“You will not,” Geoffrey bellowed, grabbing for her shoulders again. He pulled her to his chest once again and said in a softer voice, “Quit your weeping, Elizabeth. It is over.”
He felt Elizabeth nod against him and found himself taking deep breaths to stop his tremors. Lord, he was acting more like a woman each day he spent with Elizabeth, he thought, and a smile of disbelief crossed his face. He spotted Roger, drenched but very much alive, and motioned him to his side. “It was this stupid, disobedient wife of mine that saved your life, Roger. What think you of that?” he asked.
“I am most grateful,” Roger answered. “Though I would disagree that she is stupid, my lord.”
Geoffrey almost laughed.
Roger pointed to the men on the ground behind him and said, “Recognize the arrows, my lord?”
“They are mine,” Elizabeth acknowledged, pulling free of her husband’s hold. “And don’t you dare yell at me again, Geoffrey! My ears are ringing from your shouts. You were outnumbered and I did what was needed.”
“It was my duty to protect you, wife, not the other way around,” Geoffrey replied, clearly exasperated. “You risked your life.”
“It is my life to risk,” Elizabeth argued. She placed her hands on her hips, flung her hair out of her face with a jerk of her head, and gifted him with a long, scorching look. “Think you own it?” she challenged. Her arrogant tone was lessened somewhat by the hefty sneeze she couldn’t contain.
“I do,” Geoffrey bellowed. His hands were now on his hips, his stance threatening. The muscles of his bronzed thighs and legs, braced apart for battle, intimidated her just as much as the frigid look in his eyes.
Elizabeth’s stomach twisted; she suddenly felt very vulnerable arguing with her husband in front of his men, for though they appeared busy burying the dead and seeing to one another’s injuries, it was obvious that they could well hear the shouts from their leader and his mistress. Why, Elizabeth realized, her mother would never have raised her voice to her father in such a fashion. It was unseemly, undignified. Of course, her mother would never have gotten herself into a situation such as this in the first place!
Elizabeth’s hands dropped to her sides in confusion and defeat. “You are most unreasonable,” she said. Turning away from his glare, she started to walk back toward the trees. “I’ve no doubt you would like to put me in chains and drag me behind you,” she muttered over her shoulder.
She was jerked around and pulled back into her husband’s arms before she could gather another breath. “Do not dare to walk away from me when I am speaking to you,” Geoffrey stated in a harsh whisper.
When he saw that her eyes were once again filling with tears, he shook her and then eased up on his fierce hold. “Your idea of chains has merit,” he said, dragging her toward the privacy of the woods, “perhaps then you would stay where I put you.”
Elizabeth was wise enough to know that silence would have been the best course of action at the moment, but could not help defending herself once again. “Geoffrey, if I had stayed an observer, your loyal vassal and my good friend, Roger, would be dead. Can you find no merit in my action?” she asked, ringing her hands in frustration and wishing she could ring his neck as well. “I am sorry if it was unseemly for me to kill those men with my arrows. I have never killed anyone before and I know I will burn in purgatory for at least a hundred years, but like it or not, I would do the same again.” She started to cry again and hated herself for her weakness. It was just that he made her so mad! And she was so very tired. Dark was full upon them among the trees, and Elizabeth, in her haste to turn from his angry stare, stumbled over a stone. Geoffrey caught her and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and tried to quit crying.
“What am I to do with you?” Geoffrey addressed the question to the top of her head. “Look at me,” he commanded. When she complied, he continued, “In the space of one meager day, you have disobeyed me God knows how many times and openly admitted your disloyalty.” He placed her on the ground, facing him, and then added, “I have killed men who have ventured less.”
“I am not a man, I am your wife,” Elizabeth replied, shrugging his hands off her shoulders.
“It is you who forgets that fact more often than I,” Geoffrey retaliated. He turned from her and called to his squire, “We camp here for the night. See to my tent.” Turning back to Elizabeth, he noticed that she trembled, and assumed it was due to the chill of the night. “You look like a drowned pup and your gown clings to you in an inappropriate manner. Find your cloak and cover yourself.” His voice was as cold as her clothes, and Elizabeth found she no longer felt like crying. God’s truth, she wanted to scream again!
She watched her husband walk away from her, barking orders as he moved toward his men, and shook her head. And I thought I understood him, she thought with despair. “Ha,” she muttered aloud before sneezing once more. “I swear he is the most unreasonable, hardheaded, stubborn mule of a man that ever walked this earth,” she ranted while she paced between the trees. “And to think I thought he would find merit in my deed! No, he finds no merit, for he has no mercy, no understanding, no love in his heart.” The squeak of her waterlogged shoes seemed to underline each negative remark she made.
“Mistress?” Roger’s voice intruded on her rantings and she was glad for it. She turned and saw that he held her cloak in his hands. “I imagine after your swim you have need for this,” he said, his voice gentle.
She accepted the garment and wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for its warmth. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Roger. And are you feeling well after your swim?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. No need for the vassal to know how miserable she was feeling, she decided.
“I am,” Roger replied. “Come now. Gerald has the Hawk’s tent set up. I will find you some food and see you settled. I would think you quite exhausted after the day’s events.”
“I do find I am rather tired,” Elizabeth admitted in a soft voice. She walked beside the knight toward the camp. Roger seemed agitated as they neared the group of soldiers, stopping several times to turn to her before resuming his silent walk again. Elizabeth knew the cause for his anxiety and finally placed her hand on his arm to gain his full attention. “Roger, you are glad that I helped to pull you from the water?” she began in a hesitant voice. She did not wait for him to answer before continuing on, “But at the same time you wish I had not contradicted my husband’s orders. Is that not the way of your thinking? The reason for your frowns?”
Roger nodded and then spoke. “I am thankful to be alive and it was you who saved me. I owe you my life,” he added in a fervent voice.
Elizabeth didn’t quite know how to respond to his statement. If she agreed that she had indeed saved his life and he should be thankful, then she did not practice the virtue of humility, she considered. On the other hand, if she denied her deed, she wasn’t being honest with him . . . or herself. Worse still, if she belittled the act and acted quite blase about the happening, then wouldn’t she be telling the vassal that she placed little significance on his life? Humility be damned, she decided. “I would do it again, regardless of my husband’s wrath. Please understand, Roger, your lord is not angry that you were saved; he is only displeased with my unseemly behavior. You must consider that he is unfamiliar with having a wife . . . and he is—”
“Do not trouble yourself explaining your husband to me,” Roger replied, smiling. “He has already discussed the matter with me and he is most thankful that you were able to save me.”
“He told you that?” The amazement was obvious in her voice. Then why has he carried on so? Elizabeth asked herself, though she dared not question the knight. It was not his place or his duty to instruct her in the ways and thoughts of her husband.
Roger took hold of Elizabeth’s elbow and bent his head toward hers. “They light the fires now. Come and stand close to one and warm yourself. You tremble with the cold.”
“They r
isk a fire?” she asked as she followed the vassal through a group of soldiers. “Won’t Rupert’s meet—”
“Do not concern yourself,” Roger admonished in a quiet voice. “Your husband knows what he is about. You have only to trust him.”
“Aye,” Elizabeth immediately responded, embarrassed that she had asked the question of the knight.
There were perhaps ten or twelve soldiers circled around the fire as she and Roger edged up to the center, and Elizabeth noticed that each time she made eye contact with any of the men, they smiled and then lowered their gazes, as if in deference . . . or embarrassment. Elizabeth wasn’t sure and found herself feeling very awkward and somewhat hurt by their attitude. It was another puzzle after a long day of puzzles and confusions. “My presence seems to intimi-date the men,” she whispered to Roger with an embarrassed little sigh.
“They are in awe,” Roger whispered back, giving her elbow a little squeeze.
“Awe?”
“Your courage has shaken them,” he said, smiling at the surprise in her eyes. “They have never known one such as you, for you are not like other women.”
“And that is praise?” Elizabeth asked, smiling in return.
“Aye, it is,” Roger explained. “You are a fitting bride for their leader,” he proclaimed.
Their leader does not agree with you, Elizabeth thought. She glanced around, looking for her husband, but Roger’s gentle tug on her elbow turned her thoughts back to him. From the look in his eyes, it appeared that he was not quite finished with his gratitude. “I am sorry that you placed yourself in such danger for my benefit, yet now that it is over and done with, I am glad. I will thank God each and every morning that you had the courage to do what you did.” He chuckled when he saw the flush on her cheeks his praise caused, and added as a jest, “Why, I will even pray to the souls of your parents for having the foresight to see that you learned how to swim, since I was the one who benefited from their schooling.” He was grinning with his last remark, and Elizabeth smiled again.
Geoffrey had walked up behind Elizabeth, as quietly as a panther stalking in the night, and found himself losing some of his anger with Roger’s remarks. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and lead her to his tent when her words stopped his actions.
“I am afraid your prayers to my parents would only confuse them, Roger, for God’s truth, I do not know how to swim yet. Though I tell you it does not appear to be overly difficult if you remember to hold your breath and—”
Geoffrey’s bellow of rage jarred Elizabeth a good foot off the ground. She clutched at her heart and whirled around only to bump into her husband.
“Geoffrey! What is the matter?” Elizabeth could barely get the question out, so shaken was she by his scream.
“Do not say another word,” Geoffrey rasped, “do not. . . “His anger was fresh as a new flower just bursting into bloom, and he felt he was close to being totally out of control, and if he could just get her into his tent, away from his men, perhaps then he could calm himself enough to merely throttle her.
Elizabeth was half-dragged, half-pulled into the small tent and then dropped like a sack of barley onto a blanket.
“Now what have I done?” Elizabeth asked, rubbing her arms where her husband had clenched her. “I will be black and blue and it will be from your hands, not the enemy, Geoffrey. You do not know your own strength, I think,” she ended.
Geoffrey did not immediately respond. He took his time lighting two candles and sat down crossed-legged in front of her. When Elizabeth got a glimpse of his face, she wished she had the nerve to blow the candles out. Oh, but he was furious, the tendon pulsating in his neck was testimony to that fact, and Elizabeth was good and sick of it. She backed up a space, until her shoulders were touching the side of the tent, and readied herself for his yells.
“You will answer my questions with a simple yes or no, Elizabeth,” her husband began. She was surprised by his soft, almost gentle tone of voice, though she detected a small tremor in it and looked up at him. Now, what is his game? she asked herself; he was clearly near the brink of exploding, as far as she could discern.
“Geoffrey, I would—”
“A simple yes or no,” Geoffrey insisted, snapping each word out.
Elizabeth nodded her agreement and waited. She watched her husband take several long shuddering breaths and then rest the palms of his huge hands on his knees. She thought she saw his hands tremble before he braced them against himself, but discounted that notion and forced her gaze back to his face.
“I could not help but overhear your conversation with Roger,” Geoffrey began, his tone deceptively mild, “but I may be mistaken. And I am always a reasonable man. Yet I could have sworn on William’s sword that I heard you tell Roger that you did not know how to swim.” His voice had risen in intensity, and when Elizabeth, trying to ward off another screaming match, opened her mouth to answer, Geoffrey reached out and clamped one hand over it. “Now you will answer me. Do you know how to swim?”
Since he continued to hold his hand over her mouth, Elizabeth could only shake her head, and that small gesture of denial upset her husband yet again.
“You jumped into the water knowing you did not know how to swim?” he asked, his voice incredulous now.
“I held the rope and I—”
“A simple yes or no.” Geoffrey roared the order in a voice that shook the tent.
There is nothing simple about my actions, Elizabeth longed to say. But there was no reasoning with him, she decided. Since he does not wish to hear the whole truth, then let him be upset. “Yes,” she said as she folded her hands in her lap.
A loud cough from outside the tent turned Geoffrey’s attention from Elizabeth. “Enter,” he yelled, louder than he had intended.
Roger lifted the flap of the tent with one hand while he balanced a wooden tray with the other. Without a word, he placed the tray on the floor between Geoffrey and Elizabeth and withdrew to the outside.
Slices of freshly cooked meat, hard crusts of bread, and orange berries filled the tray to overflowing, but neither husband nor wife made a move to touch the fare. Roger reappeared with a single cup and a leather pouch filled with water or wine, Elizabeth surmised. She looked up at the vassal and smiled but Roger did not glance her way and did not see it.
“Thank you, Roger,” Elizabeth said when he turned to leave the tent. Though he did not respond with an answer, Elizabeth saw the slight nod.
“You do not thank a vassal for doing his duty,” Geoffrey muttered. He took a large chunk of bread, tore it in half, and handed a portion to Elizabeth.
“Why is that?” Elizabeth asked as she accepted his offering. “He has done a kindness. It is only proper to thank him.”
“It is not. He does his duty, wife. All of us have duties, obligations . . . it is the way of things,” he stated emphatically. “By thanking him, you imply that perhaps there are times when he does not do his duty to your satisfaction. To counter that, you would have to say thank you each and every time an act is performed in your behalf.”
“That is why I have never heard you say thank you or give any praise to your men . . . or to me!” Elizabeth frowned and could not resist adding, “You boast that you are a reasonable man and yet what you have just said makes no sense to me. To be grateful and to tell of your gratitude is not a weakness, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth pointed out in a soft voice. “And the weak shall inherit the earth,” she quoted from memory, giving support from the Church for her argument.
“Meek!” Geoffrey bellowed. “It is the meek who shall inherit the earth, woman. I am neither weak nor meek and I do not have any desire to inherit the earth.”
“I did not mean to imply that you were,” Elizabeth protested. “I merely stated that—”
“Enough! Do not lecture me on what you know nothing about. God’s truth, I have run out of patience with you. You have run me in circles since the day I met you and I will not have it. My life is ruled by discipline. Disci
pline! I know that word is foreign to your nature but I vow it will not be for long. Erratic actions, unplanned responses . . . these things can be deadly. Had I not happened on you this day, you would most probably be in Rupert’s hands now. Have you considered that?” he asked. Yet before Elizabeth could consider her answer, Geoffrey asked another question of her. “Where would you be now if the soldier holding the other end of your rope had been slain?”
“You wish me to tell you that I have acted most foolish?” Elizabeth asked, her voice low.
“I do not need to hear you voice what I already know,” Geoffrey corrected. “I’ll tell you this, wife. Your action with Roger . . . it was an act of courage on your part. Yet the other, your decision to be disloyal to me . . . ” Geoffrey shook his head and then added, “It is unforgivable.”
His voice was flat, and Elizabeth felt as if a sentence had just been pronounced on her future. Confusion clouded her thoughts. If her action was unforgivable, then what future did she have with Geoffrey?
“I have admitted to you that I was going to Rupert but that I changed my mind because it would have been disloyal to you,” Elizabeth responded. “And you find that action unforgivable?”
“I do,” Geoffrey argued. “You became disloyal the moment you left Montwright.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Elizabeth answered. “Though I would not admit it to myself until after the deed was done. Then I turned around and was headed home when you chanced upon me.”
“It makes little difference to me when you acknowledged your disloyalty,” Geoffrey answered, his voice harsh.
“And you cannot find forgiveness in your heart?” Elizabeth asked. She felt shame that she had hurt him, knew that she had, though he would never admit it, and at the same time, nurtured a deep anger that he was so unbending in his reasoning.
“I do not know,” Geoffrey admitted. “This has never happened before. Few have been disloyal to me and those that have I have killed. I have never allowed a soldier to be in my surroundings after such a foul deed.”
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