by Robyn Carr
“Surely no one would ...”
He looked deeply into her eyes and she saw his earnest. “Yea, demoiselle. You are too much a prize for your own good. Trust only those you are certain would do you no harm.”
She gave a nod and Royce cautiously opened the door. He looked up and down the dark hall and then led her swiftly up the stairs and to her chamber. Once there, he opened the door himself and gave her a little push. “Till we meet again, my lady,” he murmured.
She opened her mouth to thank him, but he left her quickly and was out of sight before she could find the words.
She shook her head slightly, thinking that each time she met him he came in a different guise. One moment he frightened her, the next he teased or tormented. He could show his scorn or some display of passionate desire. He was her antagonist, then her protector. She shivered as she contemplated whether on their next meeting he would wear yet another new cloak.
***
In the dark of night when nothing stirred, Felise heard her name urgently whispered. Her slumber was deep and she thought herself in a dream until she let her eyes open and saw Vespera’s face above her. “Lady Felise,” the woman urged. “Wake yourself. Quickly now.”
Felise was slow to rouse. Vespera wore a heavy cloak and Daria was up, stoking the fire and hurrying about the room. She sat up in confusion, pulling the pelts closer to her to ward off the cold. “What is it? Is it still night?”
“Just before midnight, my lady. We have to take you away to safety. Please hurry and dress yourself.”
“Safety? But--”
“Even now Sir Wharton gathers a troop of men to steal you away from Windsor. We must hurry.”
Felise threw back the covers and stood shivering at the side of the bed. “But why?”
Daria was flying about the room at a speed Felise had never before witnessed. Vespera drew a gown hastily from Felise’s trunk and struggled to hold it for Felise. “His desire for you is uncommon. While your father and the king wait for a meeting to discuss your marriage, Wharton fears the choice has been made in Sir Boltof’s favor.”
“They fought earlier this night,” Felise mused, her voice muffled in the folds of her dress. She turned her back for Vespera’s aid in the fastenings.
“Aye, they fought, and Wharton was much the winner. He left the hall to gather his men together. I think his purpose clear.”
The confusion of this abrupt waking was only slowly clearing. Felise spun around to face Vespera. “But you need only send for my father,” she declared. “There is no need to flee ... my father and brothers will...”
Vespera put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and firmly turned her about again. “There is little time, ma chere,” she whispered. “If Sir Wharton cannot steal you while you sleep in your chamber, he will no doubt accost your family on the road to Twyford. All he need do is force his whim, and you are his bride or no man’s. Please.”
Felise pulled her hair over her shoulder and out of the way, a nagging fear prickling along her spine. She trusted Vespera, but the event seemed out of place and peculiar. She was cautious, but she did not think herself unsafe inside her bolted room. Her screams from within her sealed chamber would do more good than her muffled cries if she were caught unprotected in the hall outside.
“Where do we go?” she asked the tire-woman.
“The castle guard will take us to an inn outside the town and later provide escort to your home.”
Daria was frantically throwing articles of grooming and clothing into the coffer and had herself donned a dress, shoes, and cloak. “Does Daria come with me?”
“Of course. We could not leave her to face the villain.”
“This is not right,” Felise thought aloud. “Would you take me to my father’s house?” she asked.
Vespera shook her head. “Lady, if Boltof could but rise, he would likewise do this thing. And the first hiding place sought would be your father’s house. Let us use the guard and not threaten your family.”
“Nay,” Felise said firmly. “I will go with you only if you promise to deliver me to my father. He would not deny protection and I am confident of his ability. I will not flee to another strange place.”
Vespera looked at her closely and then finally nodded her head in assent. Felise was quicker with her dressing then, and once her cloak was fastened and her coffer sealed, Vespera went to the door. Two men stood without and the tire-woman indicated the bulging trunk. One of them hefted the baggage while the other led the way down the corridor.
In the courtyard there were saddled horses standing ready and two more men already astride. Their escort lifted the women, one by one, into their saddles and then led the way. Vespera rode without aid, but the reins of Felise’s mount were controlled by her escort. Again she felt a gnawing fear, she had not heard Vespera instruct the men to take her to Lord Scelfton’s house.
The night was dark with clouds covering the moon and the air was wet and cold. The fur-lined cloak was little protection against winter’s harsh breath. The little entourage moved slowly through the streets, a cart holding Felise’s trunk squeaking behind them. She looked around at her company without knowing which worry to grasp. Should she fear these men who accompanied her or a possible attack from Wharton?
There was no possible way, in the dark of night, for Felise to know whether they traveled toward or away from her parents. It crossed her mind to attempt to escape this escort, but she had no sense of direction. Then as they turned a corner, they halted before another group of knights and Felise’s breath caught. There was no scuffling or show of arms, so this meeting had been planned. One rider dismounted and came toward her.
Sir Royce looked up at her. “My lady,” he greeted.
“Sir Royce? Are you to escort me to my father’s house?” she asked hopefully, wanting to find relief in his presence.
“I am to escort you, demoiselle, but I fear we cannot join your family tonight. I must take you away from here as quickly as possible.”
“I wouldn’t be in danger with Lord Scelfton,” she said, trying to coax him.
“Of course you would not,” he replied easily. “Forsooth, the grand old lord would protect you to his own life’s end. But, fair Felise, I fear he would hold you from me, and you belong to me now.”
Her eyes grew wide and startled for an instant, and then she knew, beyond any doubt, that Royce had successfully dragged her out of her bed and into the cold night to claim her. He would do the very thing Vespera warned her Wharton would try. Her hand found its way from under her cloak and hit his cheek with a resounding slap. Before she could think, she was jerked out of her saddle and stood on the ground before him. His hands were clamped tightly on her upper arms and he looked down into her startled eyes with fury blazing in his own.
“I will warn you but once, Felise: never strike me again.” Then he turned to his fellows. “The lady is cold and chooses to warm my lap as we ride. Let’s waste as little time as possible.”
With the towering strength of a dozen knights all around her, Felise did not struggle against Royce, but she did not aid him in any way in settling herself in his saddle. When they were both astride, he pulled his mantle around her.
Rage burned within her and all sense of fear was gone. She couldn’t believe the number of people he had betrayed with his action--Celeste and Lord Orrick, not to mention Boltof, a man he called friend. And her family would be horrified and hard to stay when they learned of this insult.
“You think to rape me and gain my father’s blessing?” she caustically flung at him. “Ha! You’ll rot in hell before you see the day.”
“Nay, madam, that is not my plan. Your father’s blessing will be swift on the morrow, for this match is ordered by the king. We will see a priest, whether by dagger point or willingly.”
She sat silent and stunned in front of him. “By order of the king?” she heard herself ask.
“Aye.”
“Then you ... you did not bid for marr
iage ... and you ...”
“Let us just say that the event was no more in my plans than yours. It is out of our hands.”
“How do I know you speak the truth?” she quizzed.
He let out a long, deep sigh. “Madam, I was betrothed before tonight. You can be damned sure I would be warm in my bed and not galloping through the sleet and cold but for the order of the king. You can save us both further misery by staying quiet.”
She leaned back somewhat in the saddle, quite believing him and almost pitying him. She felt the sting of tears burn her eyes, for it was one set of problems to have men fighting over her and quite another type to be forced on a man who wanted none of her. She remembered their last conversation before he installed her in her rooms, and a tear dropped from her cheek onto the large, tanned hands that held the reins.
“Like a quick execution,” she murmured.
“Aye,” he grunted. “But for whom?”
Six
They endured the traveling in silence, Felise drifting periodically into sleep and jolting awake as if a nightmare had seized her. Four hours were spent in the wet and biting chill slowly and quietly moving farther out into the country.
When she did not sleep, she considered the man positioned close behind her. He did not slacken his support nor selfishly hoard the warmth of his mantle, but freely shared what little comfort there was to be had. She could not see him, but it took no effort to remember his face, the implacable soldier’s expression and brooding eyes. She had seldom seen him smile, those times when he taunted her being the only occasions. The hands that held the reins were thick and strong. She tried to imagine being fondled by them, but the vision came hard.
A thousand questions plagued her, but she asked not a one. Her spirit was as damp as the air. The proud Felise, she thought with scorn. Holding myself beyond men, desiring none, poised and aloof as they bid for me and fight over me. What better justice than that the game be decided by the highest judge, the king? No more were the courtly games and eager proposals.
Before dawn they approached the gates of a country manor just north of London. In the dark of the predawn hours it was difficult to make out much of the exterior of the manse, but a few stout knocks on the gatekeeper’s door announcing Royce and his bride saw the place quickly lit. The gates were opened and a torch-bearing servant guided the entire group to the house. Again they waited, the heavy silence bearing down on Felise. She wondered if this place was to be her home.
When Royce dismounted and went to the great double doors, she decided he must be a stranger here. He spoke for a few moments with the tenant, an elderly man with tousled hair and hastily donned chausses and tunic. Then he returned to his mount to help her down and lead her into the house. “Stable these beasts,” he told his men. “There is feed and water for them, and if they’re to bear us away from here, you must care for them well.”
By the time Felise had entered the modest hall, an elderly woman was just descending the stairs. Felise thought the couple were perhaps caretakers. The woman’s gentle smile and soft eyes spoke of kindness; her gray hair and squat, plentiful figure gave her a grandmotherly comfort. The man, tall and thin with a short, sculptured beard of silver, laughed pleasantly as they entered. They were not offended by the interruption of their rest, nor by the intrusion of so many wet and cold people.
“Sir Royce,” the man said with a smile, extending his hand in friendship. “Your pardon, sir. We did not expect you before dawn. I know these roads; you made quick work of them.”
“I beg your pardon, Master Chaney. You are good to allow us your house.”
Chaney gave a short bow and, upon rising, drew the plump woman to his side. “Mistress Chaney,” he said, presenting her. She, too, nodded amiably.
“Isabel, my lord,” she encouraged.
To the introductions, Royce raised Felise’s hand. “Lady Felise Scelfton, my bride.”
Felise instantly saw pity in the eyes of the woman, accompanied by a slight shaking of her head. She reached forward to take Felise’s hands in both of hers. “Dear sweet,” she cooed in a pleasing tone. “I trust you will find that lacking which you would have enjoyed in your father’s home, but we will do as well by you as can be allowed with so little time for preparations. There is food. Are you hungry?”
Felise simply shook her head. She looked at Royce. “They know our circumstances?” she asked.
He stiffened slightly beside her. “They are loyal vassals of Henry,” he said simply. Then, with the frown she had accustomed herself to seeing, he added, “As we all are.”
Vespera, Daria, and two of the men who had ridden with them arrived, and the eight of them stood crowded in the narrow entrance to the manor house. To Felise’s amazement, Vespera came forward of the group and embraced Isabel as if they were long-time friends. A few whispers were exchanged between them, and then, looking over her shoulder at Felise, Vespera quietly remarked, “I am bidden to my lady until ... until she requires me no more.”
Felise lifted her chin a notch and glowered at the woman. She could not fathom the reason for Vespera’s betrayal. Had Royce bought her loyalty, or did she hope to profit from Henry by aiding this match? Isabel noticed Felise’s glare and laid her hand on Vespera’s arm. “Do not fear, Isabel,” Vespera said. “Your generous hospitality will lessen the rub. All will be well.”
Vespera turned to Felise. “Will you take your rest, my lady?” she inquired. “There is a chamber for you.”
“What of the priest?” she asked haughtily.
“That will be arranged,” Isabel promised. “Come, I can light you to your chamber.”
The three women followed Isabel up the stairs to a room that had been set aside. Obviously the preparations for this night had been made in advance, for a fire blazed in the hearth and two pallets for Daria and Vespera were arranged at the foot of a more commanding bed. It was a simple room, but comfortable. The bed itself was rich, rising above the floor. There was a table before the hearth, a wooden chest, and a commode. Heavy woolen curtains of a rich rose hue covered the shuttered windows.
“Isabel makes her chamber available to you, Lady Felise,” Vespera said. “I know you’ll want to thank her.”
Felise shook her head in a distracted manner. “Do you forget why I am here, madam?” she asked. “I am a prisoner, a bride against my father’s will.”
“Pray soften your tongue, Lady Felise,” Vespera said, an unusual impatience in her voice. “That this was no fault of yours is true enough, but you would do well to remember that neither are the rest of us to blame.”
“‘Tis a lie,” Felise countered hotly. “You certainly betrayed our friendship ... and the friendship of my mother.”
“Nay, milady,” she argued, her green eyes sparkling as bright as emeralds. “I was bidden by your mother as well as the queen to remain close at your side for as long as possible. And I would have gladly brought you the news that the king sanctioned your betrothal to Sir Royce, but would you have come? With each knave smitten came the threat of your lost virtue and perhaps worse; there was no time for a pretty courtship. You must take caution that you do not place yourself above the needs of kings and their ambitions.” She gestured toward the chamber door with one hand, her mouth rigid with barely suppressed intolerance. “Now that fine lord follows his orders as best he might, but he is met with no warmth from you.”
Felise felt her eyes begin to tear. That Royce had treated her mostly with contempt since their first meeting was a matter of fact. Even when he led her away from the fight between Wharton and Boltof, he’d called them fools for fighting over her. She pitied her own dire straits at least as fully as his.
“How would you have me address him? He makes no secret of the fact that he was bidden elsewhere until ... He wants no more of me than I of him. It was he who dragged me through the cold and rain to a midnight hiding place. Where is his warmth?”
Vespera eyed her with obvious disappointment, shaking her head. “You remember t
he journey poorly, lady. Twas nearly a score of people who rode through chill fog and wet ... and all bent on protecting your safety and dower purse.”
“Vespera,” Isabel quietly pleaded, “be gentle. The lass is frightened.” She laughed uncomfortably. “The habits of these highborn nobles, to steal their women and assault their neighbors, makes me wonder why they are known as gentlemen. Put her to bed and berate her on the morrow.”
Felise stomped childishly toward the hearth to warm her hands, turning her back on the women. Daria stood in limbo, awaiting orders of some kind while Isabel and Vespera stared at her. She heard Vespera’s quiet goodnight and the closing of the door as Isabel left them. Behind her there was movement as Vespera and Daria drew back the covers on her bed and, before long, the sound of one of Royce’s men delivering her coffer.
She let herself become lost in the flickering of the fire. She was but a breath from crying out for her mother, a temptation that only furthered her shame. She did not bear this insult with any measure of womanly grace, yet slowly the reasons for this misadventure attacked her clearly. The memory of Boltof and Wharton eager to draw swords was less than a pretty courtship in her mind. Had the king spoken openly on behalf of Royce and allowed time for family contracts and wedding plans, she might have found herself in greater danger. And what of Royce? Would he have willingly played the suitor once named?
A shiver possessed her as she considered his kiss and the strength of his embrace. Had he known then, she wondered, that he was the chosen one? Had he been sworn to secrecy? Her cheeks flamed as she remembered that she had unwillingly met his ardor with some passion of her own, but he had turned from her abruptly, leaving her aching with both desire and embarrassment. He must have been instructed by the king, tried her lips, and fled in disappointment.
She gave herself a quick lesson lest she be naively confused by the next days and weeks. Her father, however devoted, would not send arms against Royce in defiance of King Henry. Mayhap that was why Lady Edrea bid Vespera to remain near if possible--to lessen the hurt and abandonment Felise felt. And as for Royce, he had made his feelings known. He did not seek this marriage any more than she, yet he did seem to bear the burden more reasonably.