Sir Griel Wallace was a dark, ominous man, short but muscular, with hair, beard and eyes as black as coal. He was standing near the large hearth in the great room as Sofia descended the stairs, and turned to watch with open appreciation as she approached. Just as her father had said, a dozen of Sir Griel’s fighting men were with him, standing on either side of the room, looking very much as if they had prepared for a battle.
Sofia could scarce blame her father for being so distressed at the sight of them. Sir Griel had clearly brought them with the intent of intimidating the entire household—herself included. The last time he’d come to visit her, she’d treated him to a rigidly polite manner of behavior which forced a certain formality from him in turn, but she’d found it impossible not to scoff at his few crude attempts at love-making. His pride had not withstood such a rebuff, no matter how intelligently or elegantly given, and he’d left Ahlgren Manor red with anger.
With this visit, he clearly meant to make himself better understood, if not through sweet speeches, then through a show of force.
As Sofia moved across the room, Sir Griel gave a signal, causing all his men to straighten to attention. Sofia lifted her chin and ignored them.
“Mistress Sofia,” Sir Griel said. “Your beauty, as always, is a welcome sight. I pray I have not come at an unseasonable time?”
He held a hairy, burly hand out, palm open, in what was obviously meant to be a grand gesture. Sofia set her teeth and strove to appear gracious as she laid her own in it. He was abnormally hairy, and was covered down to his fingertips with thick black hair which made him look far more like a heavily furred animal than a man. The idea of having to receive such a man’s intimate caresses made Sofia feel exceedingly ill. Just touching him now caused her stomach to churn nauseatingly.
“My lord, Sir Griel,” she said in proper reply, making a curtsey and deftly sliding her hand free all in one smooth movement, “I am sorry to say that you have. I am used to making my visit to the village at this time of day, and was nearly ready to depart.”
He made a bow. “Forgive me, mistress. I was not aware that you kept such steady habits. I would be greatly honored if you would allow me to accompany you throughout the village as you pursue your duties.”
“You are kind,” Sofia said with a thin smile, “but I require no such escort. I am very happy to go with but my maid and a few menservants to fetch and carry, and you are far too busy a lord to waste such time upon anything so foolish. And this could not be your purpose in honoring us with your presence, I think.”
“Nay, ’twas not,” he admitted, frowning. “I had thought to spend some time in your company, however, and so I told your father. I believe you realize my purpose.”
Sofia gazed at him, all innocence. “Do I, my lord?”
His already dark face darkened even more, and his brow furrowed. “If not, I shall tell you plainly. I mean to court you, Mistress Sofia, and to that purpose I have come and will continue to do so until you agree to be my wife.”
Sofia regarded him steadily, taking in his fine, rich manner of dress, his strong and muscular body, his intensity of expression and temper. She supposed that there were many women who would be grateful to become the wife of Sir Griel Wallace. He was titled and well favored by the king’s regents. His estate, Maltane, was among the finest in Sussex, and he was powerful both in the strength of the small army of knights and soldiers he kept at his castle and the enormity of his wealth.
But she could not rejoice at the idea of such a match. Sir Griel was a cruel man. There was not the least bit of sway or softness in him, and he must ever have his way or no way at all. She’d witnessed his implacable nature firsthand in his dealings with the merchants and craftsmen in the village, all of whom lived in dread of Sir Griel’s random visits. Once he’d whipped a villager simply because the man had walked in front of his horse, and Sofia had heard rumors of far worse beatings that were regularly dealt out to any of his castle servants who happened to displease him.
Standing firm against such a man was not so easy a matter as Sofia wished it might be. Everyone in and around the village of Wirth was afraid of Sir Griel, most especially her father. And she knew very well that if he’d determined to have her for his wife, he wouldn’t take her refusal easily. But Sofia would not be cowed by the man, though she found him both fearsome and physically repulsive.
“I believe I understand your meaning, my lord,” she said calmly. “You do me great honor. I am perfectly aware of how much so, and thank you for such kind consideration. However, I fear that you would do better to look elsewhere for a bride. I do not intend to marry.”
Sir Griel’s eyes widened. “Not marry?” he repeated. “Mistress Sofia Ahlgren not marry? ’Tis an impossibility, I vow. ’Twould be a grave sin to let such beauty as you possess go without its proper tribute, my lady. But, nay,” he said, laughing now, “you mean to tease me. I nearly took your word for truth. What a clever female you are, mistress. And how very much,” he added with a more meaningful look, “I shall enjoy taming you.”
Sofia drew herself up full height—almost as tall as he was—and looked at him directly.
“My lord,” she said clearly and distinctly, “pray let us have an understanding. I will not be your wife, and you would do well to look elsewhere. This is my final word on the matter, and now, I beg that you will take your men and leave. Good day to you.”
She turned to walk away from him, but felt his steely hand close over her shoulder, daring to fall where her skin was bare above the neckline of her surcoat, roughly pulling her back. His face, she saw as he jerked her about, was taut with anger.
“We will indeed have an understanding, Mistress Sofia, and one that you will accept. I will have you for my wife. You, and no other woman.”
Sofia was trembling horribly, and knew he could feel it, but with every bit of strength she possessed she held his deadly gaze. “You cannot force me to it, my lord, and you will not. My father will not accept your suit, and even if you should manage to terrify him to such cowardice, I would petition the crown to grant me the freedom of my own authority. In but four months I will attain the age of twenty, and inherit all that comes to me through my mother’s will.”
“Before that day comes,” he vowed, “you will be Lady Wallace, and all that you inherit dowered to whatever children you give me.”
Sofia struggled to be free, but Sir Griel cruelly dug his nails into her bare flesh to keep her captive, drawing long, deep gashes of blood along her skin as Sofia panicked and wrenched away.
Gasping, she reached up a hand to touch the raw, stinging wounds, and gaped at him in shock. Sir Griel looked at the blood he’d drawn with a satisfied smile, and nodded.
“My first mark upon you, Sofia. The first of many, if you continue to displease me.”
Blood seeped through Sofia’s fingers, trickling across the back of her hand and downward in streams to seep into the cloth of her surcoat. She was nearly too shocked to speak, but uttered, “Nay.”
He reached out again, this time to grasp her chin with tight, punishing fingers.
“Aye, mistress.” His voice was low and as dark as he was. “But you’ve time to learn. Four months’ time. Before the day that your twentieth year arrives, you’ll beg me to take you as wife. On your knees, yet. Aye, I shall have the satisfaction of seeing you there, to repay the insult you’ve given me not only on this day, but so many others.”
“No,” she murmured, shutting her eyes, striving to turn out of his grasp. “No.”
“And once you’re my wife,” he went on, “you will learn to please me very, very well. ’Tis a promise I give you, Sofia. A promise—and I do not make such as those lightly, as you will discover. Heed me well, mistress,” he warned, leaning very close. His strong finger squeezed