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Authors: The Heiress Bride
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shrieked, shooting up off the bench.
He shook his head with confusion. “My lady?”
“How could you! Oh, how could you!” Rosaleen’s hands flew up to press against her hot cheeks. “Merciful God in heaven! Are you insane?”
For one horrible moment Rosaleen thought she would be sick, so great was her shock. She was only grateful that she didn’t faint.
He took a step toward her, holding out one hand.
“My good lady, whatever is the matter?” His voice was filled with concern. “Are you ill?”
She backed away from him in horror, as though he were diseased.
“Don’t touch me, you…you infidel! You godless pervert! Stay away from me!”
He stopped and held his hands palm up. “Of course I’ll not touch you, my dear,” he said very soothingly. “You mustn’t be afraid. I only wish to help you. All of us here—” he motioned back toward the courtyard “—only want to help you, good daughter.”
She truly thought she would swoon. “Sick. Dear God, you are sick! Oh, Hugh, how can this be? What can I do to help you?”
His expression changed slightly, and he raised his eyebrows in the manner that was now so familiar to her.
“What did you call me?”
“And your hair!” she wailed. “Your beautiful hair! How could you cut it so dreadfully? Oh, Hugh!”
He frowned deeply. “I think perhaps you’ve made a mistake.”
A sudden realization struck Rosaleen, and she stared at him anew, dumbfounded. “But it isn’t possible! I left you in the stables only a few moments ago. You couldn’t have cut your hair and changed your clothing so quickly. It’s not possible!” Another idea occurred to her, and she felt sick all over again. “Oh my God, Hugh Caldwell! I’m the one who’s gone mad! This is what’s happened to me after spending time in company such as yours. I’ve lost my mind!”
His gentleness vanished and Rosaleen found herself grabbed up by his strong hands.
“You’ve called me that twice now!” he said angrily, shaking her. “Hugh Caldwell! What do you know of Hugh Caldwell? Tell me!”
Stunned, Rosaleen peered into his face, searching in vain for some difference. There was none, save his hair and clothes. He was Hugh Caldwell, or Hugh Caldwell’s exact reflection.
“If you’re not him,” she squeaked beneath his stern gaze, “then I left him only a few moments ago in the stables.”
He dropped her so fast she actually fell on her posterior, but Rosaleen scrambled up and raced after him as he strode out of the gardens and toward the stables. He flung the stable doors open so violently that they banged off the walls, startling every living creature in the building, including Hugh Caldwell, who quickly looked up from where he crouched, brushing Rosaleen’s little mare.
His gaze locked with that of the man who stood in the doorway, and the brush fell out of his hand. He took one hesitant step, then two, toward Rosaleen and the man, and a tentative smile grew on his lips.
“Hugo,” he said very softly. He took two more steps and held out his arms.
“You,” the monk whispered, and with an animal sound launched himself at his brother. Hugh never even knew what hit him, Hugo’s attack was so violent and sudden. A blow to his left cheek sent him sprawling into a nearby stall, and as soon as he landed Hugo leapt upon him, his fists pummeling him again and again.
Rosaleen was thoroughly stunned. She had never seen such a sight or imagined anything like it. A monk, of all people, brawling like a common knave! She didn’t knowwhat she should do, or what the precedent was for handling the situation. If it had been Hugh and some other common man, she would have dumped a bucketful of the horses’ water on them, but she didn’t know if throwing water on a monk was allowed by the Church, and she had too much consideration for her soul to endanger it by committing a sin in ignorance. Unable to think of anything more helpful, she simply ran around the fighting men, begging
He shook his head with confusion. “My lady?”
“How could you! Oh, how could you!” Rosaleen’s hands flew up to press against her hot cheeks. “Merciful God in heaven! Are you insane?”
For one horrible moment Rosaleen thought she would be sick, so great was her shock. She was only grateful that she didn’t faint.
He took a step toward her, holding out one hand.
“My good lady, whatever is the matter?” His voice was filled with concern. “Are you ill?”
She backed away from him in horror, as though he were diseased.
“Don’t touch me, you…you infidel! You godless pervert! Stay away from me!”
He stopped and held his hands palm up. “Of course I’ll not touch you, my dear,” he said very soothingly. “You mustn’t be afraid. I only wish to help you. All of us here—” he motioned back toward the courtyard “—only want to help you, good daughter.”
She truly thought she would swoon. “Sick. Dear God, you are sick! Oh, Hugh, how can this be? What can I do to help you?”
His expression changed slightly, and he raised his eyebrows in the manner that was now so familiar to her.
“What did you call me?”
“And your hair!” she wailed. “Your beautiful hair! How could you cut it so dreadfully? Oh, Hugh!”
He frowned deeply. “I think perhaps you’ve made a mistake.”
A sudden realization struck Rosaleen, and she stared at him anew, dumbfounded. “But it isn’t possible! I left you in the stables only a few moments ago. You couldn’t have cut your hair and changed your clothing so quickly. It’s not possible!” Another idea occurred to her, and she felt sick all over again. “Oh my God, Hugh Caldwell! I’m the one who’s gone mad! This is what’s happened to me after spending time in company such as yours. I’ve lost my mind!”
His gentleness vanished and Rosaleen found herself grabbed up by his strong hands.
“You’ve called me that twice now!” he said angrily, shaking her. “Hugh Caldwell! What do you know of Hugh Caldwell? Tell me!”
Stunned, Rosaleen peered into his face, searching in vain for some difference. There was none, save his hair and clothes. He was Hugh Caldwell, or Hugh Caldwell’s exact reflection.
“If you’re not him,” she squeaked beneath his stern gaze, “then I left him only a few moments ago in the stables.”
He dropped her so fast she actually fell on her posterior, but Rosaleen scrambled up and raced after him as he strode out of the gardens and toward the stables. He flung the stable doors open so violently that they banged off the walls, startling every living creature in the building, including Hugh Caldwell, who quickly looked up from where he crouched, brushing Rosaleen’s little mare.
His gaze locked with that of the man who stood in the doorway, and the brush fell out of his hand. He took one hesitant step, then two, toward Rosaleen and the man, and a tentative smile grew on his lips.
“Hugo,” he said very softly. He took two more steps and held out his arms.
“You,” the monk whispered, and with an animal sound launched himself at his brother. Hugh never even knew what hit him, Hugo’s attack was so violent and sudden. A blow to his left cheek sent him sprawling into a nearby stall, and as soon as he landed Hugo leapt upon him, his fists pummeling him again and again.
Rosaleen was thoroughly stunned. She had never seen such a sight or imagined anything like it. A monk, of all people, brawling like a common knave! She didn’t knowwhat she should do, or what the precedent was for handling the situation. If it had been Hugh and some other common man, she would have dumped a bucketful of the horses’ water on them, but she didn’t know if throwing water on a monk was allowed by the Church, and she had too much consideration for her soul to endanger it by committing a sin in ignorance. Unable to think of anything more helpful, she simply ran around the fighting men, begging
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