Infidelity

by Markland, Anna

  His father strode into the hall, brandishing a parchment, his face glum. “We are invited, nay summoned, to Westminster for Twelfth Night.”

  Gallien’s mother followed in her husband’s wake. He had rarely seen her so flustered. “This means we will have to cut short our own Yuletide celebrations and leave not long after the first of the year. Why has Henry decided upon this now? He has never insisted on Twelfth Night before.”

  Baudoin opened his mouth to reply, but then seemed to notice Peri for the first time. “Daughter, why are you standing on a table? We have servants to do the menial tasks of decorating.”

  Gallien hastened to his wife’s side, reaching up to grasp her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her down and their eyes met. Would that he could whisk her away to their chamber and rain kisses on those green eyes. “Peri likes to help with the decorations. It reminds her of home.”

  His wife sucked in her breath.

  His mother’s eyes widened.

  Gallien felt sheepish. Was it so unusual for him to utter kind words about his wife that the whole world took note of it?

  His father coughed, the corners of his mouth edging up. “Peri, is it?”

  Gallien felt stupidly jealous. Peri was the nickname he used for his wife. He did not want to share it with anyone else.

  “Peri is Gallien’s endearment for me.”

  His wife’s smile told him the name was as precious to her as it was to him.

  His mother came to his rescue. “Then the rest of us will continue to call you Peridotte. Now, we must make haste. We not only have preparations to make for Yuletide but also for a long journey and a sojourn at Henry’s court.”

  * * *

  “There’s hope,” Carys whispered to her husband as they sat by the fire in their solar that night. “He loves her.”

  “You may be right,” he replied. “He let down his guard in the hall today. He usually treats her so coldly, how can she ever come to love him in return?”

  “Trust me. She’s a woman who craves her husband. I believe their private conjugal relations are quite different from what we see in public. Even when Gallien is trying to pretend he’s impervious to her, there’s a noticeable change in his demeanor. His tension isn’t sexual, except when he’s itching to whisk his wife off to bed. He’s a man who is being well-bedded.”

  “Then, what’s the problem?”

  “He hasn’t yet accepted she won’t betray him.”

  Baudoin prayed his wife was right, as she always was when it came to seeing beyond the obvious. Her Celtic blood seemed to give her insights into the hearts and minds of others. She smiled when he wiggled his eyebrows and asked, “Can you tell what I’m thinking now, wise woman?”

  Westminster

  Carys, Countess of Ellesmere, was heartily relieved when the tide finally receded, allowing them to ford the Thames to the Eyot of Thorns. The ornate gates of Westminster Palace came into view. With New Year’s celebrations scarcely over, the family had been obliged to travel on frost rutted roads at King Henry’s bidding, to celebrate Twelfth Night at court.

  She turned to her daughter-by-marriage who had traveled with her and Fleurie and Isabelle in the carriage from Ellesmere. “I used to make such journeys without a second thought,” she complained, “but these old bones are weary after four days on the road. I often complain that the Conqueror granted my father-by-marriage an earldom far from Westminster, but if he hadn’t, Baudoin and I would never have met.”

  Peri smiled weakly. “It has naught to do with old bones. I too am weary and give thanks to the saints I had you as traveling companions.”

  Carys returned the smile, but worried Peri was relieved she had not been obliged to travel alone with Gallien.

  The relationship between her son and his wife perplexed her. She had hoped Peri’s eager personality and loving ways would have softened Gallien’s hardened heart by now, but he still seemed determined to treat her with cool detachment. It was embarrassing that he had given his wife no Yule gift.

  However, she had noted the passion that burned in her son’s hooded eyes when he watched his wife. She recognized that look, having seen it often in her husband’s eyes. Gallien was in love with Peri. Why did he refuse to admit it? Had she not proven she was trustworthy?

  Carys had known from their first meeting that the girl was true to her name. Many healers wore a ring of peridot, herself included. The gemstone was a symbol of purity and morality. Deep in her heart she was certain Peri would never betray Gallien. She suspected her son knew it, but was afraid to risk his heart again. It was an ancient saying among her Celtic people that a person with too many earthly problems could never appreciate the beauty of a peridot.

  Despite Gallien’s obvious irritation, everyone had quickly fallen into the habit of calling her Peri.

  “I fear we will see little of our husbands while we are at court. King Henry wants to talk strategy for his campaign against the French king.”

  Peri frowned. “Henry will attack France?”

  Carys sighed. “Louis the Fat of France has set Clito as comte in Flandres, and supports Clito’s claim to the Duchy of Normandie. Henry has to act.”

  “Clito?” Peri asked.

  “William Clito, son of Robert Curthose, the king’s imprisoned brother.”

  “Curthose, the former Duke of Normandie?”

  “Yes. It is not likely Henry will attack Louis directly, but he’s already financing the armed opposition of the nobles and towns in Flandres. This is the reason he has allied England with Anjou—to strengthen his hand against Louis.”

  Peri hesitated. “This means Geoffrey of Anjou will be at Westminster for the discussions?”

  “And his father too, I shouldn’t wonder. You may meet friends from Anjou in his entourage.”

  Peri put a hand on her arm. “Forgive me, maman, but how do you know these things?”

  Carys chuckled. “My husband confides in me. He values my opinions.”

  Peri averted her gaze, studying the gates of the Palace as sentries waved them on. “Gallien said nothing to me. He does not seek my opinion.”

  Carys reached out to touch her shoulder. “He will. Someday he will.”

  A tear rolled down Peri’s cheek. “He cares nothing for me. He is still in love with his first wife.”

  Taken aback, Carys glanced over to where her menfolk were dismounting. What had Gallien said to make his wife believe this nonsense? But she held her tongue. It was not for her to interfere in her son’s marriage. She prayed he would one day come to value the precious jewel he had in Peri.

  * * *

  Peri was pleased to discover Francine Beaujoie had advanced from the lowly position of official stain remover. The two women exchanged hugs. Francine told her of her new duties as Custodian of The Royal Jewelry. They tittered as her friend described Maud trying to ram dainty rings on her pudgy fingers. “Of course, I am not allowed to handle the most precious jewels, only the everyday ones.”

  “I suppose you can no longer get your hands on royal potpourri?”

  Francine winked. “Never fear. I still have my sources.”

  Peri’s heart lifted. The potpourri seemed to be the one thing that enchanted Gallien. “My husband loves it,” she whispered, feeling her face redden.

  Francine dug her elbow into Peri’s ribs. “What man can resist? Mayhap Maud will snare Geoffrey with it.”

  She guffawed with laughter.

  Wishing to change the subject, Peri asked, “And how fare Tandine and the hateful Philippa?”

  Francine shrugged, wiping away a tear. She placed her thumb and forefinger on the end of her nose, her little finger thrust into the air. “Lady Philippa de Grosmont is now too important a personage for me to even speak to. She is Milady Ermintrude’s personal secretary—which means spy.”

  Peri turned down the corners of her mouth, pretending to be suitably impressed by Francine’s nasally pronouncement.

  The smile left Francine�
�s face. “Tandine is to be wed, though she is not happy with her bridegroom. He is a widower, with six children.”

  Peri gasped. “Six?”

  “Oui, and only one hand. Imagine.”

  Both women stared at each other, then collapsed onto the bed, laughing hysterically.

  * * *

  As the countess had predicted, once Twelfth Night festivities were over, the Montbryce men spent most of their time closeted with King Henry and the other barons and earls, planning strategy for continuing the campaign in Flandres.

  Peri sought out Tandine, recently returned from spending her last Yuletide with her parents. It was evident from the red rims around her eyes she was not happy.

  They embraced. Peri cupped her friend’s face in her hands. “You look bereft. Does your betrothal not bring you joy?”

  Tandine closed her eyes. Tears followed. “Devlin de Villiers terrifies me.”

  Peri hugged her again. “Why? Because he has only one hand?”

  The girl pulled away, searching in her pocket for a kerchief. She blew her nose. “Non. I could accept that, but he is a man full of anger.”

  Peri’s heart lurched. “I was afraid of Gallien when I first met him. He too seemed angry, but he is a good man.”

  Tandine eyed her curiously. “You are not convincing.”

  Peri shrugged, wishing she had not embarked on this conversation. “Gallien lost his wife, whom he loved dearly. I understand your betrothed is also a widower?”

  Tears welled again in her friend’s eyes. “Six children,” she rasped. “How am I to cope with six children?”

  Peri did not voice her suspicion that de Villiers sought a nursemaid, not a wife. “How did Lady De Villiers die?”

  Tandine stared at the wall behind Peri’s head. “In childbirth.” She hesitated, then whispered, “They say he was cruel to her.”

  Peri’s heart went out to her friend. She too had known the fear of being betrothed to a cruel man. Women had no control over their destinies. Men ruled the world.

  However, she no longer considered her husband a fiend. He had made her a woman. She was intimate with every inch of his glorious body, where he liked to be touched, and how. If only their congress out of bed was the same.

  She cast about for something to say. “What do your parents think of the match?”

  Tandine perched on the edge of the tiny bed. “They are elderly and anxious to be rid of me. I am the youngest of ten children. They are worn out, and have precious little to offer in the way of a dowry. They jumped at Devlin’s offer.”

  Peri sat beside her and took her friend’s hand. “All will be well, Tandine. His children will love you, and you will grow to love them.”

  Their conversation caused her thoughts to drift to her failure to get with child. Her husband had explained that children grew from a man’s seed. Perhaps if she and Gallien had a child it would bring them closer.

  * * *

  Gallien drummed his fingers on his thighs, ignoring his father’s irritated glare. Henry was working up to demanding that English noblemen with ties in Normandie assist with the struggle in Flandres. The king was incensed that Louis had granted Clito estates in the Vexin, from where he might more easily attack Normandie’s cathedral city of Rouen by sailing down the Seine.

  Gallien was a warrior, proud of the long history of military prowess that the Montbryce family was well known for. He had no love for Louis the Fat, nor the French, though as Duke of Normandie, Henry was Louis’ vassal. Thus, in turn, Robert, Comte de Montbryce, Gallien’s uncle and head of the clan, was also a vassal of Louis.

  Gallien hoped that when the day of his death came, it would be on a battlefield. But going to Flandres now would mean leaving Peri. She had shown no sign of being with child, but if she had conceived, he might be absent for his child’s birth. He would miss his wife. Her lithe body and generous lovemaking had him in her thrall, but the belief she loved Geoffrey of Anjou made him wary. Would she give her body to Geoffrey if the opportunity arose? Many women at court, most of them married, were proud to boast of a liaison with a king. Henry’s mistresses were proof enough of that. Their cuckolded husbands had to grin and bear it.

  Geoffrey was not yet a king, and if Gallien had his way, never would be. But Plantagenet was here at Westminster, seated not ten feet away, looking exceedingly bored, as if he wished to be elsewhere. Had he and Peri arranged to meet? Gallien resolved to keep an eye on the Angevin.

  Treachery

  Peri hastened along the hallway beneath the west gallery, her thoughts on Tandine. The corridor was deserted at this hour, most people making their way to the Great Hall for the evening meal. It grieved her that her friend was facing an unhappy marriage.

  It struck her like a lightning bolt that, despite the difficulties, she did not consider herself trapped in an unhappy marriage. Gallien must have some feeling for her. His rapture when they made love was real. Her body heated thinking of the dark desire in his eyes whenever he looked at her breasts.

  She did not see Geoffrey the Handsome leaning nonchalantly in the shadows until she was upon him. “Oh,” she exclaimed as he grasped her hand.

  He whirled her body, pressing her against the wall. “You promised me a token, my little Angevin.”

  It came to her in a wave of disgust that he had forgotten her name, if he had ever known it. She struggled to free herself. “Milord Geoffrey, I promised nothing. I am a married woman.”

  She had once thought his distinctive laugh charming, but now it grated on her nerves. This immature boy could not compete with the man she had wed. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away with a grimace, panic rising in her throat. “My husband is a jealous man,” she warned.

  This king-in-waiting had no honor if he planned to make her an adulteress.

  Tears rolled down her cheek as he grasped her chin, forcing her to face him. He clamped his mouth on hers, gathering up her skirts, forcing his knee between her thighs. Surely he did not intend to rape her in the corridors of Westminster Palace? Someone might be in the gallery above. Her knees threatened to buckle. She gagged.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Geoffrey swiveled his head.

  Peri gulped air, looking beyond her assailant to where a dark-haired man stood, his hands braced on his hips. But there was something amiss with one hand. Tandine’s betrothed.

  “Be gone, sir. This is none of your business,” Geoffrey said imperiously.

  Peri pushed Geoffrey, but his grip held firm. “Please, let me go, milord.”

  Geoffrey seemed to ponder the matter for a few moments, then released her. “Until the next time,” he threatened as he strolled away.

  * * *

  Devlin de Villiers blessed his luck. He was heartily glad he had followed Gallien de Montbryce’s wife when he’d espied her leaving the chamber of his betrothed. He hadn’t expected to stumble across her in a compromising situation with Geoffrey of Anjou.

  She babbled her thanks at him, tears streaming down her face. He hooked his mutilated hand in his black cloak, gathering it to cover his arousal as he put his good arm around her shoulders. A great deal rode on his conviction that Montbryce’s pride had prevented him from revealing anything about his first marriage. “I am Devlin de Villiers.”

  “Tandine’s betrothed,” she murmured.

  “One and the same,” he replied, relieved his name obviously meant nothing more to her.

  She leaned into him, her voice raspy. “I am faint.”

  Her perfume intrigued him, but he must not let his voice betray his desire. “You are safe now. I will escort you to your husband.”

  She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Non, he is busy with the king. I do not want to upset him with what has transpired. Please fetch Tandine, then you can both see me safely to our chambers.”

  He executed the courtliest bow he could summon. “Gladly,” he declared, smug in the new knowledge he had gained about his quarry. Peridotte de M
ontbryce loved her husband, but feared his jealousy. She was now in Devlin’s debt. He had rescued her, and she did not want her husband to learn of the incident. Geoffrey of Anjou fancied the wench.

  Devlin was well pleased with his afternoon.

  * * *

  After the long day of deliberations and Henry’s bullying, Gallien sought a few moments peace and quiet in the small chapel above the west gallery of the Palace. He was not an overly religious man, but his heart and mind were in turmoil. He sensed he was not alone in his irritation at Maud’s participation as the only woman. If she’d had something intelligent to offer to the discussions, his opinion might have been different.

  He knelt, steepling his hands in prayer and gazed at the candle flickering on the altar. His thoughts drifted to the Celtic goddess Arianrhod. It was a favorite family tale that, in a dream, she had revealed to his grandfather that Rhonwen Dda was his destiny.

  He closed his eyes and conjured Peri’s face, then shook his head. This was not the place to be meditating on Celtic deities.

  He stared again at the votive. “I am not afraid of death, Lord, but grant I may return from Flandres. I want to see my beautiful wife heavy with my child. I want to grow old with her. I intend to tell her of my love before I leave. I should have done it months ago.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Dieu! That voice. Somewhere in the corridors below the upper gallery lurked Devlin de Villiers. Gallien signed the crucifix and rose from his knees to hasten out into the gallery.

  He walked stealthily towards the sound of the voice he detested more than any other. The torches had not yet been lit in the darkening corridor below. Trusting the heavy brocade curtain to conceal him, he peered into the gathering shadows. Who was de Villiers speaking to?