The Troubadour's Romance

by Robyn Carr

  Her mouth formed a large O at the news. “Wharton killed your brother?”

  “I would be remiss if I did not tell you that Wharton denies any knowledge of Aylworth’s death and in like accuses me.” He laughed ruefully. “He charges that I was eager to inherit the fair Segeland and killed my brother to have it. Certainly Wharton never saw the place or he would know the lunacy of his words. I will tell you only once: I did not kill my brother. Nor would I ever kill a man who is sleeping and therefore defenseless. You may choose your own belief about it.”

  “I believe you, Royce,” she said quietly.

  He seemed to pay little regard to her good faith. He went on with his story of hauntings. “My mother, God rest her, took her own life when she could bear her imprisonment no longer. You will not find this to be a pretty place.”

  “Is that why you have stayed so long away?” she asked innocently.

  “I cannot bear the place ... but I see the time has come to do what I can to secure family lands. I have tried to escape the name and its curse, yet it will follow.”

  “There is no curse but fear,” she said softly.

  “You have not seen the place.”

  “Will you be disappointed if I am not afraid?” she asked him. “Why do you tell me these things? To drive me farther from my purpose?”

  “The purpose of your heart and the king’s order are different matters, lady. You must know what you face.”

  “Why not lighten your watch, Sir Royce? You warn me so often and so heartily that I am left only to think you would prefer one such as Wharton to be successful and steal me. Is this why you resent my brothers? They help to keep me at your side.”

  “I would only have to seek Wharton and fight him. Nay, I do not hope that he takes you. I only mean for you to know the truth.”

  She studied his profile, for he spoke without looking into her eyes. The line of his jaw was stern again. She touched it gingerly. “How did you come by the scar, my lord?”

  He turned to her, his frown intense. “Do not ask about my scars, Felise. They are hard earned. And raw.”

  She sighed heavily. How much softness to his anger could she muster, she asked herself. “Was Segeland good enough for Celeste?” she asked. Again his eyes were piercing as if hatred lingered there. But she was persistent. “Was it?” she asked.

  “That was a different matter. I would not have taken her there without first making some provisions for her. This marriage was hasty and there was no time.”

  “Do you mean to treat me as badly as your mother was treated?” she asked, noticing that he winced at the question. She considered that answer enough. “If not, then we shall call the matter done and make the best of our sorry lot.” An edge of anger and jealousy crept into her voice. “If Celeste was another matter, I shall try not to let my envy show.”

  “I mean to take only supervision of your dowry. Tis yours, for your children.”

  She could barely stand his distance, especially at this point in their discussion. She reached a cold hand to his chin and turned his face. “I bid you remember, Sir Royce, that I came to you a pure bride. If the children are mine, so are they thine. I have asked little enough of you.”

  “I only seek fairness,” he said shortly. “I would not turn away from any child.”

  “Yet my illness sets you on edge,” she retorted.

  “Illness? Are you not well?”

  “I must not be,” she said, her voice piqued. She was highly exasperated by his skittish mood and averted face. “But when I came by the plague cannot be further from my knowledge, yet you treat me as though I am dangerous ... I seldom see your eyes, much less hear your voice.”

  “Perhaps your protection is too stout,” he grumbled.

  She looked at the side of his face and shook her head in denial. “Then, sir knight, I gave you more credence than you were due.” He looked at her sharply and she shrugged as though she had not spoken. “If Segeland needs some caring for, we shall be busy. I humbly thank you for your frankness. Tis a better thing that I know what worries plague you.” He looked at her in some wonder. “There is something more, monseigneur?” He shook his head. “The night is cold and I shiver,” she invited, hoping he would draw her near. Instead, he turned her and led her back into the room with the fire, their conversation done.

  Nine

  Felise’s first glimpse of the keep and town from a distance was so like the picture she’d made in her mind that she doubted her own mortal and therefore limited senses and wondered if she’d dreamt the place. They rose atop a hill, the site obviously chosen for its natural protection. The wall surrounded a modest town. The fields outside were barren in late winter. There were no grazing animals; the wood was a good and safe distance from the hall.

  As they came closer, she could clearly see the condition of ill repair. The place appeared to be abandoned but for one or two villagers who cautiously peered out of their simple houses as the riders passed toward the hall. Some Leighton ancestor with visions of power had provided a strong wall and sturdy keep, but little had been done to maintain the place. Her first curiosity rose: since the fundamental necessities were here, why had no one taken the town and hall? They were not defended. Did Royce wish some neighboring noble to usurp him? Did curses and ghosts keep the brigands away?

  The keep was raised out of the local stone and looked to be over one hundred years old, perhaps even constructed by some landed Norman centuries ago. It was as solid a structure as a rich man could build in a score of years--yet the village road had not been cleared, filled, or widened in as many years. Smoke from the roofs of the thatched houses indicated residents, but there was no sign of stock, children, or guards.

  Felise heard her brothers muttering behind her, quite possibly all asking the same questions as she. They gained the hall; within, the conditions were the same. It was in want of cleaning and staff and apparently housed only sad memories. There was no fire in the hearth, something that even the poorest halls could offer to travelers.

  Felise was rather taken with the place, as if it was a simple matter to look past the dust and vermin to see a shining home. The main hall was large and a few trestle tables and benches were scattered about. The cold, dirty hearth would bank a fire that could warm one hundred men-at-arms. The stairway to the second level was wide and solid stone, and the ceiling was high. There were no windows here, which would keep the place warm in winter, cool in summer, and safe in all seasons. She anticipated the second level, hoping to find the same good sense in the construction.

  “I have sent Sir Hewe to find the bailiff,” Royce informed her.

  “There is a bailiff here?” she asked. “What does he do?”

  “He is one of the few vassals of my father and brother worth retaining,” Royce said somewhat defensively. “He sees mostly to the welfare of the town, his function in the main being to keep some records.”

  Felise frowned her confusion but did not question Royce further. The answers, she told herself, would come in time. Many curiosities assailed her. Why had these villeins chosen their meager shacks over the warmth of the hall, especially if the lord of all this had abandoned it? Why was there a bailiff to keep records when clearly there were only modest--if any--revenues from this sorry place? Why had Royce’s warnings been so vehement, as if the place was a scandalous shack, when in fact it was a worthy if neglected keep?

  She had recognized Sir Hewe on the first morning of their travels as the one among Royce’s men who had flirted with her in London. He was a friendly and kind young man, though his frivolous behavior had vanished with the marriage. They had nodded at each other once in recognition and from that point on had not so much as allowed their eyes to meet. Felise wondered if Hewe feared Royce.

  The bailiff’s name was Colbert and he was sturdy, gray haired, and over fifty years. When he entered the hall he gave Royce a short bow, shook his hand, and maintained a serious expression, conveying no special happiness or relief at the reunion. Fel
ise watched them and listened to their brief conversation.

  “How many tenants this winter?”

  “One hundred or so. Only two deaths during this cold, Sir Royce.”

  “And stock?”

  “Less than the previous year.”

  “Revenues?”

  “Barely anything, sir. But the tithe is met.”

  “Planting?”

  Colbert shrugged. “They save their seed, but ‘tis poor. Last harvest saw little.”

  Felise approached them, gathering that Royce was not going to introduce her properly. When Royce became aware of her, he presented Colbert. “My lady Felise, my wife,” he said. “Colbert has been the bailiff here since I was born. He was a young man then.”

  “Bailiff?” Felise said, smiling at the man, but noticing it did not seem to warm him. “From your conversation, it sounds as though you act more the castellan here. Tell me, Master Colbert, why do the people not use this vacant hall in the cold months?”

  “There are many worries to keep them from the hall, lady,” he answered easily. “They keep to their huts lest the master return and demand his home, and they fear the place brings bad luck. The priest who visits our town tells them not to conspire with the devil even if Satan provides the warmth of a stone hall.”

  Felise did not see the darkening of Royce’s expression with these words, but rather she laughed softly at Colbert. “Then does no one see to Sir Royce’s house? It is badly in need of repair and cleaning.”

  “I did not require it of them,” Royce said. “I did not plan to use the hall as a residence. It has been vacant for some years and was neglected for many years before that.”

  She looked around, more interested in what would have to be done to make the place habitable than in its ominous reputation. “How long has it been empty?” she asked.

  “Since my brother’s death ... just a few years.”

  “Hmmm. Well, are there those who would be willing to work here?” she asked Colbert. “Some extra labor would do to see the place decent, but we will need a few to remain, lest it go to ruin again. My lord, are there quarters within the hall for one or two families to remain in service to the manor?”

  “I would leave that to you, madam, when you’ve surveyed the place.”

  “You intend to live here?” Colbert asked.

  “Of course,” Felise replied. “Why do you think we are here?”

  “As usual ... ah ... I supposed that Sir Royce came to judge the revenues and tithes and ... pardon, lady. It has been empty a long time. I don’t know who to name willing,” Colbert said. “They are simple people and frightened of ghosts.”

  “But there are no ghosts,” she said simply. Whatever the malady that plagued all these people, including her husband, Felise was not concerned about malevolent spirits or other imaginings. This was another asset to living with Edrea, who was all good sense and seldom carried away by any superstition.

  But she noticed that Royce seemed to look away, his jaw tensed, and Colbert looked down at her with a certain tolerance she read to mean he doubted her bravery more than the presence of evil in the hall. A chuckle escaped her. “May God forgive you both for forgetting His mercy. Go to your people, Colbert, and find me a few stout men and two strong women, and remind them that the living are by far stronger than the dead. And if we are to live here permanently, there is work to be done. Royce?”

  His voice came as a strained whisper, as if for her ears alone. “I beg you understand, lady, that it is not so much the spirits of those who died here that frighten these peasants, but more the memory of rule. My grandfather, my uncle, my father, my brother--all were cruel lords. I venture they expect the same from me.”

  “Then we shall show them otherwise,” she returned, an almost cheerful note to her voice. “Will you send Master Colbert to find us a few workers?”

  He nodded, but his eyes were glassy and distant. Felise was left to stare at her husband, who seemed almost paralyzed. He was not taking charge of the situation for them. The entry and main hall were slowly filling up with the people who had traveled there with them, but Royce gazed about as if he did not see them. She couldn’t help but wonder if his vision of returning here with Celeste after the hall had been cleaned and readied caused him some melancholy.

  “Is there a store of provender for these travelers, Royce?” she asked.

  “Some,” he said distractedly. “I’m certain it is modest: a keg or two of ale, wine, perhaps a bag of grain. We will have to hunt. There would be nothing to butcher for a meal this eventide.”

  “We were foolish not to carry food from Coventry. Might we send a wagon there now?”

  “For the morning?” he asked.

  Felise sighed heavily. She would not be put off by his musings over his lost bride. If what he needed was time to adjust to coming here with her, she would at least show her worth.

  “Aye, since supplies cannot be brought here any sooner, we should send someone right away. Let us see to the storerooms and chambers. We can’t do much before sunset, but dry wood for the fire can be found, small game killed and cleaned and put to roast, and Daria and Vespera can judge the supplies and perhaps add to our meal with bread. Surely there is a laying hen or two in the village.”

  Royce nodded and began slowly to come to terms with the work ahead. He turned to an older knight he called Sir Trumble and asked him to gather four men for a short hunt, four to take a cart to Coventry, and four to aid him in the stable. When Felise was satisfied that he was busy, she began her own assessment.

  Maelwine and Vespera went with Felise, while Dalton and Evan set out looking for a store of dry firewood to warm the hall, and Daria was instructed to rummage through the kitchens for usable items. It was almost an adventure for Felise, who found there was a great deal more to Segeland than was apparent at first glance. More than a few kegs of good winter ale were found in a storeroom dug under the kitchens. There was decent Gascony wine, a meager amount of bagged meal, a fine collection of dried herbs and spices, and even some trunks of linens that badly needed washing but were otherwise in good condition.

  Her original opinion held true as she wandered through the large rooms. When bright fires warmed each hearth, when pots of brewis simmered in great kettles, when tapestry hangings decorated the walls and rushes and rugs lay scattered about the hard floors, this would be a good home. Workers would be needed to make repairs on the road, they would need better than the small game from a short hunt, and there were many places that could use a skilled craftsman to repair walls, doors, and furniture.

  Felise did not see what was lacking. She saw what was there. Segeland was large. Strong. The earth on which it stood was fertile. Stuffed in the corners of empty rooms and closets there were broken chairs, benches, and cookware. The draperies were of a good imported cloth, thick and well sewn. She moved faster and chattered more with every new discovery. “These dishes will do, but I fear our lack of mugs ... a good spring breeze will take the smell out of these quilts ... there is ale and wine enough for the longest winter ... the supply of meal is more than adequate until Coventry’s stores can be investigated ... a good hand on this trestle table will give it another score of years ... oil on these stools will soften the wood and give it a shine ...”

  Vespera followed quietly, nodding with every exclamation. Maelwine followed but grumbled, perhaps more because he wanted to judge the place, not renovate it to her satisfaction. On the second level she was stopped short for a moment. Her breath caught in her throat at what she saw. Twin chambers stood at the top of the high and dangerous staircase. One, the door creaking open loudly, as if in pain, was a lord’s chamber, judging by the design of the high bed and chests and table desk. The other, barred heavily from the outside, must have been the lady’s chamber. There, Felise suspected, Royce’s mother had been held captive.

  There was a third door inside, joining the chambers. Here too there were bars and bolts on the lord’s side. From within she could see that
the rooms were large and equal, but for the doors that gave the lord of the manor the advantage of keeping a prisoner. The window from the lady’s chamber was closed with stone and there were brackets on the wall, attached to the stone, that may once have held chains.

  Felise walked toward the place where the window was walled up, wondering if this measure had been meant to prevent escape or keep the pitiful woman from jumping to her death. She faced the stone and stared at it as if she would look through it.

  “If the bricks are knocked out and a garden fashioned in the inner bailey, it could be viewed from here,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice.

  “By God, Felise, don’t you see what this place is?” Maelwine asked with impatience.

  She turned to him. “I see,” she said.

  “This place, this room and all of the hall, are not worthy of the beasts, much less you.”

  “Maelwine, it must be made worthy. None of us, not even Royce, had a hand in this travesty.”

  “I would have you stay in the stable under my guard before I would leave you in this prison.”

  “Maelwine,” she sighed, shaking her head. “This was a bitter place, as Royce explained. It need not remain so.”

  “How will our father accept the news that you reside in a hall haunted by the evil of generations of Leightons? Good God, the townspeople are so afraid they cannot be induced to work here, and the lord of the manor walks through the rooms as if asleep, indeed in the midst of a nightmare. ‘Tis clear his protection is not equal to your status.”

  Status, she thought wearily. She found herself wishing again for her mother. All the men in her life, from her father and brothers to the king to her husband and the suitors at court, made these dreary assumptions about her status. She was too good to sleep in this dilapidated mansion, but not too good to be ordered wed to a stranger--one that she had even feared. She didn’t understand where her true value lay.

  She wished Maelwine had stayed away and Edrea had been allowed to accompany her. At least her mother’s simple wisdom in these matters would be more useful to her now than her brother’s criticism.