For a fraction of a second, Ranulf hesitated, but that was all. “Not even if she offered the whole kingdom.”
“Clydon is just as nice,” Walter noted with a grin, only to earn a black look before Ranulf spurred his mount ahead, refusing to listen to more.
But the notion had taken root in Walter’s mind, and he turned about to find Master Scot, Rothwell’s master-at-arms, and brought his horse to a walk beside him. “How did your lord learn of Roger de Champeney’s death, Master Scot?”
“Like as was in that letter he had from his nephew, the one who went crusading with the king. I heard him mention the man’s name just after the messenger arrived with it.”
“Had you ever heard of the betrothal with Reina de Champeney before then?”
“There was no betrothal,” the man snorted. “All I heard was Lord Rothwell saying as how the girl would be easy pickings with her liege lord still in the Holy Land.”
“Do you not think that is something you should have mentioned ere now?” Walter said irritably. He had not expected exact confirmation, just more doubt to offer Ranulf.
Master Scot shrugged. “The doings of barons is no concern of mine, but I did not see as how it would matter, when you had already been paid to deliver the lady.”
“Ah, but you see, Sir Ranulf has not accepted payment as yet.”
Master Scot stopped walking on hearing that. “Then why are we taking an innocent young lass like her to a devil like Lord Rothwell?”
“A good question,” Walter replied and rode off to walk his horse alongside the supply cart where the “innocent young lass” was suffering a bumpy ride due to Ranulf’s annoyance with her and refusal to let her ride a horse again. “I thought you would like some company, my lady.”
She gave him only a single cold glance before looking away from him. “Not from any friends ofhis, thank you.”
Walter flinched, but tried again. “’Tis true Ranulf is not easy to deal with when you know not his ways, but compared to your betrothed, you will remember him as a saint.”
“Not likely, de Breaute.”
Walter shrugged for her benefit and said no more, but still rode along beside her. He was waiting for her curiosity to get the better of her, unless of course she had lied about there being no betrothal. Then again, even if there was not, she still might know of Rothwell and so have no questions about him. In that case, he would have to try a different approach to set his idea before her.
But his ruse did work. She finally glanced toward him again, and her expression was not so frigid this time, though not openly friendly either.
“Have you met this—this craven lord who means to steal my inheritance?”
Walter had to bite back a smile at her choice of words. “Aye, I have met him. But tell me something, demoiselle. If he is not your betrothed, who is?”
Her eyes fell to her lap and she did not answer for several long moments, making him think she would not. Then she did, but ’twas not what Walter was expecting to hear.
“I have no betrothed.”
“You mean the Earl of Shefford means to keep you as his ward, as old as you are?”
“Nay, I have his blessing to marry, and would have seen the matter done within a sennight if you and yourfriendshad not interfered.”
She was controlling her anger well to say that with only a little bitterness, but Walter still did not understand. “How can that be? If Shefford is sending you a man, then he has made contract for you, so the man must be your betrothed.”
“Nay, Lord Guy is sending no one. Not that it makes a difference now, but he had it from my father before he died that the matter was taken care of, when in truth ’twas not yet settled.”
Walter was frowning now, still not understanding. “But Shefford had to have a name to give his blessing, as well as to make contract for you, if as you say ’twas not done by your father. How, then, can you claim to have no betrothed and yet claim you were to wed within the week?”
Reina was loath to admit the unthinkable, that her father had allowed her to make her own contract. Fitz Hugh had not bothered to pick apart what she had said to him. Why could his friend not leave it alone?
“What does it matter the why or how of it, Sir Walter? The fact remains you are taking me—”
“Wait! If you have no betrothed, then you have no contract as yet. And with Shefford not here, who then will make it for you?”
Reina hissed through her teeth, “I will. And before you yap and yammer over that, know that ’tis as my father wished it. He offered me my choice of two men he approved of, but he died ere he knew my preference and could make contract himself. In telling Lord Guy ’twas done, he assured that I would still have one of these men. He could not know that it would be so difficult to reach them to put the matter to them, or that the news of his death would spread so fast that other men would be tempted to take me by force.”
Walter stared at her incredulously. “What you have said is simply not done, demoiselle.”
