. She scooted to the foot of the bed and climbed down. God’s bones! The top of her head barely reached the center of his chest. He had to think positive. The only positive thought related to her height that came to mind was that at least she was taller than Queen Matilda.

Going down on her knees beside her pouch, she removed a rolled bundle. A frown puckered her brow and she pulled other items from the bag. When it was empty, she turned it upside down and shook it. Then she glanced about, clearly puzzled.

Bernon took a deep breath to nudge aside threatening exasperation and went down on one knee beside her. Did you misplace something?

She shook the bundles and tried peering back into the darkness of the pouch. ’Twas here when I went to bed.

What was here? he asked, restraining his impatience. A life of chaos awaited him. He could see himself poking about King William’s court, looking for lost scarves, slippers, and trinkets.

My dagger. I am always careful with it. She raised a devastated gaze. I put it into my pouch before I lay down, but it is gone now.

She looked like she expected him to strike her and he was surprised at the feeling of affront he felt by her fear. Didn’t she know he was sworn to protect her? You must have put it elsewhere. It is bound to turn up later.

Have you a dagger I may borrow, please? She raked her fingers through her hair and glanced away. I will need one to transfer the title to you.

Aye. Is that why you wanted me to stay?

Nay. There must be people to witness the transfer of title. She handed him the first bundle that she had removed from the bag and gave him a tentative smile. "Your gift