The Marriage Parley: Love & War, #0

By Sarah Edwards

All's fair in love and war.

 

A bloody battlefield would not be any woman's choice for a betrothal venue. But when the king urgently demands a marriage of convenience to end the ongoing conflict between the families of de Guile and Elford, Margaret must comply. Resolved but determined to manage at least part of her own fate, strong-willed Margaret de Guilles joins the negotiations for her marriage.

 

Richard of Elford will do his duty. Raised to protect Elford he determines to end the bloodshed and save his demesne from the disastrous results of constant war. One look at the beautiful Margaret, however, and he wants more than a cold bargain, he wants a willing wife. 

 

Instead of a negotiation between rival families, Richard removes everyone else from the negotiations and the parley becomes personal, between him and the beguiling Margaret. Forces on both sides attempt to disrupt their marriage parley, and Margaret and Richard must fight not only for the future of their demesnes but for their future together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Hegger
• Release date: Aug 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781732933149

Book preview

Chapter 1

Poetry did not come easily to a man of war such as Richard of Elford, but from across the mud, blood and sweat of the battlefield, Lady Margaret de Guilles pushed back her cloak’s hood and looked at him. Proof that beauty existed in the depths of hell.

She is here. Yves drew close enough to speak for Richard’s ear alone. And she brings the king’s shitwiper with her.

For three days and countless years before that, his family and hers had battled over the right to farm the fertile acres upon acres lying betwixt their demesnes. The carnage, the stink, the bristling aggression of men raised on hate melted beneath the sheen of the crow’s breast silk of her hair. Her milk-white skin appeared twice as pure and untarnished for the filth around her.

Steady, Richard said, aware of the eyes of both armies on them. Men who had only yesterday laid down their weapons would be eager to pick them up again.

Early morning mist clung in pockets as a forlorn, gray dawn pushed back the night. The smoke from campfires swirled about them along with the quiet murmur of hundreds of voices.

Yves studied Lady Margaret as she stood and surveyed the battlefield. You have met her before?

Not met. A single encounter remained stamped on Richard’s memory. But I did see her once. Many years ago.

He remembered her eyes most clearly. Eyes more deadly than a hundred broadswords. Eyes the shade of spring irises that dared him to lose himself in their depths.

But this day, Margaret de Guilles would look at him, would speak with him, and lay her pretty hand in his. Because today the war ended, and it ended in marriage.

Carrion birds wheeled and cawed in dark murders above them, picking through all of their fallen. Much like the slim, dapper figure of John of Arles, emissary to King Henry, was picking his way through the battle mire, a kerchief pressed to his nose and mouth.

The second most powerful man in the kingdom and, as Yves said, King Henry’s shitwiper.

Looking at Arles’s silk shod form and dainty pointed shoes, a man might think to test him. Such a man wouldn’t live to see his next dawn. John’s narrow shoulders carried the full weight of the king’s trust and the king’s own will steeled his spine.

My lady. John held out his hand to the Lady Margaret. Be careful where you step.

So many. Margaret took his hand, her other pressed to her mouth. A terrible sadness filled her face. So many have died here.

Here, my lady. John plucked her skirts out of the muck and handed them to her. There is nothing more to be done for these. We act today for the living.

How easily Arles dismissed the lives lost on the field. It was easy to dismiss them when it was not your hand swinging the sword that ended another’s life. For three days Richard had battled beside his men until the order for a truce from the king had reached them. His weariness went marrow deep.

As she drew near enough, Richard bowed low. My lady. You came quickly on the heels of the king’s message. Let his men see him bend the knee to the woman the king would have him take to wife, the woman his men would have to accept as their lady.

I wish I had come sooner. Her beautiful eyes swept the battlefield, lingering on a young boy’s corpse, no more than sixteen and already his life spent. She shook her head, her voice no more than a whisper, Too many.

This ends. Neither of them could afford to carry their fathers’ feud forward. It had cost Elford countless lives and near beggared them.

Margaret transferred her gloved hand from John to him and dipped into a deep curtsy. Well met, Sir Richard.

And well met to you, my lady. Keeping her hand within his, he motioned her to walk with him. Courtier’s words always felt like a mouthful of brambles. If it pleases my lady, we have set up some shelter for your convenience.

My thanks. She looked about her, even meeting the hostile gazes of some of his men. But I could not take my ease until I knew the men had been cared for.

They have been fed, he said. And now they rest beside their fires.

She nodded. Then it is up to us to get them back to their families as soon as we can.

She spoke as a leader of men would and a thrill of pride snaked through him. Soldiers gossiped worse than crones around their sewing. News would spread that Lady Margaret had expressed concern for their comfort.

A compassionate wench and a clever one at that, she was the woman he needed by his side. If he had not already made up his mind that she would be his, this moment would have done it.

Lady Margaret. He drew her hands to his mouth. Even a rough man such as he could manage a dash of charm. You are even lovelier than I remember.

A flush stained her pale cheeks and yet her voice carried an edge of reproach and not modesty. I was not aware we had met.

We have not met, my lady.

Had he stressed the my in my lady? Aye, he had.

And had she shot him a hard look to assure him she had noticed? Aye, she had.

Richard’s blood rose in challenge. He liked a wench with spirit and a temper hot