by Robyn Carr
“And this Wharton--”
“Sir Wharton,” Felise remembered aloud. “There is nothing lacking in handsomeness, but he makes me ill at ease on some accounts.”
“How so, lady?” she asked.
Felise wore a puzzled frown. “He is courteous and good-natured,” she said. “Too much so, I think. Tis not a hardship to have a handsome knight boast of my beauty. But ofttimes he is a braggart, speaking out of turn about his strength and family wealth. And when he speaks of my family and the dower purse I hold, his eyes gleam with envy.” She sighed heavily. “Forsooth, I trust Wharton would wed my mare if she held my purse. He plays so mightily for attention, when I’ve not granted him the merest kiss, that I must believe my dowry is more important to him than any other thing I possess. It does not bode well of love between us.” She sighed pensively. “I do not loathe him, please understand. I have the feeling he lies to me.”
Felise turned to look at Vespera and noticed that the woman stood idly gazing off into space, seemingly entranced. She thought perhaps none of her words regarding Wharton was heard and Vespera had only asked about him out of politeness.
Vespera turned suddenly and walked toward the door. Reaching that portal, she looked back at Felise. “Excuse me, my lady, but I must be about my other duties.”
“You’ve only just arrived,” Felise protested.
“Her Majesty asked me to see to your comfort, but she will miss me if I’m away too long. Pardon.”
“Will you come back?” she asked, realizing she not only enjoyed the company of this woman, but was lonely in the long hours awaiting the next meal.
Vespera smiled and nodded, quickly leaving the room.
Felise had nothing to occupy her when her presence was not desired in the chambers of the queen or in the hall. After her unexpected meeting with Sir Royce, she had given up any idea of walking about the castle or grounds and took Daria with her to morning mass, much to the maid’s dislike. Now she roamed around her room, thinking the same thoughts that had occupied her for several days: choosing the most appealing groom.
When she paused beside the window and looked below, her confusion mounted. She could see the walkway to the chapel; Vespera paced before the doors, her motions greatly agitated. This quiet woman usually moved with the self-effacement of nuns, her hands gently folded, head slightly bent, and steps short and small. But as she moved before the chapel doors, she took wide, eager steps, hands fluttering before her and head up. Felise found not only her behavior odd, but also the fact that she would excuse herself on the queen’s business and go elsewhere.
Within a few moments a priest came out of the church and Vespera genuflected before him, crossing herself. She rose quickly and seemed to be speaking rapidly, something else Felise had never seen her do. Felise remembered that she had never seen Vespera at mass with the others and wondered why this woman who by her admission lived among nuns did not rise for the morning communion. Then the priest and Vespera slowly walked together into the chapel, and once they were out of sight, Felise only wondered for another moment at the unusual events before her mind was taken with other things--the style of gown she would wear that eve and the arrangement of her hair.
***
Royce made his way from his lodgings to Windsor with measured slowness. He stopped to purchase a gift from a merchant for Celeste, selecting some scented soaps that he thought would please her. He carried the parcel as he rode and at one point raised it to his nose. The rose, lilac, and lily scents combined to produce an odd floral bouquet, and his thoughts were bent not on Celeste, but on a maid with lively eyes the color of the sea meeting the sky and golden hair streaked with fire. As he lowered the soaps, he found that he had ridden past her family’s place of residence and was looking at the very window from which he had first viewed her.
He looked at that window as if she once again leaned out, her hair streaming down well below the sill and her hands clapping in glee as she laughed with the knights. He frowned sullenly, for he was well aware of what had happened to him.
Celeste should not be criticized for her plain looks. She was a gentle lady. And she appeared to remain as true and steadfast as any wife should be. Over several years, while he plied his attentions on her, she had ignored his sad reputation and that of his family, never questioned him about his occupation or travels, and waited eagerly for each of his visits. She mourned his departure and, as far as he knew, had kept herself from other men since the first time his lips had touched hers. He had no reason to doubt that she was an honorable woman.
But this Felise had pounced upon London in all her tempestuous beauty and hexed him twice, for he had tasted those sweet lips and felt her body next to his. For all Celeste’s attributes, he could not put the temptress from his mind. To his further insult, she was handsomely endowed and sought after by Boltof.
It was to this end he was driven, for after many days of watching the young swains trample each other for just a look at her, she was due to depart the court with her family, and Royce would be forced to speak to the king on behalf of his friend. The chore in itself was distasteful. In his many dealings with Henry he had asked no favor. He found the monarch more generous than he ever expected, for Henry relied much on him, and he hated to taint their relationship with solicitation.
And Henry might willingly oblige him. He could not bear to meet Felise on every occasion he was near Lord Orrick’s home. He wondered how he would again enjoy the warm affections of Celeste, when every fiber of his being cried out to be satisfied by Felise. He was obsessed by want of her, and for that he felt a surge of anger. No woman had lingered long in his mind, not even the one he was to marry.
There was good reason that Royce ignored women and in the main found Celeste the only one worthy of marriage. There had been a long legacy of family conflict and affliction behind him. His father had battled with his uncle; his brother had fought their father and himself. His own mother was another man’s wife, stolen by his father and held prisoner at Segeland. She had hated the very sight of Royce and claimed the rose-colored blemish that had marked his back since birth was the touch of the devil, a reminder of his father’s misdeed.
Royce, the youngest of three boys, had left his father’s home when he was twelve to live with his grandfather. His mother was likely driven insane by her captivity. His father had kept more than one mistress, and his two elder brothers had died under mysterious circumstances. The Leighton family had long warred with every relative and neighbor within range of their army. For many years no member of the Leighton family had been entirely trusted.
Royce had decided early in his life that he would never bequeath the ills of his ancestors and Segeland. When the time for marrying to satisfy custom was upon him, Celeste was close at hand. This woman, plain and demure, cost him neither sleep nor conflict of emotion. And, brutish as it was, he had lain with her already on several occasions and she had not come with child. There was hope she was barren. While Celeste worried with disappointing him, he was tremendously relieved by the prospect of begetting no heirs. He would be pleased to have Boltof’s children inherit Segeland and so put an end to the gruesome history it had so far possessed.
The only man ever to trust him without question was Henry. He had served as the king’s vassal and knight for years numbering over a dozen and the two men were loyal to each other. With the dwindling of his family and the lengthening of his service to the crown, Royce had gathered more credibility with a few fellows, among them Lord Orrick and Boltof.
When he had felt that sense of family within Lord Orrick’s house he had coveted it, and now within months he would be part of that household. It chafed him and frightened him to think of the conflict that would arise if Felise, too, were part of that family. It was like the repeat of the nightmare surrounding his own birth, and he feared the legacy of his family trials rising anew, beginning with the desire he had for a woman who did not belong to him.
When he asked for a portion of He
nry’s time, he was immediately obliged, as he knew he would be. Henry would see him at his convenience. His horse was taken at the gate and he was directed to the king’s bedchamber. Henry further complimented their friendship by being completely at his leisure. By the looks of the room, the king had just finished a midday repast and reclined in simple chausses and tunic, drinking from a goblet of wine.
Royce bowed to his king, but Henry scoffed at the formality. “Sit, Royce, and take up a cup. Get your business done and we can tell our usual lies.” He guffawed at his own wit, pointing to the chair near him. “Bring this man drink,” he shouted to a page.
Royce sat, feeling the heavy weight of his burden and resenting the chore ahead. He broached the subject quickly, not waiting for his libation. “I have requested audience, Sire, to discuss the marriage of a maid in your court, Lady Felise Scelfton.”
Henry’s eyebrows were raised instantly, his mouth formed a round O, and he leaned forward in his chair. “I could not have hoped for so much, Royce. Speak.”
“It appears her dower lands would serve you well, and since she is a comely maid, she and her future husband must be matched with caution and consideration.”
Henry sat back, smiling. “I have taken many liberties with her family for that reason. With lands in France, I must supervise her hand. You would understand, Royce.”
“Of a certain, my liege. Her family does not resist your authority over her marriage?”
“Harlan Scelfton does not like my interference, but if in the end I can please myself, his lordship, the lady, and a man of my bidding, I will have done a good piece of work. At this moment, I see the prospects for that well upon me. Go on, Royce, speak your piece.”
“Sir Boltof is of strong arms and good family. He is my friend and seeks the hand of Lady Felise. I would approve the match and seek your approval, Sire.”
Henry’s jovial expression fled and his eyes darkened. “Boltof?” he questioned. He shrugged. “I find no fault with the man, but he is not the one who comes to mind.”
“Another bidding for her hand is Wharton. He is strong, true, but ambitious to a fault. He is the second son of a strong lord and his inheritance is weak. I worry that he would go with Philip or Richard or any promise of power and wealth. I think it would be a mistake to aid him in any way.”
“Yet I would put Wharton above Boltof,” the king replied.
“Sire?” Royce questioned.
“Wharton at least does me the honor of coming on his own behalf. Boltof sends you.”
Royce lowered his eyes. “Sir Boltof believes I have some special influence with you, Your Majesty. I warned him that it grew larger in his head.”
Henry leaned near. “He senses our alliance true, and knowing your way among men, you have not boasted. Indeed, you could triple your wealth by building on your royal friendship. Even my son the duke, God save him, sees in you a promising ally for his future demesne, for your loyalty cannot be bought. You will aid the crown and abide by a royal order to your death. But if Boltof wanted to earn the same trust, he would come on his own. What of you, Royce?”
Royce shrugged, finding it difficult to look at Henry. “I did not want to do this, but better Boltof than Wharton.”
“Do we do Wharton wrong?” Henry asked. “There was talk of a friendship between Wharton and your brother, and later a battle that ended Sir Aylworth Leighton’s life.” Henry eyed Royce’s deepening scowl with great interest. “It left Segeland to you.”
“It is only talk, Sire.”
“But you distrust Wharton ...”
“I distrusted all members of my own family. Are you aware that I was raised to my knighthood by my grandfather? Aye, and there was bad blood between my parents and me. I had barely come to know Aylworth when he died. He was ten years my senior and held Segeland, and I am told he did little better than my father with the land. It is a fact that I did not want it. Even now, it would pain me little to have it gone.”
“Sir Wharton was his companion,” the king went on.
“For a brief space of time we at least had a common goal, for I met Aylworth and Wharton on a Welsh campaign years ago. Boltof rode with me, Wharton with my brother. In the end, having quelled the uprising, there was booty from the hall and town. Wharton and Aylworth argued over their shares, each accusing the other.” He shrugged and looked away. “I cannot defend either knight. They were both greedy and neither seemed above theft ... or other crimes. But Aylworth was killed ... while he slept.”
“And you suspect Wharton?”
“I knew no other with a stake in what Aylworth held. Yet I stood accused as well. It was bandied about that I rose to Segeland with his death. By what noble gesture might I prove that a lie? I did not love my brother, but neither did I want the land.
“But this I will say, Sire. Boltof defended me, and for his loyalty I owe him. Whether we agree on this matter or not, I have no reason to trust Wharton and every reason to consider Boltof a trustworthy knight.”
“Do you and Wharton quarrel still?” Henry asked, raising a dubious brow and peering closely at Royce.
“Nay, Sire. The matter was buried with Aylworth more than four years ago. Sir Wharton and I do not speak or share a cup. But neither do we war. Truly, I would not close my eyes if Wharton were near.”
“It is possible you and Wharton do each other wrong. You say you were all on the campaign together?” Royce nodded. “And for a time you were friends?”
“I could not admit to a fondness, Sire. I had only just encountered my brother, for the first time since leaving Segeland. I did not consider that I could become his friend and vassal. I was prepared to go on my way after the campaign, as was he.”
“I know Wharton’s family and the man, and have not thought more ill of him than you. But I will say no more on that. Mayhap the two of you will one day settle the matter.” He was quiet a moment more, pondering this old feud. Then he proceeded with the matter at hand. “Royce, tell me how you view the Lady Felise. Do you find her a worthy bride?”
“What needs be considered, Sire? She is comely and rich. She needs to have a husband loyal to the crown and a good manager of lands. His arms must be strong and his loyalty firm. Many would meet the requirements.”
“You speak naught of her allure,” Henry said coyly.
“There is no need. Those who desire the lady number from each page besotted by her fairness to doddering old lords in want of enough money to pay their debts. Who would know to which of her attributes they were drawn? Beauty or wealth or your pleasure? Methinks if you have the authority, you would do well to choose a knight or lord close to your own interests.”
Henry sat back in his chair and took a long pull on his wine. The page approached with a cup for Sir Royce and he drank of it leisurely, counting his business done. He forced future problems from his mind, believing he had paid loyalty to both Boltof and Henry. For Henry, Boltof was not a bad choice. For the latter, the request had been made. He did not look at his king to see if he had struck fertile ground with his words.
“You are right, Royce. I must approve a noble I trust, one who can bear my scrutiny. Your friend will be disappointed in your influence with me. I cannot approve Sir Boltof.”
“But Sire, I--”
“It is you I would have marry the demoiselle.”
Royce’s eyes rounded in shock, his back straightened almost as if he would defend himself. “I? Sire, I--”
Henry frowned but said nothing, and Royce stopped his argument instantly.
“Why, Your Majesty?” he said.
“For the very reasons you have named. You are loyal and strong of arms, and the woman is a gift of beauty and wealth. I thought you would be pleased.”
“Sire, I am bidden to Lady Celeste, stepdaughter of Lord Orrick and Boltof s sister.”
“Scelfton’s daughter will serve you better. If Lady Celeste is desirable, it will not be long before another is found to replace you.”
“Her family, Sire,�
�� Royce said, each word drawing pain. “Lord Orrick trusts me to make right my affections for his daughter. Boltof seeks brotherhood with me. And further, Lord Scelfton would more readily approve any other--we’ve had no dealings, yet Lord Scelfton’s sons were in the past set upon by my brother. I beg pardon, Sire, but you would do ill with this choice. It would please no one.”
“Nay, Royce, it is by far the best choice. But ‘twill be a burdensome one for a time. And what I have to say on the matter will make it more so. I have told Lord Scelfton that I have a preference for Felise’s hand and I will give him the news just before he is due to take her home. This I will do; I will name you.”
Royce felt his chest tighten. “Sire, Lord Scelfton will be displeased. He approves Boltof.”
“In the past I have ignored the rumblings that shook the very earth on which I stood, only to regret my patience.” The king paused. “This time the marriage will be done and consummated before I name you to Scelfton. I will do you one service: I will tell my lord of Twyford that you wed his daughter by my order. It will not lessen his anger, but neither will he attack or reprove you.”
“Surely the woman can return to Twyford for--”
“I won’t allow any failure. I trust Scelfton’s arms to be strong, but mayhap no stronger than some knight of Aquitaine or even Wharton. You will be aided in abducting the woman from the very chamber I allow her and taking her away from here before she is missed. I will vouch for her safety in your hands and try to give her parents some ease. Then you may appease yourself and seek forgiveness from the Scelfton house, Orrick and his, and any other who might take offense. This is my order, Sir Royce, and any man who would chastise you for following the command of your king was never in truth your friend.”
Royce remembered with chilling clarity the wild-eyed look of his mother when they chanced to see each other. He felt a rising panic at the thought of stealing his bride, forsaking his friends, and future years of ill will with the mighty family of Twyford.