by Robyn Carr
One
The sound of clattering hooves and the loud bellowing of an angered citizen disrupted the quiet afternoon. Felise had let her eyes drift slightly closed as her maid, Daria, brushed her hair. The long, fiery tresses reached nearly to her knees, and when she was seated, they were wont to drag in the rushes. Upon the sound of the street noise, Felise bolted to her feet and dashed to the second-floor window.
This London was alive with happenings, so varied were the sounds, sights, and smells. She had come with her family to wait upon King Henry’s pleasure over the Christmas festival and perhaps even visit with the queen. Felise, at the age of eight and ten, had been mostly in the keep of her adoptive parents, traveling abroad only a little, and on this visit to London her spirits were wildly stimulated.
She leaned dangerously out the window to see what was causing the commotion and found a group of a dozen knights crowded together, their destriers’ thick flanks brushing up against the walls of the buildings and one another in the narrow street, and the smashed cart full of breads that a merchant had been pulling. The cause of the chaos was obvious. The group of horsed men could not pass the merchant without doing at least a small amount of damage. Some clumsy beast did worse than jar the squat merchant; by the looks of the scene, the wheel was off the cart and the breads were well scattered, and nearly turned back into dough by the monstrous hooves.
His bald head red with fury, fists clenched and voice strangled with rage, the little man bounced on his toes as he berated the knights. “Bumble-headed fools! Clumsy idiots! Look beneath the feet of your donkeys to my baked goods!”
Some men within the group chuckled at the sight of the distraught man, while others sought to placate him. “The wheel can easily be returned to the cart,” one knight said.
“Minus a few loaves that can be replaced,” attempted another.
“You foolhardy jackass,” the man stormed at the knight. “ ‘Twas for Windsor I carried these breads and cakes. These streets are for people, not armies.”
Felise giggled brightly from her window. Every hour that passed she found some new amusement or delight in this city. Ofttimes an event below her very bedchamber could intrigue her, for many were the people passing there, from merchants and soldiers to harlots and jugglers. People were always hawking wares, predictions, entertainments, or savory foods. Or beyond, when she ventured out, there was some new corner of the city that held an exciting pastime, entertainment, or fair.
Daria grabbed her mistress from behind, hooking her lean fingers into Felise’s gown. “Get thee within,” she demanded hotly. “Come now, before you cause a stir among them.”
That worry was far from Felise’s thoughts. She was out of the reach of these men and watched them in childlike wonder. She knew each of Lord Scelfton’s men-at-arms, many of whom were with them in London, and every squire and servant at Twyford keep. These were all new faces; she had never seen the gathering of so many varied groups of knights before. She reached a hand behind her inside the window and motioned Daria to be still.
Even though Felise had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday and by custom was tardy in marrying, she was much the child in her own home and gave no consideration to how these restless knights might view her. She wore a thick velvet gown of deep rose that was lined about the low neckline with miniver. Her sleeves, snugly fitted to her arms, gave her a slender appearance, though full breasts rose provocatively from a pinched bodice. She leaned fully out the window, her elbows resting on the sill. Her hair fell down over her shoulders, its great length of shimmering golden fire cascading out the window.
Felise had never been given cause to be either overly modest or vain about her fair looks. Her mother, although not her natural mother, was humble and gentle and did not boast of her own beauty or Felise’s. The sons of the Scelfton household did not dote upon her at all, for they were all older and much about men’s diversions. While Felise was not of the same blood as they, she was raised as their sister and therefore no dallying between them would have been allowed. And finally, her adoptive father, Lord Scelfton, took such parental guardianship of her that no knight or yeoman in his demesne would dare look at her with lust, or his neck might be stretched from the nearest oak. She was raised as free as a peacock. Free to roam, ride, play, and tempt fate. There was naught to stay her. She neither revered nor feared men.
Two knights dismounted and began to struggle with the wheel of the cart, its bearer continuing to curse them. There was a shuffling about as the leader of their group, well ahead of the riders, tried to squeeze his horse closer to the trouble. This was difficult for--the round little man was right--the streets were not wide enough for armies.
“Demoiselle,” one of the young knights called to her. She looked down and waved, a smile on her lips. He edged his horse nearer, an awkward chore that caused her to laugh the more. “Dare I hope you are prisoner here and in need of rescue?”
She laughed gaily at his play. Her father had hosted tourneys among his neighbors, and the courtly sport of knights and lords among the ladies was not alien to her. “Never that, sir knight, unless you would consider my father’s close guard a prison, for he would smite a fair space between your ears should you help me from this perch.”
“Ah, but does no one threaten you? I would take him to task, kill him, and lay him at your feet, and your father would gift me with your hand.”
She laughed again, giving her head a toss that sent ripples through her hair and lit her turquoise eyes with a wicked light. She knew these games well and played them easily. To her credit, she was bright and full of wit, finding good sport in every circumstance. She feigned thoughtfulness. “Three older brothers oft plague me. They are knights of Henry and, far too strong for me to best. Would you hold them at a distance, kind sir, that I might flee with you?”
The young man, pretty of looks and large of build in his own right, gulped hard as laughter rose among his fellows. “What cruel jibes you hurl, madam, to taunt me with a father and three brothers that would keep me from you.” He turned toward his group. “Who has a gift I might give the lady to show my earnest?”
Felise clapped her hands together in delight. One of the knights helping the merchant tossed a glazed loaf to a horsed knight who tossed it to her suitor. He looked up at her, smiling, pressed his lips fondly to the bread, then tossed it to her. She caught it easily and some of the men cheered.
“What, sir knight? Am I to treasure this meager loaf as your honest proposal? Would you have me hold it close to my bosom and cherish it, or am I to devour it quickly? I am accustomed to richer gifts.”
“But I am a poor knight,” he argued. “Richer for having looked on your beauty.”
“Bed the wench another time,” a voice cracked above the chatter. “The day is late and we are without means to find a meal and rest until this man’s loss is satisfied.”
Felise’s countenance jerked from the playful young knight to the leader of their troop. He sat taller in his saddle than the others and there was a stern set to his mouth. He seemed more impatient by this trifling than angry, but it was clear he was done with foolery and ready to move past the insulted merchant.
“Sir Royce,” the young knight beseeched, “I can neither move my mount toward the trouble to give assist, nor get us to yon inn with haste. In this brief time I am blinded by beauty and cannot move.”
There were chuckles again from the group as Sir Royce lifted his eyes to look at Felise. She could see they were a deep and hardened brown even from her distance. His brown brows were bushy and thick and drawn together as he studied her at his leisure. Her playfulness seemed to wane as she stared at him. His shoulders were broad, his face was square, and the hands that held the reins were large and tan. Thick brown hair fell over his brow. Slowly he formed a smile that seemed almost sarcastic, and Felise pulled ever so slightly back into her room.
“Maiden, will you come without and cure this man’s blindness with your kiss, or shall we heft hi
m through your window?”
Felise felt now the object of rather than a participant in the joviality. A blush began to creep onto her cheeks. There was something vaguely different about this man’s teasing. Unlike his companion, he was a man fully grown and knowledgeable of women. There seemed at least a grain of seriousness in his voice, and her stomach jumped.
“Mayhap you have need of a more determined lover,” Sir Royce shouted. “This lad is pretty, but he knows little of women’s pleasures. I would not be the rogue to deny you assist.”
There was the sound of one low whistle at his blatant proposition. Felise looked to her young suitor to see his reaction to the insult. She found that his eyes were not angry but indeed full of mirth. But the game had lost its flavor for her. She felt slightly vulnerable for the first time, yet all that Sir Royce could touch her with were his eyes.
“The hint of youth beckons me where too many nights of sleeping with the horses would only cool my passion,” she flung back at him. She raised a finely arched brow and forced a half-smile that might equal his in sarcasm. “Perhaps you are too old and battle-worn to interest me.”
The laughter of the knights at seeing their leader so chastened by the maid was like thunder in the street below. All joined in the mirth, including Sir Royce. He threw back his head in good cheer and seemed pleased by her flippant wit.
“Saucy wench,” he shouted, when the laughter had calmed, “come hither that I might show you how old lips do tempt.” He threw his arms wide. “I swear, I will hold myself from your richer treasures until you beg me for more.”
Felise was about to retort with another careless remark, but her mother’s voice from the doorway below caught her tongue before it would be loosed. “Sir knight, do you have some case with my daughter, or do you simply enjoy this banter?”
Felise withdrew the more, wondering if she would be chastised for this play or if these knights might be taken to task. “My lady.” Sir Royce half-bowed from his saddle. “The demoiselle distracts my men. Come see how tempting a parcel we sight from the window. I think it most unfair to censure these men; we are where we should be but the maiden is out of place, I think.”
“I need not look again to judge her allure, sir. You bear the arms of our king--are you not by oath prepared to protect virtue?”
Felise quickly pulled herself within her room, facing Daria, who was shaking her head with disapproval. She listened intently to the voices outside while looking at her maid’s thin, pinched face, careful not to be seen by the men again.
“Indeed, my lady,” the knight returned casually. “But your young temptress makes a mockery of my oath. I am not one to take honor too much to heart when faced with witch’s locks and a full bosom.”
Felise was certain she heard smothered coughs follow the knight’s brazen remark. There was a moment of silence, during which the color rose high on her cheeks.
“Sir knight,” Lady Edrea questioned calmly, “does your lady wait in yon keep while you dally with my daughter?”
“Never that, madam,” he replied. “I am untethered and bent on the business of the king.” He chuckled. “I confess it is my preference.”
“Then unless you would see your preference quickly changed, I beg you make haste from my house. Your words are too intimate for a maiden’s ears, and I would fear to tell Lord Scelfton that promises and oaths were spoken to my daughter this day.”
Now the laughter was loud, for the proud lady had put the knight on his heels. His playful courtship could well be taken seriously by Felise’s father. It was a good threat and nicely leveled. Felise straightened proudly, her smile superior, though no one could see but Daria.
“We will make haste from here, madam,” came Sir Royce’s commanding retort “And I trust your young temptress is already busied with her threads, as young virgins should be. And madam,” he continued, “I give you this advice freely: the lass is in need of counsel. London is for well-guarded and discreet ladies or for harlots. There is no ground between.”
Felise felt her cheeks begin to burn with anger and shame, and Daria reached out and pinched her, nodding her head once in emphasis. Felise winced at her maid’s reprimand as she heard her mother’s voice return softly and with dignity to the warriors who towered over her. “Your advice is well taken, sir. Your travels will not be distracted again on this path, and for any future glance upon my daughter’s fairness, either you or your men should plead honorably to Harlan, Lord Scelfton of Twyford, and no other.”
“Then we part friends, my lady,” Royce replied. “Whichever of you louts upset this cart, draw a coin for this man. We have no more time for folly, even so pleasurable a folly as this.”
Felise could hear but did not dare watch the chaos that followed as the men tried to push the cart out of the way to get by. Within moments, the door to her chamber opened and her mother entered, a look of quiet disapproval on her face and her hands clenched together before her. Felise bit her lip rather self-consciously.
“Felise,” she sighed.
“Madam, I meant no harm, truly. And were it not for that beast who leads them, ‘twas all in good fun.”
Edrea shook her head slowly. “His point is well taken. You were raised within the halls that housed a hundred honorable men. You do not know the dangers that could prevail when strangers look upon your fair face.”
“But madam, until he turned the game, ‘twas only jesting we did.” She shivered slightly. “He is vulgar and slow-witted.”
Edrea frowned. “Neither that, dear. He is a man quick in knowing what he wants. Such a man will wed you and not some stripling youth that plays at courtship.” As she moved toward Felise, her eyes softened and she reached out a hand to stroke her daughter’s glorious hair. “I may have done you ill. You have been too safe to be wise. Do you think all men as well mannered as your brothers? Felise, you must abandon these childish notions and have a care.” Edrea’s eyes dropped to her daughter’s full, swelling breasts. She sighed heavily. “We will discuss a husband for you instantly. It cannot wait another day.”
“But Mother, I--”
Edrea held up her hand, and her soft eyes took on that steely quality that meant no argument would be considered. “It is decided. I will not consider further delay.”
***
The living arrangements for Harlan Scelfton and his family were comprised of the larger portion of an inn, comfortable enough for the family, servants, knights, and squires who traveled with him. Although his service to Henry had been long and devoted, it still came as a surprise when the king requested his presence in the city during the Christmas celebrations. Edrea and Felise were alive with excitement at the prospect of trading with the merchants and visiting court, his sons were enthusiastic over the opportunity to greet old acquaintances, but Harlan braced himself for what the king would require of him.
When Felise noticed his frown of concern and his distracted manner, she inquired of him, “My lord, is there some trouble that brings us here?”
Answering with as much honesty as he could, he said, “I can’t say trouble, lass, but I know Henry calls me because he has need of something.”
Felise simply shrugged and gave him her prettiest smile. “Could the king ask anything of you that you’d not willingly give?” she asked, knowing well his loyalty.
Harlan couldn’t suppress his own smile. She had ever the talent of simplifying things to a better level of understanding. Since she had come to him at the tender age of seven, she had soothed his family’s hurts and softened the roughness in their lives. He adored her. “Nay, love. I will better show my honor at being asked.”
When the time for the audience came, Harlan was asked to present his lady, Edrea, also. Felise excitedly helped her mother prepare herself, fluttering about her rooms in search of wraps, jewels, ribbons, or any extra bauble that would enhance her appearance. While her parents were away, Felise could barely remain still, she was so eager to hear every detail of the palace; the royal couple,
only briefly united for a family holiday; and all the pomp and politics surrounding them.
Felise had some vague memory of such things, for her life had been near the queen. As near as she could surmise, her mother had been an unmarried servant to the queen who, when Felise was born, had either died or been sent far away, never to return. Eleanor, in a rare mood of compassion, had taken custody and placed her as an infant with a noble family in Poitou, where she kept her court. Then Eleanor had failed in a plot to overthrow her husband and had been captured. She had been held prisoner ever since.
Felise had then been shipped in a rather haphazard way back toward England. No monies were to be spent on this ward of the imprisoned queen, and the noble family that had fawned over her while Eleanor was her sworn protector quickly lost interest. She was a mere child and in possession of a trunk of clothes, a ragged doll fashioned years earlier by some French hand, and a mass of tangled red curls. She was unceremoniously dumped on Henry’s stoop at Westminster, and someone had to do something with her. A kindly bishop knew a family in the south that grieved the death of their own daughter, and he took great liberty in sending this waif to Twyford to see if the lord and lady would give her a home.
Felise had many times considered how sad her circumstance might have been but for Lord Scelfton and Lady Edrea. They did far more than feed and house her. They bathed her in love, and her life was rich with possessions and devotion. She thought of herself as their own. Lord Harlan could extend his property with his sons’ able warring skills and hard labor, so he generously fixed this child with a dowry, fine clothes, and a sound education. And Lady Edrea, who found tenderness lacking in her life with three stout boys to raise, relished having a daughter to pamper. There was no deficiency of love in their household.
Felise virtually ran circles around her parents when they returned from Windsor. The day had been long for her, alone with the servants. “What did they wear, madam? What did the king ask? Was Duke Richard present? Did the queen seem sad or ill? Was she friendly with the king? Did you hear minstrels or see jugglers?” Finally her mother laughed lightly, drawing off her mantle.