The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  Cocking her head to one side, she eyed him as if puzzled. “Now, why would such a thing give you even a moment’s pause?” she asked. “I lacked no love because of my birth. Knowing Alwyna as I do now, I can’t think you were deprived of affection either. Would we not love our children just as much? What difference does the name we give them at their birth make against that?”

  Temric laughed at himself. “You’re right and shame on me. I’ve been too long in the habit of hating my birth. Any child you bear for me will be cherished, indeed.”

  The concern in Philippa’s face dimmed into something akin to disappointment. “You mustn’t hope for children, Temric,” she warned him quietly. “In my twelve years with Roger, there’s been nary a flicker of life within my womb.”

  “Then, we’ll live content without children,” he replied with a shrug to hide his relief. Despite what he’d just said, he still didn’t like it that his children might wear the stain of bastardy. “Perhaps it’s just as well. What if I produce a son like Rannulf’s Jordan? That wee lad’s more trouble than Rannulf and I were together.” However harsh his complaint, he couldn’t prevent his fondness for his nephew from seeping into his voice.

  Where he was jesting, Philippa found a sober subject. “See, you love your brother’s son well enough and he’s also a bastard.”

  “Aye, so he is,” Temric replied, “and I am rightfully chastised. Now, come love, and hold me to ease the sting of your scold.”

  Philippa’s expression lightened with his words as she realized he was teasing her. When amusement filled her eyes, Temric smiled, pleased. It was a sign that she meant to tease him in return. He truly hadn’t expected her to become so comfortable with him so quickly.

  “What, and let you use my hair for your towel?” she retorted. “I think not. Oh! Now, you— you stay away from me,” she cried out as he came toward her. Turning, she escaped back into the stable.

  Laughing in pure delight, Temric chased after her. If catching her was enjoyable, what followed was better still. He let himself lose his worries in her arms and the womanly warmth of her body.

  The hour of Terce had passed before Philippa and Temric returned to Stanrudde. Alwyna’s courtyard was strewn from one end of that stony square to the other with what Temric had brought home. The wool clip was already being separated into grades, the best fleece going to feed the looms of Flanders. Alwyna kept the coarser stuff as well as the fleece shorn from carcasses for her own spinners and weavers.

  For all the work being done in the courtyard, a tense silence held the place in thrall. Philippa glanced across the folk she now knew so well. Alwyna and Peter were at the courtyard’s far end, Alwyna looking harried, while Peter’s expression was carefully blank. Jehan sat near the house’s rear door at the yard’s opposite end in a small, backless chair, his face holding the promise of a coming storm.

  Hoping to diffuse the tension, Philippa skipped ahead of Temric into the courtyard. Since any bit of nonsense would turn Jehan’s attention from his mother to the woman he despised, she threw out the most banal of comments. “Good morrow, Alwyna. "What a beautiful day it is.”

  “Indeed it is,” Alwyna replied as gratitude flickered in her eyes. Alwyna knew very well what her supposed daughter-in-law was about.

  Dropping the basket in her hands, the older woman strode across the courtyard to meet her eldest son and his lover at its center. She pressed a kiss on her eldest son’s scarred cheek. “A thousand thanks to you, Richard, for this precious gift you brought me.”

  “The wool?” Temric asked in surprise.

  Alwyna slipped her arm about Philippa in a brief hug. “Nay, you great fool,” she scolded him, “for this slip of a girl who makes my life so good.”

  Philippa laughed at that, then leaned against Temric. He wrapped his arm about her and she sighed. No matter what wrong they did she was grateful for it, for it had bought her this day’s joy. “I only hope you weren’t troubled when we didn’t return last even.”

  “Why worry, when I knew where you were?” Alwyna retorted.

  “We all know where they were,” Jehan called from his seat, his tone harsh and snide. “From the look on the bastard’s face, I’d say he more than enjoyed his whore last even.”

  More swiftly than Philippa could have believed possible, Temric released her and leapt across the courtyard. Jehan’s yelp of surprise was cut off mid-cry as Temric’s powerful backhanded blow sent his middle brother sprawling onto the cobbles. Although Jehan lay on his back, moaning as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, Temric raised his hand for a second blow.

  Philippa gasped. Here was the warrior who’d battled Roger and won. In every taut line of Temric’s body she saw Jehan’s death. On the ground, Jehan’s eyes were great circles, his face pale. For all his screams over wishing to die, it was the need to live beyond this moment that now filled the trembling line of his mouth. Grabbing up her skirts, Philippa flew across the courtyard and thrust herself between Jehan and Temric. A hissing breath left Temric as he caught back his blow.

  “Come love,” she crooned. “Come away from your brother.”

  There wasn’t a flicker of reaction to her words in Temric’s gaze. Instead, he stared over her shoulder at the fallen man, his face like carved stone, his mouth a thin line of anger. Catching him by the upper arms, Philippa tried to force him back from Jehan. It was like pushing on a stone wall.

  “Alwyna, come help me,” she cried.

  Her voice was a lonely sound in the charged silence of the courtyard as the servants stood frozen in place. Philippa shot a frantic glance toward Alwyna. Terror reigned in Alwyna’s expression; it was a mother’s nightmare she faced. Beside her, Peter’s hands were locked as if in prayer. Neither of them moved nor spoke.

  Irritation woke. She needed their help. Without it, she’d have to do this by herself, when she hardly knew how.

  In the next instant, Philippa understood she was the only one who could do this. This family was enslaved by Jehan’s behavior. He forced them all, even Temric, to dance to the pipe of his rages and tantrums. Armed with what little power this knowledge gave her, she pressed herself against Temric.

  “Listen to me, love,” she said, her voice calm and low, “you mustn’t do this. If you loose your violence on him, you’ll hate yourself for it and destroy your mother in the process. As much as she hates what Jehan has become, he’s still her son. Vow to her now. Tell her you won’t kill him, for only if you’re sworn can she breathe again.”

  Aye, and Philippa knew that once he’d sworn, he’d also be trapped by his own words. She waited for his response. Keeping his gaze fastened on Jehan, Temric’s eyes narrowed in refusal. There was no sound, no other motion.

  “Listen to me,” Philippa continued softly, now speaking in French in the hopes of startling him into hearing. “I’m not injured by his mean-spirited words, for the filth he spews only stains him. I know who I am. I’m beloved of Richard of Graistan. It would sleight the love I bear for you if you did murder on my behalf.”

  With her words, the stoniness eased from Temric’s face. Beneath her grip on his arms, his muscles relaxed. Philippa released her breath in a slow sound of relief. She leaned her head against his chest. His heart still pounded against his deadly rage.

  “Speak to her,” she whispered to him. “She’s dying as she waits to see what you will do.”

  “Mama,” Temric said, the sound barely escaping from between his clenched teeth. “I’ll not tolerate his abuse of Philippa. He may say what he wants of me, but I vow I’ll beat him each time he speaks ill of her. If you cannot bear that I should punish him, best you convince him to hold his tongue.”

  It wasn’t what Philippa wanted from Temric, but it was better than the alternative. Relief flowed like waves over her. Again, she pushed at him, suggesting he step back. This time, he acceded. Relief deepened when she knew Jehan was out of his reach.

  Behind Philippa, Jehan gave a squeak, then cleared his throat. There was
a rustling as he shifted upon the cobbles. “How brave you are to strike a cripple,” Alwyna’s middle son said, the trembling of his voice belying his bold words.

  Unable to believe he’d once more goad his powerful brother, Philippa whirled with a cry to look at Jehan. He’d managed to bring himself to sitting, but his lifeless limbs were sprawled awkwardly across the stones. The humiliation of his position and his need to escape it filled the set of his jaw.

  “Be still, you numbskull,” Philippa cried as Temric once more stepped toward him, his front pressed to Philippa’s back.

  “Trust me, boy,” he warned his brother, his voice low and hard, “name my wife whore again and you’ll pay the price.”

  Even as Jehan trembled, the determination to appear strong deepened in his gaze. “I’ll say what I like in my own home,” he started.

  “Another word,” Philippa interrupted, “and I vow I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth with my dullest kitchen knife.” She turned to look at Temric. “Come, love. Let’s go within and break our fast. It’s best we leave Jehan with his mother now.”

  “What makes you think I want anything to do with that piece of filth?” Alwyna’s steely voice tore through the courtyard’s silence like an arrow, nigh on shattering what Philippa had worked so hard to build. “I declare him changeling, for his manner makes him no son of mine. Richard, if he speaks foully to our Philippa again in your presence, you have my permission to thrash him until he learns to spew no more vicious words.”

  “Mama?!” Jehan cried out in shock, wiping the blood from his chin with a trembling hand. “You’d allow him beat me?”

  Alwyna made a show of glancing around the courtyard. “Did I hear the wind whistling through here?” she asked in furious question. “Or, was it a coward who spoke, one who wishes to destroy others, then hides behind a mother’s skirts to avoid the outcome of his actions.”

  So accustomed was Jehan to being cosseted in his rages that he blanched in horrified astonishment at her words. Then, his expression hardened. “But, of course,” he said, turning those simple words into a curse, “he’s your most precious son, the one with noble connections that you intend to use, the one you intend to set in my place. Why should I expect you to prevent him from abusing your helpless son?”

  Alwyna’s head snapped back as if he’d struck her. “Helpless! You’re hardly that. If I were you, I’d have a care and no longer slander Richard’s wife.”

  Jehan’s eyes narrowed. “Wife? She’s no more married to him than Clarice is wed to me. Yet, you set her in my wife’s place and seek to make him master in my home. By God, Mother, you even gave them our wedding bed!”

  Fists clenching, her cheeks stained red in rage, Alwyna strode toward her crippled son. “It’s not your bed or your house!” she screamed. “Until you lift a finger to earn it, I won’t give it to you!”

  “Earn it?” There was a dangerous undercurrent in Jehan’s voice now. “What do you know of earning, Mother? All you did was play whore to some fine nobleman, then let his rich payment buy you my father and this trade.”

  Behind Philippa, Temric’s breath hissed from him in an enraged stream. Philippa turned in his arms, then embraced him to hold him where he stood. “Nay,” she breathed to him. “This isn’t about you.”

  At the courtyard’s center, Alwyna gave a single, wild gasp of pain. Her face went white. Peter rushed to his mother and threw his arms around her as if he could shield her from the insult with his body.

  “Nay, Mama,” he protested, “don’t listen to him. He doesn’t mean what he says.”

  “Don’t I?” Jehan retorted. “Whoring was what she did before she wed our father. How do you think she got a bastard if not by playing bed games and making a harlot of herself?”

  “Stop, Jehan,” Peter shouted in agony, looking at his brother from over his shoulder. “Don’t say these things.”

  Alwyna, her dark eyes seeming all the darker for her bloodless face, very carefully and gently freed herself from her youngest’s grasp. “Nay, sweetling,” she said her voice quiet and incredibly calm, “don’t stop him. It’s time he vented this hate of his.” She looked at her middle child. “Is there more you wish to say to me?”

  Jehan’s callous facade cracked with her words. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Tell me,” he begged, “tell me he forced you, Mama. That it was rape and you cared nothing for that nobleman. By God, you were a rich man’s toy! Every day, it tears at my pride to know what you have been.” It was an aching child who spoke, one who’d believed his parents perfect only to discover their humanity.

  Drawing herself up to her tallest, Alwyna looked at Peter. “And, how do you feel about my past?”

  “Me?” Peter’s newly deepened voice broke, his miserable expression saying he wished himself miles from this place. “It matters not a whit to me what you did before you married Papa. Temric is my brother, just as Jehan is, and you are my mother.” He tried to smile and failed utterly at it.

  “My thanks for your kindness,” she replied, her tone yet deathly calm. “How sorry I am that you’ve had to witness your brother’s hate. Now, Jehan’s asked me questions. Will it trouble you if I answer him?”

  “Nay, Mama,” Peter replied, catching her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her fingers.

  Alwyna smiled and freed her hand to give his cheek a pat, then looked toward her eldest son. “What of you, Richard?”

  Philippa looked up to watch Temric’s reaction. It was love for her that filled his gaze as he watched her in return. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her into his embrace. “Why should I?” he replied. “I love and am loved by both my parents.”

  With a nod, Alwyna crossed the distance between herself and Jehan to stand, back lance-straight, before him. “Listen well for I’ll say this but once. I cared deeply for Henry of Graistan and he, for me. There was no rape or abuse. If that makes me a harlot, then I accept that title. In time, our caring for each other became only friendship. Then, I met your father. How my heart sang for the wanting of him. Aye, I took what coins Richard’s father offered me, but it wasn’t payment for the time I spent in his bed. Instead, Lord Henry wanted to be certain I had what I needed to wed your father and insure my future happiness, so great was his care for me.”

  Jehan gasped. Written on his face was both denial and recognition of the wrong he’d done.

  Alwyna again nodded. “Aye, you sorry, broken little man, the nobleman you so despise had greater love for me than do you.” With that, her voice broke and the tears she worked so hard to contain filled her eyes.

  Philippa rose to her toes to put her mouth near Temric’s ear. “Take her away from here. Peter, too. Go anywhere, but be gone for the whole day’s time.”

  Temric gave a brusque and negative shake of his head. “Nay, I’ll not leave you alone with him.”

  That teased a quick laugh from Philippa. “You need have no fear for me over him. For all his supposed scorn for me, I think I’m the only one he tolerates. Now, go.”

  Although Temric’s brows rose in concern, he nodded. “As you will, love.” Dropping a swift kiss on her cheek, he went to his mother and caught her by the arm. Alwyna sagged against him, yet battling to contain her sobs. “Come, Mama. It’s time you showed me which properties you own in Stanrudde. Aye, and introduce me to your tenants so they’ll give me their rents when I come collecting.

  “Peter,”— he motioned to his youngest brother— “come along with that purse of yours, so you can buy us a bite to eat.” When the lad would have resisted, Temric grabbed him by the arm and half carried him from the courtyard.

  Philippa watched them go, then sighed. Here, in this place where there should only be happiness, these folk had allowed one man’s misery to poison them all. With a fortifying breath, she turned on the gaping apprentices and servants.

  “Will and Dickon, come and carry Master Jehan into the hall for me, then take the animals out to the field.”

  As the two men rushed forward to
lift their shocked and unprotesting master into the house, Philippa waved to Marta. “Go, do my marketing. I’d serve a duck brewet at the midday meal.”

  Marta’s surprised look at the mention of Jehan’s favorite dish devolved into subtle pleasure. “So, Master Jehan must sing for his supper, eh?” she said in approval, then whirled and dashed toward the door. “If I hurry there’s just enough time to finish it for the meal,” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Els,” Philippa said to the remaining maid, “you and I will do what Marta leaves wanting. The rest of you,” she said, scanning the others in the yard, “be warned. No one is to respond to Master Jehan’s commands for this day. Now, be on with your chores.”

  As they scattered, Philippa made her way into the hall. Will and Dickon had placed Jehan into his usual chair. Alwyna’s middle child stared stonily into the cold hearth. The set of his shoulders told her he had no intention of admitting he’d done any wrong. Now that Philippa understood his bitterness had nothing to do with his legs, she also knew Alwyna had let her middle son’s abuse of her become a habit when she should have long ago stopped it. Philippa scuffed her shoes on the floor as she strode toward him, so he might know she came.

  He looked up, his eyes narrowed. His face tightened into a mask of distaste. “Don’t waste your breath on me. I’m in no mood to listen to a whore’s sermon.”

  Crossing her arms, Philippa smiled. “Oh, ho! Listen to the little dog yap. Useless and pointless, a dog without a bite, and this one has no teeth at all.” Her cheery voice was barb enough, even without her words.

  “Hold your tongue,” he shouted at her.

  Philippa nodded sagely. “Good advice from a man who’s spilled his blood because he couldn’t hold his own. Are you saying you’ve finally learned a lesson, Master Slow-Wit?” As she spoke, she crossed to the hearth wall and picked up Jehan’s unused crutches. She tossed the Y-shaped lengths of ash onto the floor before him.