by Robyn Carr
“No insult,” Royce scoffed, the irritation strong in his voice. “I am approved by His Majesty, but you will follow me home to judge my wealth and protection.”
“Nay, Royce, not to judge you but to see to our sister’s--”
Felise gave her head a shake, as if in denial. “When will I be done with this wretched purse?” she demanded irately. “Holy Mother of God, I am ogled and pawed and snatched in the dark of night, bedded by the order of the king, and when I perceive the folly done and my life to be my own, though obliged to my lord, my father sends his troops.” Her voice had risen in anger, a voice that her brothers had heard a time or two, but that no other in the Chaney house knew her to have. Even Vespera ventured down a step or two from the upper level to listen, though she kept carefully out of sight.
Evan’s brows drew together. “Whatever piques your temper, Felise, before our father releases lands and monies from his own stores for this marriage, he will be assured it can be well used. We are bidden to carry the word back to him that all is well.”
She turned to Royce, finding good reason for his mood, although she didn’t know half the reason, for she’d never seen Segeland. “You did not approve their interference?” she asked.
“I had little choice, madam. They were bound by Lord Scelfton and by the king.”
She turned her back on her brothers and stepped closer to Royce. Her eyes still blazed with anger and humiliation.
Having accepted her lot, she was still being treated as an immature child to be alternately protected and forced, whichever served the immediate need. “Did they keep you from your rightful place of rest?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Royce lifted an amused brow. He wondered for a moment if the source of her temper lay in sleeping without him for two nights. It did not pain him at all to think that even if she despised him in other things, she might crave his presence in her bed. He smiled his pleasure down on her, though the scrutiny of the Scelftons did not ease him into a romantic mood. “I admit I was more reluctant to join you there,” he whispered, indicating the brothers with his eyes. “But they made no special request of me.” He shrugged. “I am honored, cherie. I did not know I pleased you so well.”
In spite of herself her cheeks warmed, the way they always did when facing him in the cool light of morning and hearing one of his roguish remarks about their intimacies. It briefly occurred to her to chastise him for the crudity of his wit, but it was more than that. She was angry with them all--her brothers and her husband--for their impersonal treatment, as if she were but a bag of gold being transported across the country. And of course there was the anxiety that her desires would hold no importance and these brothers would take her home. It was one thing to worry that someone like Wharton would try to wrest her away; it was quite another to think that her family would find some reason to usurp Royce and see him replaced. And, although she had been given no choice, the prospect of another in his place was unthinkable.
“Do they journey with us to Segeland?” she asked. “Soon?”
“We will leave when you have readied your things.”
She turned again to her brothers. She tried to keep her hostility covered, wishing to be away from all of them. “You may carry word to Father that I am well. You need not venture so far as--”
A pained look came over Evan, but he cut her off, speaking in spite of his discomfort. “It will not do, Felise. There are rumors ...”
“Rumors?” She laughed ruefully. “Of a certain, Evan. But do you neglect all your duties for rumors?”
She was not aware that Royce had turned his back on the conversation, but Evan saw. “The story is that his own mother was taken to Segeland in chains.”
It came as a surprise, there was no denying that. Felise turned toward Royce but found he would not even look upon the conversation. She made a quick decision not to question this, nor to argue further with her brothers. Somewhere, perhaps beside the softness of a low fire deep in the night when Royce opened his arms and heart to her, she would gently inquire. Not in any fear for herself, but in consideration for what he might have been through. His back bore witness to his anger and shame, and her heart went out to him.
“Then I will see my things readied and we may get quickly to Segeland. You may assure yourselves that I am neither abused nor held against my will.”
She walked toward Royce and went around him to look at his face. “I did not complain to my father, messire.”
“I did not accuse you,” he said.
“Nay, but it almost seems as though--”
“Their presence will be useful on the journey. We’ll travel by day with the added arms.”
“Is it a long journey, Royce?”
“A few days, no more.”
“Very well,” she said resolutely. “Let us get the riding done and see to Segeland. I did hear you say it required a good hand, did I not?”
Royce felt the tugging of a prideful smile as he looked down at her. “A woman’s hand,” he corrected.
She nodded and turned away from him, her skirts swirling, and fled up the stairs. She passed Vespera, that wise dame keeping a serious expression until Felise passed, then allowing a slow smile to spread across her face. Vespera turned and went up the stairs again, feeling her presence was required by Felise and not by the men.
The three men standing at the hearth and judging the back of their sister’s husband shared few common characteristics beyond their looks. Evan was the most like his father. Maelwine, closest to Felise in age, was also most kindred to her in spirit. And Dalton, who was ambitious and enjoyed his labors, found this retreat from his own duties to be bothersome. But all of them seriously considered their father’s word to be law.
It was Evan who attempted to speak to Royce. “Sir Royce, I judge this inconvenience to be great in your mind, but if you mean to do well by our sister, I see no reason we should not travel in a lighter spirit. We are, after all, bent upon one purpose.”
Royce turned to look at them, a nerve twitching in his jaw. He eyed them coldly for a moment and then, taking large steps, left the hall, his action giving the lie to their idea of common purpose.
When the door had closed, Dalton let loose a long, low whistle. Maelwine sat heavily on a stool, and Evan reached for three empty tankards on the table, filling them with cool ale. “He takes this interference badly,” Evan said.
Maelwine laughed shortly. “You, who have lived so many years with Lord Scelfton, should not wonder at a man who despises any outsider impinging on his authority.”
“We are not outsiders,” Dalton asserted. “Felise is of our name.”
Maelwine looked between his brothers, taking a cup from Evan. “You are blind or fools. She has made her choice. She takes a new name.”
“You think she wants him, then?” Evan asked.
“There is no question. The lass has chosen. He plays the game to her satisfaction.”
“And if we find him to be unworthy and the keep unsafe?” Evan asked.
“‘Twill be a bed of thorns, Evan,” Maelwine answered. “She will not willingly come away with us. Her eyes speak for her, she has cast her lot with him.”
Evan sat heavily and took a long pull on his drink. “I see no love pass between Royce and our sister.”
“Mark me, Evan,” Maelwine said with a sly smile. “We’ll see little of love while we hover over the groom with swords drawn. And unless I am wrong about Felise, she may well drive us away at dagger point to have her husband in her bed again. Let us give the man time. She is not a complete fool. Something of worth must lie hidden there.”
“She has changed,” Evan argued. “Perhaps he abuses her and she is too proud to tell us.”
Maelwine laughed loudly at that. He slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Yea, she has changed, but I don’t think it is wrought of abuse. We’ll watch closely, but I venture we will only see the little one has become a woman ... and she has found her man.”
***
Four days and nights were spent on the road to Segeland. On the first night, when there was no adequate lodging on the road, they made a camp within the shelter of their wagons. On the second night there was a humble stable for the women, and the men found pallets on the cold ground outside. The third night saw a merchant dispossessed that nobility might sleep more comfortably, and on the final night of the journey there was an adequate travel house in Coventry. Twenty horsed men could have done the trip in two days, but carts, women, and baggage took longer.
Felise tried to keep her spirits light and travel well, but it was an internal battle that would challenge the most courageous person. Royce was distant and glum, riding well ahead of her most of the time. Her brothers, much of the same mood, rode behind her. There was a cursing and tension between the Twyford knights and the Segeland troop. The loyalties of each were firmly tied, and Felise had ceased to know with whom she should be bound. She traveled within the group on a spotted palfrey, trying not to think in terms of opposing forces. Vespera rode beside her.
“Do you plan to return to Eleanor or Fontevrault after we have reached Segeland?” Felise asked her.
Vespera looked straight ahead. “I need not,” she said quietly. “Neither am I required to stay with you. But, if what Sir Royce says is true, you may have need of an extra hand with the poor place. I am willing.”
“I have little understanding of your interest in this,” Felise said with candor. “I knew you to be a castle servant bidden to the queen and knew your place was to take my cloak and bring me kindly messages, but after that...”
Vespera laughed softly. “I have been bidden to Her Majesty for almost five decades--since I was a child myself,” she said, her eyes wistful. “I was released to Fontevrault just before she was taken prisoner by Henry. I cannot accompany her into confinement now.”
“But do you stay with me for her?” she asked.
“In a manner. I can reassure her that you are well. And in a manner ‘tis for Lady Edrea, for she trusts me. But in the main, ‘tis for you. I have said I served the queen for many years. You were born in her house.”
Felise was suddenly interested. She had continually put the past far to the rear of her thoughts, for it had little to do with the present. “You knew my mother?” she asked.
Vespera sighed. “Truth, I knew the woman who gave you birth only slightly. I knew she reigned as the most beautiful in Eleanor’s court and sang of love and longing in the troubadour fashion. She was a gifted poetess. And I knew she loved a knight of Eleanor’s company who left her for another ... I knew she loved you. I’m afraid that is very little to know.”
“Her name? Do you know her name?”
“She has been gone a very long time, lady. How many years are you?”
“Eight and ten. Too old, some say, to marry.”
Vespera laughed again and Felise began to remember that musical ripple as a comfort, before the madness of weddings and beddings had begun. “I think not too old, dear Felise. I think perhaps the time was exactly right. What do you think?”
“I think, madam, that too many are hurt by this.”
“But still we move to Segeland, and as I watch you, I see that even though you worry, you venture on. Surely if you wished it otherwise, your brothers would take you home.”
“In defiance of the king?” she asked.
“In defiance of God, should you reject the choice made for you.”
“You forget, Vespera. It is possible that I already carry my lord’s child. ‘Tis done.”
“Only if you wish it so,” Vespera quietly added.
Felise was silent for a moment, thinking heavily on these words. Harlan would give succor not only to her but to any offspring of this hastily consummated union. Edrea would in like rear any child as lovingly as she had her own. It was not as though she was without people who cared for her. But whether the one she wanted cared ... it was too soon to know. “Until this order from the king, he had an obligation to another,” she said quietly, the sting of tears creeping into her eyes.
“We will reach Segeland soon, Felise. Will the weight of jealousy bear down on you and keep you from making a home for Royce?” Vespera asked.
“‘Tis not jealousy,” she said softly, turning toward the woman with tear-filled eyes. “Or perhaps it is. I know that Celeste has for many years managed Lord Orrick’s home, and my lord has made it clear he regrets that he cannot have her.”
Vespera sighed. “Then you shall find a way to change his mind.”
“I don’t know if that is possible,” Felise said dejectedly. “And if it is possible, I do not know the way.”
Vespera looked at her sharply, that boldness creeping again into her eyes. “You are clever enough, my lady. I have little knowledge of these worldly things, but Lady Edrea became dear to me ... and I know she did not fail you. And I know nothing of men, having never been a wife or mistress of a hall, but I, too, judged the fair Celeste when she was in the company of Royce. I did not see him cast any smitten look her way.”
“When were you in their company?” she asked.
“I am seldom noticed.” Vespera shrugged. “The way of the sisters is to move softly and silently, and I think it has become my way by their example. But I frequented the halls in service to Her Majesty and was oft in the great hall when many others dined. I am not very noticeable ... but I am careful to take notice.”
“Then you have seen the others--Wharton and Boltof?”
“Yea. I saw them.”
“And yet you asked me how I found them?”
Vespera looked pointedly at her. “I looked at their eyes as well, my lady. And I saw what you saw. Neither was the worthy knight in my mind.”
Felise was instantly distracted by conflicting thoughts. She had been ready to take either man, had her father approved. But now that Royce had made his mark on her, she had trouble imagining the meagerest smile from the cast-off knights.
“And Royce?” she asked Vespera.
The woman looked her way, pausing as if to think her words through. She looked straight ahead again, concentrating for a moment, then looked back at Felise. “I think your lady mother’s advice was strong; seek him with all good purpose and find out for yourself what worth lies there. My impression of him means nothing. Ah, it seems you may begin at once,” she said with a smile. Both women noticed that Royce had delayed his steed by the side of the road, seeming to wait for most of the train to pass.
Felise’s mare was small beside Royce’s destrier and the squeaking of the wheels of the cart made conversation much more of a chore for him than it had been for Vespera, who at least rode level with her. Royce became frustrated with the distance between them and the nearness of other riders.
“There has been little enough time to sort through the things I have meant to tell you on this journey,” he finally said, his voice somewhat strained. “When we stop for the night, I’ll ask you to take a few moments for a private conversation.”
Felise was amazed at the formality. She laughed aloud. “I think it can be managed,” she mirthfully returned.
He seemed to find no humor, but it didn’t matter. She was plagued by a coarse wit, her mother had said. Truly, for her own husband, whether or not he relished the fact, to have lain with her and now to plead softly for a moment of time seemed a bit ridiculous. Although he rode on with the same dour spirit, Felise caught herself laughing once or twice at the preposterous situation. She hoped he’d found the need for some tryst, and her glee alternated with determination to get rid of her burdensome brothers as soon as possible, that Royce might again find his rightful bed.
I am a whore, she thought disdainfully. But thank the Virgin, I am at least a married one.
If Royce felt a growing need for her body, he did not betray it. He rose from his meal at the travel house and announced that he wished to speak with his wife and asked, somewhat caustically, if he would be allowed a private conference. The Scelfton men seemed perplexed by the
inquiry and only Maelwine responded. “None among us wishes to keep you from your bride, Sir Royce. I thought that was to be understood.”
“You have said so,” Royce replied unhappily. “But I do not see your closeness wane.” He turned to Felise. “Madam?”
It was wretched, having the family she loved and the man she wanted at such odds. She could not stare venomously at her brothers, for she understood them and their purpose. Neither could she be angry with Royce’s hostile nature, for he was entitled to be aggravated with them. She simply put her hand in his and let him lead her out into the cold evening air.
“Segeland lies one half day’s travel down this road, madam. There was no way I could prepare the hall for your arrival.”
“You have said it was neglected, my lord. I do not fault you for this. Your time has been better spent.”
“It is worse than neglected. I have not spent a fortnight in that hall in over a score of years. Many believe it is haunted by the angriest ghosts.”
She laughed lightly, hoping to put him at some ease.
“I believe it is haunted by evil,” he said pointedly. “I have long felt the weight of a curse on the Leightons--one I would see end, though I will not deny that I’ve felt the burden myself.”
Her smile vanished and she looked at him closely.
“You must at least know your ghosts, Felise. The rumor is true: my mother was not a willing bride but a captive; she was the wife of some Welsh lord. My father desired her and took her to Segeland in ropes. That he married her within the church is of little import since she had a living husband at the time, which to my way of knowing makes me a bastard.”
“‘Tis naught of your concern,” she said lightly, trying to smooth the hurt. “You are the heir, it is your home now.”
“The hall is rubble and the town dies more with each moon. The people have been angry and ill since I was a boy, and from my grandfather’s story, long before then. My father, it is said, murdered his eldest son, though it could have been an accident. My other brother’s death was no accident. He was killed while he slept after a bitter quarrel with his friend, Sir Wharton.”