by Robyn Carr
“You will be satisfied with her English soil, that which Harlan supplies as his part of the dowry?”
“Aye, the English land Harlan has made his dower gift … and Segeland.”
“Segeland?” Wharton repeated, confused.
“You don’t think we’ll get her while Royce is alive, do you?”
“But I thought a rumor of crime--”
“Aye, rumors and death. He is more clever than his father and brothers were. If he has breath in his body, he will find a way to convince the king he is not guilty. When all concerned know that he is guilty, he will die.”
“I don’t know, Boltof,” Wharton began. But he had already licked his lips in contemplation of his booty. “You are certain this will work?”
“There are many possible ways, Wharton. I know more of Royce than you. And what I don’t know, Celeste will supply.”
“She will help you?”
“I have long known the path to that passionate heart. Yea, she will help me ... but I doubt if she’ll know it.”
“When do you go?” Wharton asked, becoming eager.
“I think patience is the best weapon of the day. I will let Royce enjoy his victory for the moment before I seek to make amends. And as for you, you would do well to scatter about your good intentions. Let the king and those around you believe that you are content to move on to other conquests and have already forgotten the proposition. There are others here that let their scorn show ... and they were not so near the victory as you and I.”
“When do we begin, Boltof? I don’t think it wise to wait,” he said, for in his mind he was thinking more of getting the woman in his possession before she was burdened with some Leighton offspring.
“Don’t be a fool, Wharton. We are thought to be enemies. It wouldn’t do for all who see us to take us for friends. Then when something happens to Royce and you are found with the woman, there will be too much guessing. In fact,” he said slyly, “I shall be certain to warn Sir Royce of your ill-concealed disappointment.”
Wharton looked at Boltof carefully. He had never much liked the knight, but he had not given him credit for being so clever. “I warrant you’ve not slept a night since she was taken. Such a plan takes time to prepare.”
“It is not an easy thing for me to fall second,” Boltof said, his eyes hard and angry. “Especially to someone like Royce. It bites me deep that one so deformed and of such knavish family lines should win such favor, while I ... I have an old man who will possess my estate until he dies and a spinster sister who will do no better than the veil, for which I will be forced to provide a dowry for her keeping.” He laughed cynically. “If I were to leave it up to them, I would be lucky to inherit my own demesne when I am a grandfather. It does not please me that my portions are cut so much to my disadvantage. It is time to change that.”
“I wish you luck, Boltof. And I give you fair warning: you may be able to betray Royce easily, but I am a long time in plans of my own, and if you work against me, you will die.”
“There is no need to worry, Wharton,” he said easily. “There are plenty of women about. But there is not a surplus of gold and land. My mother beggared my estate with her late marriage to the old cripple. If he does not ease his grip on my life soon, he may go the way of Royce.”
***
There was a simple comfort at Chaney House that Felise had felt nowhere else and would not likely feel again. Since it had neither the trappings of a castle or hall nor the squalor of a peasant hut, it was a most unusual place. Master Chaney and his wife, seemingly much in love after decades together, brought forth a modest hospitality that had none of the flair of noble houses, yet was clearly the best of everything they had. It was cozy for Felise; she found herself appreciating the solace of their home more each hour.
Vespera’s association with the Chaneys became clear. They had taken their cloth to the convent at Fontevrault, and Vespera, not being a nun, was bidden by the sisters to make the modest purchases. They had shared a mercantile friendship, and it was Vespera who had suggested their home, inconspicuous yet sturdy, as a place where the young couple might safely make and consummate their vows. Vespera was quick to inform Felise that Master Chaney had refused compensation for the lodging and wished only to serve the crown and the two young people. Again Felise was witness to Royce’s need to be upstanding and fair, as in his offer of coin for food and lodging. And with Vespera’s prodding reminders, she was finding good reason to be grateful for the efforts of all these people.
Felise spent three quiet days and evenings with the women and Royce at the Chaney house. If life were to continue just as it was, she would have no cause to grieve. The conflicting messages she received from her husband did not lead her to assume anything of love passed between them, but neither did she feel as threatened as she had earlier.
Royce did not spend a great deal of time with her, leaving her mostly with her women through the day and sharing the morning and evening meals with her, in the company of all the others. He truly lacked the silver-tongued talents like those Wharton possessed, but at least his mood did not seem dark and grim. He left her alone until late at night and was up and dressed early each morning, so she assumed that he tolerated her very kindly. Indeed, she could not complain of his treatment, but she had no indication that he craved her company.
Until late in the night, when he reached for her in the darkness. It was this that left her confused and uncertain. He could keep his cool distance and betray no inner longing, but he loved her with an abandon and rigor that left her breathless. He would even begin their night together by sending her to bed before he was ready to retire, and then she would hear him come into the chamber and his weight would press down the bed. Long moments passed while he lay still at her side, and it seemed the instant she was convinced there was no gathering storm, she would feel his hands on her and open her eyes to see his face above hers.
After only three days she had come to welcome these late-night interludes, for by day she would watch him from afar, judge his brooding eyes, and wonder what inner truths were hidden behind the concealing darkness of those fiercely drawn brows. Yet when that same gaze hovered over her in their bedchamber, his eyes glittered like smouldering embers and revealed his desires to her. Then she felt she knew all of him and that he, in his passion, allowed her to trespass briefly into his soul.
It was at supper on their third evening together that he spoke of his plans. “I will have to leave you tonight, Felise, and ride to Windsor. The contracts are ready for me to carry with us to Segeland.”
“Tonight?”
“It would be most unwise to travel to the palace by day and give away the location of our residence. There are those who strongly feel the insult of our sly marriage.”
“But ‘tis done,” she argued. “What is done cannot be denied. I can belong to no other now.”
“Don’t delude yourself, cherie. There are some who do not care that my mark is on you and I have the king’s favor.” His eyes took on that grim darkness again, seeming to conceal some inner anger she could not fathom. “You seem not to understand your allure.”
“The transfer of lands is written into our marriage contract by the king himself,” she said, missing his meaning entirely.
He laughed somewhat brutishly, but there was at least a twinkle in his eyes. He leaned close to her so that others would not overhear. “It is not the land they crave, my love, but that part of you which only I have known.”
Felise was still tender enough of this new experience to be embarrassed when she thought of their more intimate moments; she was not at all sure her behavior was pleasing to him. Each morning when she arose, finding herself alone, she’d wonder if he thought she was indelicate, shameless. She could not think otherwise; she had known Celeste and could not imagine that shy creature moaning and clawing and clasping Royce tightly. He drew from her this new being that had no control once kindled by his touch. She was too young and unpracticed to imagine that
he would find this pleasing.
“It must pain you mightily that because of me you are forced to travel by night,” she said.
“It is no great delight,” he replied somewhat shortly. “But then, to protect my interests and live up to my contract, it is what must be done.” He took a bite of food from his plate, and without looking at her he added, “Your father will be there.”
“My father?” She watched him as he chewed and nodded rather solemnly. “You must dread this meeting,” she said.
He turned his gaze to her, waiting. She simply met his eyes, little knowing what he required.
“I had not planned to ask this of you, Felise, but since you do not make the offer ... you might ease your father’s mind some small bit by writing a message that you are well and not abused in your new marriage.” She felt instantly foolish for not thinking of this herself, and in her slight stupor, she was momentarily silent. “Unless,” he added, solemnly, “you cannot honestly do so.”
She mentally shook herself. “Of course I can. It is the least I can do.”
He not only did not speak to her again during the remainder of the meal, his attitude was once again cool and removed. She could only think that he was worried about his visit to Windsor and the confrontation with Lord Scelfton, and more than a little put out by her failure to offer him support.
The moment she finished her meal, she hastened to her chamber and requested parchment and a quill from Isabel. It was delivered to her quickly and she set down her words with great care and deep thought:
My dearest mother and father--
That you have labored with worry is in the main my fault because of my many complaints. I no longer begrudge my dowry, marriage, and, least of all, Sir Royce. Indeed, I have come to favor my position and only regret that I was not as wise as the king, for I did not see all that my lord could offer. He treats me well and I could wish for nothing more in a husband. In time, I hope, he will thank His Majesty for this fond meddling. Until we share company again, I am
Your most devoted daughter, Felise
She rolled the page and put a loose ribbon around it, purposely not waxing or folding it. Should Royce choose to examine her words, which she fully expected him to do, let him see that she did not resist marriage to him. How could she? She did not know much of love, but she knew that it felt divine to bask in the mysterious warm glow of his smouldering eyes and that to be enveloped in his strength brought her greater ease and peace of mind than the hundred or so men-at-arms lining her father’s great wall. He was obstinate, secretive, and determined, all the things she loved and feared. His stern and scarred face intrigued more than repelled her. She was beginning to find greater allure in the fact that he could not be called a pretty or boyishly clever young man. His experience titillated her, his manliness, nowhere soft or delicate, excited her. And this, to Felise, was the nearest thing to love she had ever known.
She was thinking of Edrea’s words as she lay in her lonely bed. To guide his errant step with a gentle smile, to meet him in warmth and kindness: these were the things she would try to do for him. And in time, perhaps he would forget Celeste and begin to care for her.
She half-expected him to visit their common room only for a change of clothing and to collect her message, but instead he darkened the room and joined her in the bed. Again he lay quietly beside her, as if he barely noticed her. And then she felt his wandering hand, his hesitant lips, and finally he made his intentions clear and she yielded to him all the tender feelings she held tightly in her heart--hidden feelings that she had never shared nor even fully acknowledged. She clung fiercely to the private joy she knew when nothing threatened them and they were alone.
When she rose in the morning, both Royce and the rolled and tied missive were gone.
Eight
Royce traveled by night to Windsor, lingered there through the day, and returned to the Chaney house under the stars. He arrived before dawn, waking Master Chaney for the second time. He spent the remainder of the darkness in the large dining hall where those who had returned with him found pallets on the floor.
Beside his wife, sharing her warmth and enjoying the feel of her silken flesh, was where he wished to be, but he did not venture there again. Instead he brooded, heavy with the many worries and angry feelings he had brought back from Windsor. Henry could not be faulted for the turn of events, nor could Scelfton. Still, Royce had been insulted. He thought perhaps it was his ancestors he hated most at this moment.
Lord Scelfton had read the missive from his daughter and raised his fierce scowl to Royce. Royce had no idea what his wife had written. He had made himself a promise not to trespass there. Even now, he found it difficult to imagine she cried for her father’s rescue. But something in that message had alerted Lord Scelfton to her dissatisfaction. “If I find my daughter in less than the best humor, Leighton, I shall find the way to see you fall,” he had blustered.
“If she is discontented,” Royce returned with a strong voice, “it is because she is wed without choice and hidden from her family. She suffers not from the harshness of my hand or my purse. I yield her all the customary benefices due a wife in good standing, and on this I make my oath. I am not so rich as you, but neither am I jealous of my money. All I can afford in mercy and coin is hers for the asking.” He had bowed shortly, disgruntled that his intention should be questioned, and forced himself to remember that the old lord had little reason to trust him. And of course no one could know how he valued the woman.
The meeting proceeded smoothly then, thanks to Henry’s soft touch. Somehow the king managed to give great patience to Harlan’s surly mood. He laughed more than once about the discomfort of having two such trusted vassals at odds; how plentiful his kingdom might be should two strong and loyal friends find a common bond. But Lord Scelfton had refused to sign the dower contracts in the end unless Henry would allow some of Twyford’s own men-at-arms to aid in carrying the couple to Segeland.
“I have no desire to decry my oath or my allegiance,” Harlan argued. “But I will not see my only daughter endangered in the process. I will see her to safety before I promise to accept any man as her husband.”
Whether speaking from assurance that Royce would do right by his prize or failure to find a better way, no one could be sure. But Henry agreed to this. “Sign the contracts of marriage and dowry, Harlan,” the king said in good humor. “I am confident that Sir Royce, henceforth Lord Leighton, is the best man. And you may send a few escorts to assure yourself.”
Thus it was that Royce returned to the Chaney house with not just any of Harlan’s loyal vassals, but all three of his sons. He could hardly justify taking his bride again on this night while her hefty brothers tossed upon their pallets just below, however he hungered for her sweet flesh. And hunger he did, thinking peace from this wanting would never come. A stray scent of her, a red-gold thread of her hair laced onto his tunic, the memory of her velvety skin--any thought of her filled him with desire. And that desire blended with pride and fear. It pained him that he felt undeserving of her wealth and beauty.
The feelings assailed him again when she descended into the hall in the morning. She wore her gown of deep green velvet lined with fur, and her hair was pulled away from her face to trail down her back in a sober braid. She had taken up a custom of dressing in a more casual manner while staying here, leaving off adornment and not fussing over veils, wimples, or elaborate styles. Her simplicity was somehow more appealing than a labored and fancy effect.
As she entered the hall, her eyes lit up to see him and she approached with a smile for him, taking no notice of the others in the room. “Have you only just returned, my lord?” she questioned happily.
“Only a few hours ago,” he said, rising from his place at the table.
“A few hours? But--” She stopped herself. “How did you find my father?” she asked solicitously. “Was he agreeable?”
Royce gave his head a short nod, hoping he was keeping his sour mood i
n check. “In the end he proved so, madam, although he made some further requirements of us.”
“How so?” she asked.
“We are to be escorted to Segeland,” he responded, knowing full well that however much he tried to control his tone, the aggravation in his voice could be heard. He was ashamed of Segeland; he found it foul enough a prospect to present to Felise, and was less than happy to have a description carried back to Lord Scelfton. He did not know what to expect once the brothers reported where Felise was bound to live. He thought he might be willing to kill anyone who would try to take her away.
He inclined his head toward the three broad-shouldered knights in the hall and Felise followed his gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Maelwine? Evan? Dalton?” She seemed perplexed by their presence. Felise frowned as each head nodded. These young men had alternately teased and protected her, but on this meeting they were quiet and solemn. She turned her questioning gaze to Royce, whose own dark countenance rested on the Scelfton knights.
Suddenly the dawning came. Only her brothers could see the angry flare in her bright eyes. “Why are you here?” she asked hotly.
Evan was the one to step forward of his brothers. “To assure our father that you are well and your residence will protect you against aggressors. On the journey to Segeland, Felise, you should have ample protection.”
“Does our father mistrust my own hand? I sent him word that I was safe and well and that Royce does honorably by me. What insult is this?”
“I perceive no insult, sister. Your dowry is rich and you are still considered a prize by some knaves who would not be discouraged by the protection of Royce.”