by Anne Herries
‘Put down your weapons,’ she cried. ‘This is Sir Zander de Bricasse. He comes to defend me, but I need no defence here.’ Turning to Zander, she smiled and held out her hand. ‘My lord, come and meet my people. You have no need of your sword here.’
Zander stared at her for a moment, then inclined his head and sheathed his sword. ‘My men should have been here to protect you.’
‘I needed none—and they guarded you, Zander. The earl’s hunting party returned, but the way was barred against them and they were forced to turn back. Had they come up on you from behind, you might not have taken the manor so easily. I thank them for saving the shedding of blood. I would have as little blood spilled in my cause as possible.’
‘I feared you might have been led into a trap.’ Zander’s eyes were hard, dark with anger. ‘I am accustomed to being obeyed—if men disobey their captain it leads to disorder in the ranks and disobedience must be punished.’ There was something dark in his eyes then, something that made her feel icy cold.
‘It was I who disobeyed you, not your men,’ Elaine said, her eyes sparking as she looked at him defiantly. ‘Will you punish me, my lord?’
Zander glared at her a moment longer and then gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I see I need to teach you to obey your lord, my lady,’ he said, but there was a smile on his lips. ‘Methinks you need Lady Anne to set an example. ’Tis a pity that you did not invite her to stay.’
Elaine smiled, relieved that his white-hot anger had suddenly evaporated. ‘I think even Anne would have acted as I did, my lord—but correct me if I am wrong.’
‘You are wrong,’ he said and threw his reins to one of the villagers; the man caught them and led the horse to a drinking trough. Zander walked to greet Elaine, offering her his hand. ‘Lady Anne is far too careful to confront any man; she would bow her head, agree with everything—and then do exactly as she pleased. She hides her emotions well, but sometimes they show through despite her.’
Elaine’s eyes sparkled with merriment for she sensed that he was teasing her, as he’d so often teased her in the past. In that moment she saw the young squire she’d loved before he left to become a knight. He was still there somewhere, though changed by the years.
‘I see you know her well,’ she said and smiled.
‘I knew her as a child—and we met again before I left to join the king. At that time she was much admired at court and it was thought that she would marry well.’
Elaine nodded. She wondered if he had admired the young woman then, but thought her far above him, then she quashed the maggot of jealousy before it could become embedded in her flesh. Zander had truly loved Elaine when he had left to join the crusade. It was not another love she had to fight—but the pain of disillusionment and the loss of faith. When he’d gone to join the cause he’d spent night after night in vigil, praying for his soul…praying to become worthy enough to fight for the Cross. He had been honourable, earnest and devout. What had happened to this man? What terrible deeds haunted him? She could see the scars on his face, but she believed other scars ran deep and it was those not visible to the eye that festered and corrupted inside him.
‘Anne of Stornway is a lovely lady, sir.’
‘Indeed she is, but…’ Elaine thought he meant to say more, perhaps to compliment her, but instead he shook his head. ‘Come, lady. Thank your people for their care of you. Tell them there will be a feast in the hall tomorrow night and all those who are loyal will be welcome to join us. We must go to the house, for there is much to do before I can think of leaving.’
‘Leaving?’ Elaine’s heart caught. ‘I thought…hoped…’
‘I shall not go before I am certain that you are well protected here,’ Zander said, eyes dwelling on her face. ‘You know that my feud with Newark does not end here. He had my father foully slain and I have sworn to avenge him. I shall not rest easy in my bed until that is done. Fear not, lady. Newark will have too much on his hands to think of defying the King’s Marshal by attacking your home.’
The pain caught at her heart. He had been so anxious for her that she’d been misled into believing that he still cared—that he would stay and wed her—but it seemed that she was wrong. He would protect her, as he would any lady he considered in need, but he did not need or want her.
Chapter Six
Raising her head proudly, Elaine allowed one of the knights to help her mount her palfrey. Marion was put up to ride pillion behind her and they said their goodbyes to the people who had been prepared to give their lives to protect them.
Elaine had earlier told the headman to come to her at the house. She wanted to know what her people needed from her. Much of her life would be here now and she would spend it serving her people. If Zander did not wish to wed her, then she would not marry. She knew she would be more vulnerable, for some unscrupulous knights would see her as prey and do their best to entice or trap her into marriage. However, she was under the protection of Lord Stornway and would make sure that her home was always well guarded. Even though he was determined to leave her, Zander would make sure that she was adequately protected before he went.
She deliberately kept from looking at him. Sometimes his smile was her undoing and she feared he had already seen the love and need in her. She had done her best to subdue it, for her pride would not let her beg for his love. At times she was not sure who this knight was—he could be as sweet as honey with a smile to charm the birds at one moment and the next he was like stone, impenetrable.
A part of her wanted to rage at him, to rake him with her nails and beat him with her fists. How dare he come into her life and break her heart again? How many times had she wept for him in the dark of night? Too many! He did not deserve her love—and yet she cared. She cared too much.
When they rode into the inner bailey of her home, she slipped from the saddle without help and began to walk towards the house. Her mother’s steward Elgin came running to her. He fell down on his knees before her and, wringing his hands, begged her pardon for allowing the earl to take the manor.
‘We did not know what to believe, my lady. He claimed he was your lord and that you had ordered us to give him service.’
‘He lied to you, old friend,’ she said and smiled, tapping his shoulder. ‘Get up, Elgin. I would not have you or any of my people kneel to me. Had my uncle allowed it I should have been here months ago. The earl would not have gained entry so easily then. Our walls are stout and can be defended with a handful of strong knights.’
‘You are the image of your sainted mother,’ Elgin said as he rose to his feet. ‘We have prospered well here, my lady—but the earl took much of what he could find and our stores are depleted. Fortunately, we have our secrets and the gold and silver, pewter and your mother’s jewels are still hid where she bade us place them in times of trouble.’
Tears sprang to Elaine’s eyes. Her mother had been on a visit to her dower lands when she herself was but seven years of age. Taken by a fever that laid her on her bed, she’d sent for her husband and daughter, but they had arrived too late to do more than kiss her pale face before she was laid in her coffin in the crypt at the church, her stillborn son with her.
The sudden death of Eleanor Howarth had destroyed her husband. He had never been the same again, his health failing year by year until he died a shadow of his former self—and left his only child to the care of his brother, whom he had trusted to care for and protect her.
‘We shall prosper again,’ Elaine promised. ‘Newark stole my uncle’s castle and lands. They were my heritage, to pass to my husband when I wed. I shall petition the King to have my lands restored, but until then we must work to make sure that our people do not starve this coming winter.’
‘We shall not starve—if Prince John’s taxmen leave us enough to live on. We need a strong lord to protect us, my lady. Lord Zander is one such man. If he were master here, the prince’s tax collectors would not dare to ask for more than their fair tithe.’
Elaine’s throat
stung. She smiled and turned her head to watch as Zander gave orders in the courtyard. Men sprang to attention, running to do his bidding, eager to serve. If he would but wed her before he left her, his reputation would keep her safe. He was a knight that others respected, a man of zeal who had faced death a hundred times on the battlegrounds of the Holy Land and yet survived. The scars he feared might cause her revulsion brought him instant respect from men who understood what pain he had endured and yet survived. They looked at him as if he were holy, almost a living god amongst lesser mortals.
Her chest tightened and for a moment the pain was intense. He was too proud to ask her to wed him now, but he was too honourable to break his vow to her if she demanded that he keep it.
Elaine knew what she must do for the sake of her people—to keep them safe she must sacrifice her own feelings.
For the moment Zander was too busy to talk to her. She saw Marion speaking with other ladies and knew they were waiting to take her to her chambers so that she could change and refresh herself.
Elaine had borrowed some of Anne’s clothing, but she knew that her mother’s clothes were still here, packed in chests of camphor and cedarwood. They would fit her and their scent would bring her mother closer.
‘Lord Zander asks that you join him and his men to sup in the Great Hall,’ one of the young handmaidens said, curtsying to her. ‘All is ready, my lady—if you would care to come down now?’
‘Yes, I shall come now,’ Elaine said. Marion gave her a mirror of beaten silver and she glanced at the rather misty image of herself. Her hair was a golden cloud about her pale face, for her ladies had at last managed to get rid of the walnut juice she’d used to stain her skin. Her gown was blue silk embroidered with silver thread and beads and covered by a filmy over-gown of pale gauze. Her headdress was a coiled band of velvet twined with silver wires and caught with pearls. Fastened to her ears were large pearl drops held by silver wires and about her throat was a long string of creamy pearls, at the end of which was fastened a silver cross. These were her mother’s jewels, which had been kept safely for her by her steward these many years. ‘Thank you, ladies—you have done well.’
Her ladies smiled and cooed about her, assuring her that she was so beautiful that it was easy to dress her. Elaine shook her head. She left her chamber and went down the stairs to the huge hall below. Even though her mother’s dower was a moated manor house rather than a castle, the hall was long and the ceiling high and vaulted with ladder beams. Pennants hung from the beams and on the walls hung shields and swords, axes and pikes. The heavy oak furniture was set with gleaming pewter, silver ewers and plates, and a few gold pieces here and there. The people of Sweetbriars had brought out all the precious plate to celebrate their lady’s return.
Fresh rushes had been strewn on the stone flags and sweet herbs had been scattered to scent them, sweeping out the dirt and stench left by the earl’s men, who, she’d been told, threw discarded food on the floor and let the dogs fight over it. They’d taken their dogs with them on the hunting trip and Zander had given orders that they were to be penned outside. Only his own lurcher was permitted within the house, a great grey beast that lurked at his feet and viewed all comers with suspicious eyes.
Despite that it was a mild day, a fire had been lit in the huge fireplace and a log that must have been half the trunk of a tree was crackling and spitting, giving off the scent of fresh pine. Above that Elaine caught the scent of suckling pig, roast capons, cinnamon and spices. It seemed they were to have a feast this night, as well as the following day.
Zander was standing at the far end of the hall, where the high table stood. Two rows of trestle tables had been set up at right angles to the board where she and her principal guests would sit and men were already lined up behind the benches waiting for her arrival. As they saw her a cheer went up and they began to stamp their feet in appreciation.
Zander turned to look at her. His eyes seemed intent on her as she walked towards him, but he did not smile, nor did he give any indication that he was impressed by her appearance, though he must have noticed the difference.
‘My lord,’ she said and made a slight curtsy. ‘I hope I have not kept you waiting?’
‘No, you have not,’ he said and still he did not smile, though his gaze was so hot that it seemed to devour her. ‘I dare say we are all hungry and the feast shall begin as soon as you are seated.’
‘Then let it begin,’ she said and took her place at the centre. Her chair had arms and a thick wooden back and seat, but for her comfort soft cushions had been placed to ease her. To either side of her was a chair with a straight back, but without arms; neither of these chairs had a cushion to make them more comfortable. Everyone else sat either on stools or backless benches.
Elaine smiled and waved her arm as the signal that the food should be brought in immediately. The men cheered her again and then sat, reaching for bread and the wine that was already in their cups. Pageboys dressed in blue and silver, and house churls wearing grey homespun, began to bring in a succession of dishes. Some were served to the lower benches, others were brought to the high table and a taster stood between Elaine and Zander. He tasted a small portion from each platter and it was then served to Elaine, Zander and the other men who formed the guests honoured with a place at her board.
Dishes of suckling pig were followed by roast capons, pigeons in rich sauces, sweetbreads, roasted chitterlings and caramelised onions with nuts, tarts of quince and plums with custards and syllabubs of honey and wine. There was a pig’s head stuffed with apples, plates of dates and almonds and figs, many of these delicacies brought back to England for the first time by the crusading knights who had seen a market for them here. A mess of mutton with turnips and leeks from the land of the Welshmen, neats’ tongues and carp from the stewpond in the inner bailey formed the main course of the meal.
Elaine ate sparingly from the dishes she favoured, tasting the suckling pig, capons and some stewed apple flavoured with cinnamon, followed by a syllabub of honey and wine, then declared herself satisfied. She would eat no more, though she nibbled a stuffed date when Zander insisted, and sipped from her cup of sweetened wine.
A minstrel was strolling about the room, strumming on his lyre and singing songs for any that would offer him a coin. At times Elaine caught a few words of a ribald song from a far corner of the room, which was followed by raucous laughter. Mostly the lyrics were sung in French and she simply ignored the lines she knew were outrageously risqué and not fit for a lady’s ears. She watched a tumbler performing his tricks and then the minstrel was summoned to the high table. Zander gave him gold and told him to sing a gentle love song, which he did, smiling and bowing to Elaine. Although still in French, the language of love, she understood perfectly and smiled, because she knew this song was not so outrageous as those the minstrel had sung to entertain the men.
Zander signalled to his men and one of them rose and began, with a young woman of the camp followers, to dance a very stately, but strangely sensuous dance, their bodies making snakelike movements that were very erotic and made Elaine blush. However, she kept her smile in place, wondering where a rough soldier had learned to dance in such a way.
‘Ranulf learned to dance from Arab slave girls we liberated from a slaver on the way to the Holy Land,’ Zander told her as she turned to him with the question on her lips. ‘The girls danced to thank us for their lives and freedom, and the men imitated them; some of the women chose to become camp followers—and these two have somehow perfected their own routine. Did it please you, Elaine? It was meant to amuse.’
‘Yes…’ She felt her cheeks heat as she gazed into his eyes and her mouth tingled with the need to be kissed. The dance had been oddly arousing, making her aware of feelings deep within her. Her flesh was melting in the heat of his eyes and she wanted to be held, to melt into him and…Her immodest thoughts made her look away. ‘It was interesting…’
‘Interesting?’ Zander sounded amused. ‘Yes,
I dare say you could call it that.’
Elaine did not dare to look at him. Her body felt as if it were on fire, as if little hot coals were touching her skin, causing her a sweet agony that made her break out in beads of sweat. The dance had been so sensual, so arousing that it had made her long to be in the arms of the man she loved, to be kissed as he had kissed her long ago. What did Zander want of her? Her throat was so tight with longing that she could hardly breathe, but she was afraid to let him see lest he despise her for her immodesty.
‘I believe I should retire to my chamber,’ she said at last when the silence between them seemed almost unbearable. ‘The men grow merry and I think my ladies and I should leave them to their fun.’
‘They have half an hour before the drinking stops,’ Zander said and now his eyes were cold once more. ‘I do not tolerate all-night drinking sessions. My men must be ready to fight if need be at all times—and those who have feasted must relieve those who are on duty.’
Elaine rose and walked away. A faint cheer echoed round the room, but the laughter and jesting went on as she left. Her ladies followed her to her chamber, chattering amongst themselves.
‘What did you think of the dancing?’ she asked her ladies as they undressed her, bringing her fine silk garments for the night.
‘It was immodest,’ Marion said disapprovingly, but some of the younger ones giggled and whispered behind their hands.
‘Yes, Gelda?’ Elaine said. ‘Will you not tell us all what you thought?’
Gelda blushed and bowed her head. ‘It was sensual, my lady—a dance for lovers. I’ve seen gypsies dance like that in their firelight. One of the villagers called it erotic—but I did not know the word.’
‘And when did you see this dance before?’ Marion demanded.
‘When they came to our village. They were travelling people from the east, perhaps Egypt. They wore gold rings in their ears and on their fingers—and they danced the dance of love.’