Dryden's Bride. Margo Maguire
approached her and the children, unwilling to put a stop to the sound of her engaging voice and her pleasing Welsh accent.
She continued her story as the children sat spellbound. “When the poor mother returned to their cottage, she was suspicious that something had changed. ‘Och, child,’ she cried, ‘you look like my sweet Pryderi, yet you are somehow different. I fear it is not really you I see before me.’
“The child, who was different, awakened. He said, ‘Of course it is I, Mother. Who else would I be?”’
One of the little girls interrupted the story. “Did the faeries take Pryderi from his mother?”
“Did they give her a changeling?” another asked.
“The poor old mother did not know for certain,” Siân replied. “But the only way she knew to find out, was to ask the wise man of the village…”
Hugh leaned his back against a tree and watched as Siân wove her magical spell for the children. She was a gifted storyteller, he thought as she changed her voice and moved her delicate hands to emphasize parts of the story. His earlier impression of Lady Siân as a faerie sprite was not too far from reality, and he found himself falling under the spell of that voice, those hands.
And as he stood there, enveloped in the enchantment of the moment, Hugh wondered how it would feel if she were to touch him. Not the competent touch of a healer to his wound, as she’d been last night, but the soft caress of a feisty red-haired woman who wept with abandon in private, and laughed without restraint in the company of children.
“…and the boy’s mother sought the counsel of the old wise man once more,” Siân continued. “‘You must perform a difficult task,’ the old man told her. ‘Search out and find a hen as black as night, whose feathers reflect no light. Close up your cottage, block the doors and windows, but leave the chimney open. Make a fire, and cook the hen over it…”’
The tale went on to its happy ending, and it wasn’t until Siân had reunited the hapless Pryderi with his mother that the children noticed Hugh in the shadows near the oak tree. They were instantly wary of the man with the black eye patch.
“’Tis Lord Alldale,” Siân said, as startled by his arrival as the children. Recovering quickly, she arose from her seat beneath the spreading oak tree. “’Twas he who saved me from the fierce boar who would have gored me with his tusks…” she grabbed the smallest boy and twirled him around as he giggled with glee “…and eaten me all up!”
Hugh warmed inexplicably as he watched Siân spin with the child, her face flushed, her skirts billowing out all around her. He cleared an odd thickness from his throat and approached the small group. “Lady Siân, it would be well for you to stay closer to the town.”
“Why, my lord?” she asked, her innocent eyes full of questions.
Hugh hesitated. He saw no reason to take the joy out of her day. “Only because…it looks as if it wants to storm again,” he finally said.
Siân looked up at the sky.
He was right. Rain was coming. She smiled warmly. It was considerate of him to come out and forewarn her.
“Vraiment, I am flattered, Lord Alldale,” Marguerite said in response to Hugh’s proposal of marriage.
And flustered, Hugh thought, although her excellent breeding was evident in her tact and poise. There was hardly any indication that she found his offer of marriage untoward. A mere flaring of nostrils, a twitch of the lips, a slight flush of color on those high cheeks…Hugh only noticed these subtle signs because he was more aware than most, after enduring so many politely averted gazes and disdainful glances.
Hugh’s face had once been a pleasing one. In those earlier days, he’d been satisfied with his lot, quick to meet a challenge or to stand for his friends. His company had been sought in battle as well as in the public house.
Though he’d never had the kind of looks that made women swoon, there had been no dearth of beauties to grace his bed in those days, he thought morosely. Not that he’d want any of the shallow and vain creatures near him now. He’d seen too many women pale and weaken at the sight of his scars and the leather eye patch. He knew their grimaces came with the mere thought of a touch from his mangled hand…and how he’d gotten it.
Marguerite sat on a comfortable chair in her solar, while Hugh remained standing, free to wander the room as he chose. He refused to be discomfited by the situation, by her reserve. He was certainly aware that he was no longer pleasant to look upon, that a beautiful woman like Marguerite would have some difficulty with the notion of spending her future shackled to a man with his disfigurements.
Hugh had adjusted. He would never again be the man he was two years ago, but he was a man, nonetheless. Strong again. Capable. Marguerite could do worse for a husband. He was no pauper, to go begging for favors of a wealthy widow! He had Alldale, a prosperous estate that belonged to him alone.
The lady took a sip of wine from a delicate silver chalice, biding a few moment’s time. She cleared her throat before speaking again.
“As you might know,” she said haltingly, “I have received two, um, additional offers of marriage.”
“I’d heard.” And didn’t particularly care. Just choose, he thought, and we can get on with it one way or another.
“My parents are dead,” Marguerite added. “I have no one close by to advise me.”
“Her Majesty, the Queen?”
“We are good friends, yes,” she replied, “but she has counseled me to write my uncle in Lyons for his advice and…perhaps his consent.”
“I see.”
“And, um, I must also request the permission of the council in London. They have certain requirements—”
“Yes, I know all about the council’s requirements,” Hugh said, standing now with his back toward Marguerite. This was impossible! Why had he ever agreed to coming to Clairmont? He turned to face her, and managed to speak calmly. “I doubt you will find any objections from that quarter, but I grant you time to make your wishes known to them.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Marguerite said timidly. “You are most generous.”
“If you do not mind,” he said, “I will remain here at Clairmont until you have made your decision.”
“It is not entirely my decis—”
Hugh held up one hand. “Whatever the case may be,” he said, “if it is of no inconvenience, I will stay.”
“You are welcome to remain here, my lord,” Marguerite said, regaining her usual courtesy and aplomb. “Of course.”
Hugh was well aware that Marguerite considered his marriage proposal only because he’d proven himself in battle, not because of any desire to wed him. Though her etiquette had been impeccable, Hugh knew the lady had won herself some time by requesting his patience as she asked her uncle and any other counselors for advice—time in which to prepare herself for a marriage that Hugh knew would be nothing but distasteful to her.
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