by Robyn Carr
“Will you do my bidding, Royce?” Henry asked him.
“‘Tis a bad omen to go against Wharton,” he said solemnly.
“Do you fear the knight, Royce?”
“Nay, Sire. But it was a simpler matter to avoid him than to fight him. Neither of us can prove the other guilty.”
“Will you take the lady, Royce, as I ask?” the king demanded.
The ticklish memory of her inexperienced response, the softness of her lips on his, and the wild beating of her heart against his chest caused him to quiver slightly. She was frightened of him, this he knew. But something within her had reached out to him in their brief embrace, and suddenly he knew that he was better placed fighting all hell to keep her than trying futilely to keep himself from her.
He wanted her more desperately than he had ever wanted anything in his life. And by a word, she was his.
“Yea, Sire.”
Five
“Madam,” Felise said with all the sincerity she could muster, “I would not have you shamed by my behavior, nor would I disgrace my lord father with childish arguments. But nothing in my life has prepared me for this dreadful event. I don’t know the man, his circumstance, or what my life will be.”
Edrea let a small laugh escape her, in spite of herself. The women sat in a small half-circle in Felise’s chamber working needles into rough cloth. Daria applied her needlework to mending, Vespera’s needle busily plucked at a veil, and the noblewomen worked tapestry designs with colored threads. Lady Edrea had begged the company of her daughter on her last day at Windsor because the maid seemed distraught and nervous. On the morrow they would have meetings with the king, and when all were satisfied, a betrothal would be announced.
“Few of us know what our life will be, Felise,” Edrea said with patience.
“You know, madam,” she argued. “You will go home to Twyford and things will be much as they were.”
Vespera reached across to Lady Edrea’s lap and, with a quiet laugh of her own, touched the woman’s hand. “Your daughter forgets that you were once a young bride taken from your father’s home to wed a knight you scarcely knew.”
“But you knew Father,” Felise protested, a pout in her voice and on her lips.
“Aye, for two years,” Edrea replied, lifting her chin a notch. “But in that two years I saw him four times. He was my father’s choice.”
“I would relish two years,” Felise retorted, stabbing her needle through the cloth.
“I was four and ten,” Edrea exclaimed. “And upon my first introduction to Harlan, he was brutish and clumsy. He frightened me.” Her voice grew wistful then, and there was a faint smile on her lips. “But I think I loved him even then.” Edrea worked her needle skillfully and did not look at her daughter when she spoke. “Harlan was a rugged young man who had ridden with armies for years, and he paid no attention to ladies of proper retirement. He found it hard to play the groom and harder still to coddle me when I wept for my mother. But in time and with the arrival of our sons, we became more important to each other, and by the time I weaned my firstborn, I could not imagine life without him.”
“I may not be so lucky as to find a man as wonderful as Father awaiting me before the priest,” Felise grumbled.
“Or rather,” Edrea said tolerantly, “you may find a man as indisposed to marriage as you. If you find yourself thus, poor Felise, you might try a soft course with him and see what your labors yield. Answer his clumsy touch with warmth, the rule of his house with quiet obedience, and his oafish step with a pleasant smile. If you snarl at your new husband, you will find more of his back turned against you than his helping hand reaching out to you. But if you strive to do him honor and show him your gentle strength, you will gain not only his respect, but his love.”
Felise let her cloth fall abruptly to her lap and looked at her mother with glistening eyes and a quivering chin. She held her mouth in a grim line to try to forestall an outburst. “Madame, I don’t know how that is done,” she said sullenly.
“It’s of no matter how, Felise,” Edrea said firmly. “If it is your goal, you will find the way.”
Felise looked around the small group for solace, seeing all eyes on her. Edrea looked at her with stern dignity, showing with her eyes that she could not and would not coddle her any further. Whether or not Felise was ready, Edrea would cut her loose and let her make her way into wifehood. Vespera had a rather pained look, as though she pitied the girl, but nodded ever so slightly at Lady Edrea’s words. And Daria’s expression caused Felise to flinch slightly. The maid, unmarried herself and approaching thirty, had a gleefully wicked smile of superiority, as if seeing her mistress’s comeuppance felt rather good.
Felise’s eyes cleared and her voice became rather small. “There’s nothing I can do, is there?” she asked.
“Yea, daughter,” Edrea said. “You can bear this with grace and dignity. You are a rich woman ... and very soon a powerful man will wed you. Your influence and your husband’s will not be small in this kingdom of Henry’s. You must draw on all you have learned to be certain your monies and powers are well used.” Edrea took a deep breath. “Dress so that we might meet your father in the hall. And leave your fretting in this circle of women.”
Felise slowly rose and turned away from the women, Daria close behind her to help her dress. Edrea’s hands rested in her lap and she turned watering eyes toward the hearth. She felt a gentle hand touch her arm and she turned to look into Vespera’s sympathetic eyes.
“It was easier, I think, to hold her on my knees when she was bruised from a fall or hurt because her brothers scorned her,” Edrea whispered. She squeezed Vespera’s hand. “I pray I have not spoiled the child from being a good wife.”
Vespera shook her head and looked down.
“God willing, I will attend her with her firstborn and this fear will be well behind us. I can’t know until then whether I have taught her anything at all.”
“Lady, you have been a wonderful mother to her. She should thank you.” Then very quietly Vespera added, “I thank you.”
Edrea smiled warmly. “With so many who love her, how can anything go wrong? Surely the saints protect her.”
“The saints and all heaven,” Vespera confirmed. She stood and Edrea rose as well. The women walked to the door together arm in arm. Once there, Vespera turned and embraced Lady Edrea as a sister would. “It is hard to leave you,” Vespera confided.
“Perhaps it is only for a time. Perhaps we will meet again.”
Vespera shook her head. “But you will most certainly be in my prayers.” And then as quietly as she had come, she quit the room, leaving Edrea to return to her sewing until Felise was ready to descend into the hall.
To all those in attendance at the dinner, it appeared as though the negotiations for the marriage were well under way, for Harlan led his family to a trestle table seating twelve at the benches. Even though Henry had not officially decreed a betrothal contract, the families of Felise and Boltof gave their approval by their close and happy association. All of Lord Orrick’s family was in company; Sir Royce and Celeste, Sir Boltof and Harlan’s entire family plus three men-at-arms. Boltof stood to greet Felise and took custody of her, and the meal proceeded with pages and squires carving meat and carrying in food and replacing empty trays with full. There was much merriment among the reunited families, with the exception of Sir Royce and Lady Felise.
Jugglers were performing in the hall for the royal family and the others. Poets and singers and dancers livened the spirits of the court. But Royce’s mood was surly and short. He contributed nothing to the conversation and seemed to want to make himself small. Felise often caught him staring at her with a perturbed expression on his face, and thus attempted to avoid meeting his eyes.
For herself, it was a simple matter of being uncomfortable in his company. Memories of their last meeting plagued her the more, now that she had made the acquaintance of Celeste and found her to be agreeable and sweet. In addition,
there lingered the tension of thinking herself approved by all present as a bride for Sir Boltof. Her feelings toward Boltof were very vague, and she felt no excitement about a future with him at her side. And marriage with Boltof meant she would encounter Royce on occasion.
Why does he brood? she thought to herself. I threaten no measure of his property, unless he fears I would be unfit for Sir Boltof and seeks to protect him. He has a worthy woman who dotes on him, yet he seems indisposed to her company.
“Royce,” Harlan inquired loudly, “where are your men this eve?”
“They have been given duties, my lord,” he answered.
“Poor souls,” Aswin interrupted. “Have they not been bidden to seek their pleasures in London since your coming? Wherever I inquire, your men are at work.”
“They’ve had their leisure, but each at his own turn. It has taken me ten years to gather the group and to keep them well honed in each duty; some must work while others play.”
“A worthy notion,” Harlan approved. “You would run no risk of mishap. But ten years? A long time indeed to gather your men-at-arms. What of the Segeland armies?”
Royce shifted uncomfortably. “None of the men who served my family rides with me now. These men have no memory of Segeland’s woes.”
Harlan leaned closer to Royce. “But they have heard rumors, no doubt.”
“Of those, my lord, there are plenty.”
Harlan withdrew, frowning slightly, and the conversation went on as before. Boltof was not getting the attention he desired from Felise and drank liberally, jesting in easy camaraderie with her brothers as if he were already a member of the family. Lady Edrea and Celeste found many civil topics for discussion and seemed to enjoy each other well enough.
Felise, quiet and sullen, watched the actions of those around her and listened carefully to their conversations. The men spoke of fighting and horses and the women of housekeeping matters and children. She tried to imagine herself in Boltof’s embrace, but the image was difficult for her. Boltof had a certain boyish charm and hard-earned muscles on his short frame. His hair was a wavy mass of dull blond and his skin was fair like his sister’s. She wondered if in time, with effort, she would come to treasure the light in his small eyes or crave a touch from his large, square hands.
She thought it possible they would have handsome children, but wondered lazily if they would have passion.
She let her thoughts wander to Sir Royce, whose lusty demands were already known to her. Her visions came with more difficulty here, for harder still was the thought of Celeste bending within Royce’s iron-hewn arms. Had she yielded to his powerful kiss? Celeste was comely, but far from robust. In Felise’s imaginings, Celeste would be crushed by Royce’s meagerest caress.
The hour grew later and the queen had left the hall when Sir Boltof asked if he might escort Felise to her rooms. The courtship had drawn itself out to the farthest limits it could go without a sanction for the wedding. He was clearly making his claim known among their families, and Felise felt herself trapped. However she viewed the alliance, it appeared to be well out of her hands. Lady Edrea seemed ready to make some protest, but Lord Scelfton cut her off and gave his loud assent. “Aye, take the lass to her rooms and return quickly. You are on your honor, Sir Boltof.”
Boltof had her arm and was leading her away almost before she could bid her parents and their company a decent good night. He had been into his cups, leaving his gait somewhat uneven, and was riding high on what he sensed was approval from her father.
“Sir Boltof,” she begged, “please slow your pace and loosen your grip. I go willingly enough; I am not a prisoner.”
He slowed abruptly and freed her arm. His manner was instantly humbled. “It is your willingness I want more than anything, Lady Felise. With a word from you, we can post the banns for our marriage.”
She almost laughed, for his words were slurred by too much wine. “You needn’t fear I would rebuff my father’s choice for me,” she told him calmly, laying a hand on his arm.
“I would have it be your choice as well, my lady.”
Felise smiled tolerantly. “Our acquaintance has been brief and--”
“I knew I loved you instantly,” he proclaimed.
“Sir Boltof, you demand much if you would have me pledge my love after but one eve of company. Yet I would not dismiss you. Is that not enough?”
“You might show more warmth, lady, to one who pledges so much so soon.”
A slight chuckle rose to her lips. “The better portion of a skin of wine is pledging this night, kind sir. Let us see what the morrow brings.” She turned as if she would venture again in the direction of her rooms and found herself quickly pulled into his clumsy embrace.
“But ... I want you ...,” he whispered urgently.
Felise believed that for all purposes this match was approved. The king would not likely argue the marriage if Harlan could boast Boltof’s loyalty and family. She felt his warm, wine-soaked breath on her face and instinctively turned away, while trying desperately to follow her mother’s advice. She had no desire to feel his kiss and could not muster the strength to answer him in warmth. There was no instinctive knowledge to help her guide his errant step with grace or disengage herself without hurting his pride.
“Please, Sir Boltof, would you dishonor me here and now?”
“In a short time you will be my wife,” he promised, trying to reach around her waist to pull her nearer.
“The lady protests,” she heard a familiar voice interrupt.
Boltof whirled to face the man and Felise was freed in the process. She quickly moved back a pace and saw Sir Wharton and Sir Boltof face each other. Wharton smiled at her, somewhat superior in his sobriety, and gave a slight bow.
“Has a betrothal been announced, demoiselle, or should you like this knave removed?”
“Lord Scelfton himself gave me permission to escort the lady to her rooms. Get thee gone, Wharton.”
“Name your reason for this liberty,” Wharton demanded. “It was not a simple stroll I came upon here. I bid for the lady’s hand as well.”
Felise stepped backward another pace and looked at the two men in confused wonder. The gallery through which they passed was wide and torches lit the space, but no others traveled there. She saw Wharton’s hand go to the hilt of his sword and she gasped, fearing she would see blood spilled over this episode.
The two men faced off as if ready for a fight, Wharton’s tall, dark, and slender frame contrasting with Boltof’s stocky, fair appearance.
“Will you speak, demoiselle, or do you yield to the winner?” Wharton demanded loudly.
Felise felt her anger rise along with her fear. She wanted to shout at them that neither of them had the right to put her at the helm of this trouble, but she trembled too severely to speak. She covered her mouth with her hand and turned, fleeing down the gallery toward the hall that led to her rooms. Behind her she heard the thud of a fist finding its mark, but she had no idea which man had fallen and which would be on her heels. Then another blow and groan from the victim eased her mind, and she went unhindered while they took out their anger on each other.
Holding her skirt in her hands, she rounded the corner and moved down the dark hall. She brushed against someone and gasped as her arm was taken.
“Quickly, demoiselle, this way,” Royce commanded. He turned her about and led her swiftly through the hall toward an open chamber filled with light. “Whichever of them is still standing in a moment will be right behind you. I have no desire to have to kill either of them.” He pulled her in and closed the door quietly behind them, leaning against it.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I begged Lord Scelfton to allow me to follow, lest Boltof fall asleep in the hall before you were safely to your rooms. The knight grew drunk on your beauty.”
“He gave more attention to his cup than to my face, Sir Royce.” She took a breath and fanned her face with her hand. “Am I in d
anger again? Would I be better fixed in the dark hall to await either jackal?”
Royce smiled in amusement, keeping his hands behind his back against the closed door. “I will not accost you, madam, if that is what you fear. I am here by your father’s trust, and I have need of alliances such as his. In a moment I will take you to your chamber. Then I shall carry Boltof back to the hall.”
“You are certain Boltof will fall? Would you in like help Wharton?”
“Wharton is skilled and Boltof is drunk. Both of them are fools.”
Though momentarily taken aback by this offense, Felise’s relief at being temporarily safe from their battle overwhelmed any anger. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” she sighed.
Royce chuckled. “They both beg your good favors, lady. One of them may be your husband soon. You have a sorry lot if you think them fools.” She dropped her gaze to her feet, for again she agreed. She felt a finger under her chin and she raised her gaze to meet his. There was a softness in his eyes she had not seen before. “You want none of this, do you, cherie?”
“I wish it were all behind me,” she said faintly.
“Unfortunately, there is much ahead of you before your woes are over. The man has neither been named nor promised and already there is the threat of bloodshed. Aye, it will be months before you can call the matter done. You could beg a quick wedding and at least put the waiting to an end ... much like a quick execution.”
Her eyes glistened slightly. The prospect of a marriage, a strange new home, and a whole new way of life was not a thing Felise could easily accept, whether the process was quick or drawn out. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke. “Please, is it safe for us to leave now?”
He looked down at her almost sympathetically, taking her arm to lead the way. His voice was firm but gentle, like an older brother’s. “Lady Felise, it occurs to me that you reside in some danger this last night in Windsor. Bolt your door and keep yourself alert to every sound and movement. Until you are safely wed, guard yourself.”