by Robyn Carr
He turned his face toward her. “You have not disappointed me thus far, madam. But then, I knew you were not shy.”
Her cheeks grew hot with shame, but she spoke anyway. “Will you hold me as a cherished wife, or spurn me with chastisement because of the king’s choice?”
“Do not needle me, Felise. The hour is too late for senseless bickering.”
She bit her lip for a moment, but proceeded bravely. “Did you love the lady Celeste very much?” she asked.
“Do you wish to please me, Felise?” he asked shortly.
“If it is possible,” she murmured.
“Then go to sleep. That would please me.”
She sank back into the pillows slowly, carefully turning onto her side away from him. Her tears wet the linen, but she was mournfully silent. The hearth was cold and dark before she found sleep.
Seven
Royce could not sleep. The warmth of Felise beside him caused such a burden of conflicting feelings that he was plagued most of the night.
She had not fought his advances, which made him most grateful. Facing her scorn would have destroyed his pride and he would have been hard put to finish the deed. It was a curse he lived with; he was most shy of the mark on his back. When he was a small boy and his mother had ridiculed him because of it and his brothers had laughed at him, he had developed a genuine belief that he was repulsive. While most highborn knights and lords sought the services of helpmates in bathing and dressing, Royce demanded his privacy.
He had wanted her again within moments, but he steeled himself against his baser urgings. She might be considered beyond the age of marrying, but Royce was over three decades and found her youth almost alarming. He had not known many young women, his tastes running more toward women of experience who would not force any commitment ... or Celeste. And though he wished to hold her, when she turned away from him and softly wept, he gave her exactly what he thought she required of him: distance.
It seemed an eternity before he suspected she slept. When she was still and her breathing even, he let himself stroke the soft mound of her curving hip. He gently moved close to her, rounding her turned back and resting his face in the sweet fragrance of her witch’s locks.
Her softness beneath him had ripped him open with the sharpness of a knife, and his soul lay bare before him. She could not possibly have known the many things he had to reckon with because of her. That he had just had his first virgin was the most startling of these. There was little doubt now that Celeste had played him false. Oh, that humble dame had moaned her misery and there had been blood, but there was considerable difference between sound and physical evidence and what a man feels. He was aware of his terse response when Felise asked if he had loved Celeste a great deal. He made a mental promise to share the truth about that with her one day.
Although he felt he had no right to be angry with Celeste--for he had played his affections on her for years without giving her the security of marriage--he did quite easily let go of his guilt at having abandoned her for Felise. He lived easier with that decision now.
But as he lay beside his wife, the overwhelming concern that robbed him of sleep was whether she would continue to hate and fear him. If a child, marked by the Leighton curse, came to her, would she thrust it away in contempt? When she saw the ruinous Segeland, would she rot in misery? He had touched her warm skin and known every turn and curve of her body, but he knew her not at all. His experience of her went only as far as her flirtations at court, her anxious appraisal of him, and the sharp crack of her hand against his cheek when he’d told her they were to be wed.
And I, he thought, who would like to hold her fiercely, closing my hands around her that she cannot flee and no other can ever touch her, tremble in the fear that she will turn into a thistle in my grasp.
His mother had been a beautiful and sensual creature, but her disposition was that of an asp. He conceded that his mother had good reason for her madness, but he took a startling new look at his father. Had that old dragon felt love so penetrating and passion so blinding that he could do nothing but cleave the woman to him, whether she shared the passion or not? Royce wondered at his ability to do things any differently. He could not imagine letting Felise go, and at the merest thought of another man even looking at her, his blood began to boil. Yet ogle her they would, for her beauty was uncommon. And he considered himself large and strong, but far from handsome.
He sighed heavily and, kissing her gently on the cheek, rose from her side. He dressed in the dark, assured himself that she was covered against the chill, and went to the stable. He hung a lantern and began to curry the horses, first his steed and then some of the others. He had wiled away a few hours when the sun came up, but so heavy were his thoughts that he hardly noticed the time. What bridegroom, he thought ruefully, looks for the peace of labor on his wedding night? One fearful of his bride’s gaze on his naked flesh, terrified at seeing disgust etched in her beautiful eyes.
When he heard the reigning cock of the yard give his rising crow, he ventured from the stable and up the stairs to the house. He would not leave her embarrassed before her morning maids by his absence. But upon entering the room, he found her gone. The coverlet was pulled back from the bed and her gown lay in a heap in the center. He winced slightly at what Vespera would consider proper evidence of the consummation; it appeared more as some human sacrifice to him. He had passed no other early risers in the house and could not guess where she might have gone.
He went to the window and threw open the shutters, scanning the grounds with an almost frantic feeling rising in his chest. But he quickly spied her. Some distance from the house, her fur-lined cloak held tightly about her, she occupied the same stump he had visited the day before, sitting there alone and gazing into the dense trees. With a great feeling of relief, he closed the shutters and hastened out of the room.
“Felise?” he gently queried when he was close behind her.
She jumped, startled by his voice, and rose and turned quickly to face him. She looked at him for only a moment and, when she saw the perplexed look on his face, gave a small sob and was in his arms. He hardly knew how to react to her, nor could he fathom the reason for her upset. But tears stained her cheeks and she clung to him.
“Quiet now, lady,” he said gently. “Here now, what grieves you so this early morning?” He held her away from him and lifted her chin. “I know it is not always a pleasant thing for a maid, but surely I did not hurt you so badly as all that.”
Crimson began to mark her cheeks, although she quickly shook her head to reassure him. “I thought you had gone,” she said, her voice quivering.
“Gone?” he questioned. “Where?”
She meant to answer, but her chin only quivered pitifully and great tears filled her eyes. He chuckled in spite of himself, rather taken with her childlike misery at the prospect of his leaving.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he laughed. “Some vixen of my wedding night plagued even my dreams and I was faced with two choices: to wake you and demand more of the same, or leave to seek out the coolness of a winter moon.”
She looked up at him, her tears abating some small bit, and tried to brave a smile.
“Now,” he said. “Where did you think I would go?”
Felise shrugged and looked down. “I ... I thought you’d left and would simply have your men deliver me to my--your home.”
“God’s blood, madam, you truly think me a beast. I know I lack much of the cocky courtier, Felise, but you do me wrong. I have not been so cruel.”
She shook her head, still looking down. Again he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“If I give you my word that you will have fair notice of my travels, will you rest easier?” She nodded, her expression easing almost immediately. “Now what other things must I promise to give you peace of mind?”
“Naught, my lord. But ...” She nearly lost her nerve, but he would not release her chin and nodded sternly for her to continue.
“It is only ... my lord, you frown so.”
Royce threw back his head in spontaneous, genuine laughter. He could barely control his mirth and received only an embarrassed flush from her. “I swear, Felise, it is more the surly set of my jaw and this unsightly scar that make me seem so, not my poor humor.”
“You frighten a maid with your black looks,” she said quietly, trying to defend herself.
He chuckled still, fixing his features in a determined scowl, showing her just how grim and foolish he could be. She laughed lightly, her red-rimmed eyes taking on some of their usual liveliness. “There, I thought I could chase a smile out of you. You should smile as often as you can, Felise,” he said, stroking her hair with his hand. “Though I concede that you probably have great cause for your tears. Not many maids are ordered by a king to take a brutish and ugly master to their beds.”
She let her hand rise and lie firmly on his chest. She wished to reassure him, but the words came hard. “I did not know the trouble my dowry would cause, my lord--Royce. My mother wished it to be good fortune for my future ... to bring only the best nobles to my attention. I do not complain.”
“Nonetheless, you were ordered--a stolen bride. I admit it is a difficult burden ... when you wanted someone else.”
It was in her mind to tell him she wanted no man, but for some reason it was not her wants or lack of them that came to mind, but his. “Celeste is a lovely woman. I understand that you would be very disappointed.”
He could hardly prevent the drawing together of his brows and the hard line his lips made. The thought of Celeste so early this morning would get no gentler reaction from him. Deep in the night while lying beside his bride, he had been given to wondering how different his life would have been spent beside that slim-flanked dame. And she had very nearly had him; he had never thought beyond marriage to her.
“Felise, ours is not the first marriage of necessity, nor will it be the last. I have little doubt there will be difficult times for us. But I am a man to honor whatever vows I make, no matter the circumstances. Of that you can be sure.”
She felt her stomach plummet suddenly. But she immediately tried to bear the weight of this admission more lightly and make the same commitment to him. Although it was hard for her, she reminded herself that if he was a good husband and treated her with some kindness, she could ask for little more. “I will likewise abide by my vows, Royce,” she said softly, hoping she would not cry.
“‘Tis good,” he said with a nod of his head. “If you are troubled, Felise, it is my desire that you bring your miseries to the fore rather than fleeing into the wood in the early dawn. I think the worst I could deal you would be safer than your wandering about alone.”
She nodded. “You are not angry?” she asked rather timidly.
He smiled quite easily, and she decided that whether or not she was loved, his smile gave her some reassurance. “Only a little, madam. As if it were not enough that I had to worry about those who might, in their addled ways, try to steal you away against the king’s intention, I now must worry that you will fly. You have lightened my load with your word.”
“My lord, I do not seek to be a greater burden than you already bear. I will not try to escape you. As with you, Henry’s command is my father’s choice for me and I will abide his decision. If you wake some morning and find me gone, it will not be of my doing.” She paused and looked up at him earnestly. She believed he was suspicious of her still--the same suspicion he had had when she’d played with his men from her window and when he’d found her alone in the gallery. The hardest challenge, she believed, would be in showing him her loyalty. “Do you believe me?” she asked.
“Never lie to me, Felise, and I will have no choice but to take every word from your lips as truth. Yea, I believe you. Now, I am for trying to save this day without black looks or tears. What of you?”
She nodded bravely and he turned her, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm and leading her back to the house. They strolled as lovers would, appearing to any onlooker to be comfortable with each other. “Perhaps one day, Felise, you will forgive Henry for giving such serious thought to your rich lands.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and her eyes were aglow, but she would not look up at him and give all her secrets away on this, their very first day. “Perhaps,” she said. “If I ever accustom myself to your grim countenance.”
***
In a dim gallery in Windsor, two knights met and, upon seeing each other, paused at a fair distance. It was obvious the meeting was a strained one, and they regarded each other with high suspicion. Boltof was the one to take a further step and relax his expression.
“I thought we should talk, Wharton. We have both been slighted.”
Wharton moved closer. “I would have expected you to support him. Have you not called yourself friend?”
Boltof laughed wickedly, his eyes glittering with a strange light. “My bite is the deeper, rest assured. I made myself a friend to Royce when his power with the king became obvious. Henry values the bastard, though I can’t say why. And Celeste required little urging to lie with him ... but what more can I say of my sister? She does not draw many looks from the men, and her estate is not large enough to trap them.” He shrugged. “Truth be known, she craves any man. But I am the fool, for he betrayed me ... as is the way of all Leighton men, is it not?”
Wharton gave a solemn nod, for he had likewise made himself a friend to a Leighton and lived to rue the day.
“Whether you call him betraying or not, I heard the banns posted by Henry’s own voice. It is a matter of fact that he sanctioned the marriage--”
“Royce forced him,” Boltof nearly shouted, forgetting to keep his anger in check. “I sent him to Henry on my own ...”
Wharton’s smile slowly spread, hearing Boltof’s admission. He was possessed by a superior feeling, though he too was not above using the influence of a friend to attain his wants. And he had wanted the woman and her land. She would have made a comely prize in his bed; he had ached for her from the first time he saw her. And her land in France under Richard would have pleased his father, perhaps changing their relationship for the better.
“Yea, I sent Royce to the king for me,” Boltof said. “I offered him half the booty for his mighty influence. But he went to Henry for himself. My stake in this is not small, Wharton. He betrayed me and disgraced my sister, for she will bring nothing to our family now. And the insult to my father is beyond your imagination.”
“I see little you can do about it,” Wharton said unsympathetically. “Perhaps you can buy Celeste a decent marriage if you’re clever. Or send her to a convent.”
“It matters little to me that the king approves the marriage between Leighton and Scelfton. Indeed, the Scelfton house is in much turmoil over this. My father spent the evening hours with Lord Scelfton and they laid every curse to Royce while killing the better part of a keg. They would not chastise any honorable knight who changes their position.”
“But will the Scelfton house move against Royce?” Wharton asked.
Boltof looked away for a moment. “They will not move against Henry.”
“That is what I thought. Nor will I.”
Boltof’s mouth curved into a sinister leer. Wharton might pretend loyalty to the king, but he was known as one who would carry any banner under which there lay a pot of money. “Even if Henry does not know?”
“What do your propose, Boltof? Whatever, it comes from a black heart.”
“The best you can do, Wharton, is to lie in the brush and await Royce’s back, for he’ll not let you within eyesight of his bride. I, too, have heard of your friendships with the Leightons. But I...” He paused, smiling more. “If I act the part of a forgiving friend, seeking only compensation for my spoiled sister and the brotherhood of knights, I can get within his house. Forsooth, within his trust.”
Wharton’s eyes darkened and he turned abruptly to spit on the floor. “Then do your worst, Boltof.
Why do you trouble me with your plans?”
“Because I lack the strength of arms to see it through or a comrade to cover my back. On my own I can offer Royce a fair match, but his men are more skilled than mine and they guard him well. Aye, getting into his house is no problem, but I am without the means to go further.” He shrugged. “I have no desire to anger the king, but I don’t think it will be too difficult, if we’re careful, to wrest Felise away from the rogue. The Leightons are all mad, you know. Her family would regard her rescue as an act of charity.”
“Do you mean to bring some accusation against Royce that will free the woman and the lands from his control?”
“It should not be hard. Few need to be convinced of the horror that Segeland is. Since the days of William the Conqueror, the family has stood apart from the crown and levied war on its neighbors. Until Royce,” he added. “A plot here and there would see it done.” He leaned closer. “What part of the prize do you claim for your assist?”
“You are certain you can get inside his house?”
Boltof nodded sharply, confident of Royce’s trust and his own ability to deceive.
“And the woman will not fight your rescue?”
“I think not,” he said with a shrug. “She is fond of her father’s favor, and Harlan prefers any but Royce. And Royce is an ugly bastard. If Felise does not perish on first sight of Segeland, she will be driven mad by her new husband’s rights in bed. The devil himself has marked the man.”
Wharton thought for a moment of the plan, failing to give any thought to this so-called devil’s mark. He assumed Boltof referred to the poor reputation that followed the family; he knew of no other deformity. “I would have the woman and Aquitaine,” he finally said.
Boltof smiled with confidence. “So be it. Though you may get her with Royce’s brat in her. I will take what is left--and I must trust you to divide the prize if you are to be victor over the woman and her dowry.”
Wharton’s eyes began to gleam in anticipation. He thought of her lively eyes and full breasts, and wild nights of passion. He was good with the women; they had swooned for him before. It would not take him long, he perceived, to tickle the same response from her. And the land in France would put him in a clever position with the crown. Henry could not live forever. Richard would be king.