Broken Vows, Mended Hearts: A Bouquet of ThistlesPaying the PiperBattle-Torn Bride

by Gail Ranstrom

John did so, holding the silver links in place while Simon hooked the ends together in back. His father had worn this the last time they were together. How heavy a burden it seemed.

  Each day his endurance increased and now only a short rest in the afternoon hours and retiring early sufficed to see him through the day. He was ready to begin brief bouts of serious training again if he could find a worthy swordsman hereabout.

  As to that, where were his father’s knights? God help him, he had never had a head for business matters, but to ask who was in service here should have occurred to him sooner.

  He gave his chest a firm pat with both palms, then stretched out his arms to flex his muscles. “Let’s to supper, Simon. I feel like a new man tonight.”

  “A good thing,” Simon muttered, giving a final tug on the back hem of John’s tunic. “The old one needed thrashing.”

  “Insolent cur,” John accused with a chuckle.

  “And you’re making that Sir Cur soon, you say?”

  John laughed, too, and realized he did feel renewed. Soon he would be in fighting form again, back into the fray, doing as he was meant to do. This time he was choosing for himself. Neither his father nor Lancaster had a say in how he was to spend his life.

  Gone were the days when others decided his future for him. Alys would soon realize her freedom to choose, as well. He would see to that if he had to pay the king for her opportunity to do it. Surely any woman would prize that boon above all.

  Chapter Four

  Alys struggled for patience. John had all but accused her of lying. Again. He sat there spearing his roast mutton as if he had not struck her to the heart.

  “I tell you, John, there is no factor. Albert Donegal left to live with his daughter after her marriage to a goldsmith in York. His health had failed so, he needed her care.”

  “Donegal? Jesu, he was already ancient when last I saw him!” He offered Alys the wine cup which she refused.

  “He is seventy-five,” Alys declared. “Your father and I had already assumed most of his duties, but he was still good at accounts. However, after your father died, Albert gave it up.”

  “Well, someone has to be minding the accounts. Who tends them now?” He glanced around the tables. “I would speak with him after supper.”

  “Her,” Alys corrected, sucking in a deep breath and praying for calm. “And you may speak to me now, though I would prefer to wait until I finish the meal. You will need to see the book.”

  “You?” His face was a study in disbelief. “How could you do it? Rather, how could you dare? It was not your place.”

  “There was no one else. Someone had to and I was familiar with it, having assisted both Albert and your father. Besides, I had no authority to hire anyone to replace him.”

  “Damn me,” John grumbled, attacking his portion of mutton as if it were not already slaughtered and cooked.

  “Everything is in order,” Alys assured him, trying to ignore the doubting glare he settled on her.

  “Where are my knights?” he demanded rather loudly, pointing with his knife to the lower tables.

  Alys almost rolled her eyes, wishing to heaven this conversation could wait. “Sirs Bran Copely, Robin Nithing and Royston of Gale were dispatched to travel through France to Spain and arrange for your release.”

  He looked astonished. “What! When?”

  “Six months ago when we first learned of your capture.”

  “Was there a ransom involved?”

  “Of course!” she replied. “How else would they have freed you? You will see the funds withdrawn upon the books. That is why our coffers are so low at present, but that will change with the next harvest.”

  “A ransom was never paid, Alys,” John stated.

  “I paid it, John!” she said through gritted teeth, trying to remain calm. “Who do you think arranged for your release?”

  He pounded a fist upon the table and his thunderous expression almost made her quail. John could look ferocious. He could probably be ferocious.

  “The ransom was paid,” she repeated, keeping her voice even. “You are home. Our coffers will refill. All will be well.”

  Conversation around the tables had ceased and everyone watched the head table. They were naturally concerned about their lord’s sudden change in mood. He had arrived at the table all smiles and now looked fit to kill.

  Alys continued to eat the course set before her and motioned for the next when it was time. She drank from their shared cup even though he neglected to offer it.

  For days now she had left John to himself to recover and grow used to being home again. She had quietly provided everything she thought he would need to do that. And still, he speared her to the core with these wild accusations and unfounded suspicion.

  “What is the matter now?” she asked.

  John glared at her, suddenly laid down his eating knife, shoved his trencher away from him and leaned back in his chair. He pressed his fingertips to his brow and shook his head. “This is…impossible!”

  Alys gritted her teeth for only a second. Then she beckoned to one of the servants. “Remove his lordship’s trencher and fetch him broth. Dispense with the last course and clear away the remains of this one. Make haste!”

  Her voice sounded far sharper than she meant it to, but her patience had worn down to nothing and she was done with coddling his unreasonable fits of temper.

  He grasped the hand that she had fisted on the table. “Alys!”

  “The rest may seek more in the kitchens if they are not full,” she replied, snatching her hand from his grip. “We would have you pleased, my lord, at all costs.”

  He looked abashed, as well he should.

  She bit out her words. “Your digestion will improve with time. Until then, we shall serve lighter fare.”

  “The food is—”

  “Do not bother to thank me, John. Your comfort is paramount, for you are lord here.” She stretched her lips wide in a smile that threatened to split them open.

  “Cease this foolery!” he commanded, shoving away from the table and rising to his feet.

  All eyes were turned their way. His face had grown red and his breathing rapid. “You are a feckless child and have not sense enough to—” He stopped, shook his head sharply.

  She jumped up and interrupted, “To marry a fine lord such as yourself?” she shouted. “You do not want me, that is clear as springwater, sir! So you have concocted this false excuse, that I did not pay for your freedom when I should have done? Well, Lord John, good sense or no, ransom or none, you will marry!”

  She faced him down, grasping the gown at her hips to keep her hands from grabbing his throat. “You will marry as promised! And you will do so before this month is out. Else I shall sue you for breach of promise, demand return of all profits gained from my estates these past ten years and see…you…beggared!”

  She leaned closer and poked his chest hard with her finger. “Digest that, if you will!”

  John grabbed her hand and held it fast. “Then do your worst. I will not…be…forced,” he shouted back as he flung her hand away from him.

  John watched her flounce away. No swaying of the hips this time. She strode like a soldier. The battle lines were drawn. At least she had exposed her true nature for everyone to see.

  Perhaps she had been untruthful in matters other than her temperament. Had she really paid the ransom? Trastamere certainly had not honored the exchange if she had. John had arranged his own release over the bodies of half a dozen guards who stood in his way.

  At first thought, John had suspected that Alys was lying to cover some gross expenditure. But the knights were gone. And she could not hope to verify their mission if it was not a fact. This would bear further investigation, but despite everything, John wanted to believe her.

  “What a temper,” he murmured as he reached for his cup and took a healthy draft of wine and sat down again.

  “A shrew if ever there was one,” Thomasine agreed, peeking around t
he priest who sat at John’s left. “You would do better to let Sir Ronci have her.”

  John turned, frowning. “Ronci? What’s this? Who is he?”

  “No one, my lord!” the cleric declared, shooting the woman a killing look. “There is no other man. And Lady Alys is all that is kind.” He offered John an apologetic shrug. “The duties here have drawn her kindness so thin it has simply broken. In a while, she will be back with a smile upon her lips. You may count on that.”

  “Aye yes, that infernal smile of hers,” John said to himself. “False as a mummer’s face. She just admitted she means to beggar me!”

  “Only if you deny her her rights,” the priest warned. “You did agree and sign the contract.” He cleared his throat and added, “my lord.”

  Thomasine’s mention of another possible candidate for Alys’s hand bothered him. He had not heard of a Sir Ronci before, but he would not inquire further of Thomasine, that sly-eyed cat. John stood again, his eyes still on the stairs where Alys had disappeared. “Where would she go?”

  “The stables, most likely,” the priest told him with a sigh. “I have always believed she finds more solace there than in the chapel.”

  John started after her. On the stairs going down he realized he had company in tow and stopped. “Remain here, Walter,” he ordered the boy.

  “Nay.” The short legs pumped to keep up with John’s stride.

  “I said stay,” John repeated firmly.

  “You are not to hurt her even if she was bad. Deny her pudding if you must, but if you strike her, I shall kill you.”

  John stopped in his tracks and stared down at the boy. Tears tracked down the lad’s chubby cheeks and dripped off his chin. “What did you say?”

  “That I would kill you. Alys has no one to protect her and you are mad with rage. I have a knife.”

  John noted the small, dull blade clutched in Walter’s left hand. He had to admire the lad’s courage, even if his lips quivered and his nose ran. “Hold it the other way round, Walt. You should stab up, not down.”

  John crouched so he would not loom over his brother. “I would never hurt Alys, you must believe that. Knights do not harm women or children. It is in the code we swear to.”

  Walter’s narrowed gaze studied him for several seconds. “But you won’t marry her.” He sobbed a time or two and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. “Please, you must!”

  John sighed and stood again. “This is none of your affair, Walter. You do not understand—”

  “I do so! Alys will go away if you don’t! What will we do if she goes away?” He plopped down on the steps and began to weep in earnest, his small shoulders heaving. The sounds his little brother made tore at John’s heart.

  No child should suffer so, he thought, sitting down beside the boy and hauling him into his lap. “There, there, Walter. Be calm.”

  The boy shook his head and buried his face in John’s doublet.

  “Stop weeping. I will go and speak with her. We will come to some agreement that will keep her here. My word on it.” He patted the small back and brushed his hand over the boy’s head. “Brace up now. Let’s have a smile.” He tipped up Walter’s chin and looked him in the eye.

  Walter sniffed, cocked his head, pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “I will go with you,” Walter announced.

  John released a breath of defeat. “Come along, then.” What was he to do now? What sort of man would he be if he allowed a woman to force him into marriage with threats? And what sort of brother would he be to deny Walter the comfort of a mother’s care?

  Alys obviously fulfilled that role very well or the boy would not be so distraught at the prospect of losing her. John had no inkling what he would say to her when he found her, but Walter had grasped his hand and was tugging him toward the stables at breakneck speed.

  Alys soothed her own battered pride as she gentled the giant horse who had seemed restless in his stall. The poor beast needed a comforting as badly as she did. She leaned over the stall gate and stroked the mane that fell behind his ears and scratched him gently. He snuffled and leaned into her touch.

  Would that she could cozen John as easily as his destrier. She had tried everything she knew and that man had exhausted her patience.

  No perhaps about it, she had made a huge mistake tonight. If he did not want her before, he certainly would be set against a marriage now. God save her, she deserved what he must be thinking of her at this moment. What man would want a wife who took him to task before the entire company in his own castle?

  Tears of regret slid down her face. She dashed them away, cursing herself for such weakness. She never wept except with grief. However, this was a grief of sorts. She had lost all hope of happiness, of the life she had dreamed of constantly. “How could I be so foolish?” she whispered.

  The great horse nudged her shoulder with his nose as if to console her. If only she had an apple to reward his concern.

  “I wish your master had a bit of your good nature,” she crooned to the animal. “I suppose I shall have to dig rather deep to find any there. But I will, never fear. I am resolved. No use to cry.” She wiped her face dry and lifted her chin.

  Alys was the one who feared, though. She knew her chances of regaining John’s good graces were poor at best and she had only herself to blame.

  The sight that greeted John as he entered the stables almost stopped his heart. He grasped Walter’s shoulder and whispered, “Halt.”

  Alys had stepped upon a stool and was stroking the nose of the warhorse, Trampler. His was a well-earned name. John never mounted the beast himself except in a serious tourney or to ride into battle. If the Spanish had captured this one instead of John’s favorite, they would have sent the horse back.

  Was the short wall of the stall sturdy enough to hold Trampler if he spooked?

  John moved forward very carefully, keeping Walter behind him. When near enough, he whispered. “Alys, step down slowly and move away.”

  She turned, eyebrows raised, her fingers gently scratching just beneath Trampler’s right ear. “I do not plan to ride him, only to make a friend.”

  John sucked in a deep breath and released it with a shudder. “He is a killer, Alys.”

  “Nonsense,” she snapped and playfully ruffled the destrier’s forelock. John held his breath as she brushed her hand all the way down Trampler’s muzzle. Trampler snorted, sounding almost as if he laughed. The ears went back. Oh, God.

  “Come away, Alys. Now!” John insisted, his chest tight with fear for her.

  Much to his relief, she gave the horse a final pat and nimbly hopped down. She passed him by and took Walter’s hand. “Come, little man, ’tis past time you were abed.”

  John followed them out, his stomach still fluttering. He cast a look back at Trampler who appeared calm as a cow chewing cud. A stable lad oiling harness grinned up from his task as John passed. “She has a way with animals, my lord.”

  Aye, but did she mind that she had frightened ten years off his life? John figured his hair was no doubt gray now. He’d had horrid visions of her stomped to death on the hay-strewn floor.

  Angrily, he lengthened his stride to catch up with the foolish girl and give her the sharp side of his tongue.

  “You promised,” Walter reminded him when he reached them and fell in step.

  He ignored the little imp. “Trampler could have killed you,” he told Alys.

  She huffed. “And all your woes would vanish.”

  “That is not true and you know it! I was worried you would be hurt or worse. Why are you so angry with me?” he demanded. He was the one with cause to be furious.

  She stopped and turned. “Did you not mean to make me so? Is that not what you intended?” She shook her finger in his face. “Since the moment you rode in, you have done naught but tweak my patience, toss my concern back in my face and attempt to break our betrothal. You have succeeded, John. Consider it broken!”

  Never in his life had a woman spoken to him the
way Alys had done tonight. How did a man deal with it?

  “He will marry you, Alys! He said he would!” Walter announced, sliding a short arm about her waist. Then he looked up at John, his expression full of warning. “Will you not?”

  John chewed his bottom lip, watched Alys fume and wondered what he could say.

  If he agreed to, she would know it was only because she had threatened to sue. And she would sue. He had seen in her eyes that her threat was no bluff.

  Strangely enough, to give in did not seem so great a concession at the moment with her tear-bright eyes shining and her color up so high he could see it in the moonlight. What a warrior she was when in a fury! How that would translate into passion. He could just imagine…

  Walter tugged on his hand. “John? Please!”

  Well, what could he do? If Alys and Walter were both so hell-bent to have the wedding, then why not? He would still go back to France. They could go on as before. “Very well, I will wed you, Alys.”

  “Ingrate!” she growled. “Fool!” Again she huffed and turned away to walk back to the keep. “You think you are such a prize!”

  “There are others who might give you a happier life,” he agreed, not at all discommoded by her name-calling. The names did fit.

  She stopped again and turned as they reached the steps, probably intending to wreak further verbal havoc on him.

  “I will wed you, Alys!” Walter declared before either of them could speak. “Do not leave us and I will be your husband!”

  She rolled her eyes, clicked her tongue, threw up her hands and stalked away.

  “Will I not do, John?” Walter asked in a small voice. “I know she loves me.”

  “You are not of age yet,” John explained. “And I believe it is against Church law for brothers to have the same betrothed. Let me speak to Alys alone. We will come to some agreement so she will stay at Hetherston, at least for a while.”

  Walter squeezed his hand and sighed. “Wait a bit. Then go say you are sorry and weep a little. That often works.”

  John raised an eyebrow, wondering if the boy’s tears had been genuine. “Thank you, Walter. It is certainly worth a try.”