The Troubadour's Romance

by Robyn Carr

  “From Coventry,” the priest returned.

  “Then get thee to Coventry, and we shall see that another priest visits here. And should you venture this way again, be it known you are not welcome. God’s mercy on you, if it is not too late.”

  Other knights had arrived in the street, and the priest quickly nodded toward his guards to sheathe their swords. The priest mounted and they quickly turned their horses and rode away from the town.

  Felise looked toward Ulna. “Who else plagues this town?” she asked as gently as she could.

  “There have not been thieves in a long while, my lady. There is nothing left to steal.”

  Felise gave her head a sharp nod. “We shall henceforth close the gate and man the wall, for as we prosper, so will the brigands notice this hamlet again. And these knights of Royce will let no traveling band stake its claim here.”

  Ulna nodded and smiled. Felise noticed, for the first time since her arrival, that some of the doors were opened more than a crack and people were looking out onto the street.

  “Maelwine,” she said loudly. “These people are hungry and have need of our charity. Please see that each family gets a share of what has come from Coventry. I trust it will give them more peace than the priest could.”

  She turned toward the hall, though her assessment of the people had not been completed. Vespera tried to keep pace, but Felise’s outrage was so great that her steps were long and quick.

  “Madam, Royce did not come.”

  “I will go to him.”

  “Madam, he could not have known--”

  “What manner of lord would allow this to happen? What manner of bailiff would fail to report this to his master? If he has known of this treatment and failed to correct it, I have given him more credit than he is due. Curse,” she muttered. “Curse, indeed.”

  ***

  Royce had ridden hard the day long, avoiding the town and hall. He deposited at the back of the hall the game he’d killed on his ride and instructed Daria to see it cleaned and roasted, then took his horse to the stables to tend him. He encountered Sir Trumble there and gathered the gossip of the day, the most exciting of which was that his tender bride had, in a flaming wrath, banished a priest from the town.

  “What was she doing in the village?” Royce asked.

  “Judging the needs of the people, it is said,” Trumble replied.

  “She could not leave that to me?” he asked.

  Trumble shrugged, looking somewhat pleased. “Whatever, Royce, when she encountered the priest and judged his greed to harm the peasants, she drove him away.” Trumble laughed, a low rumbling in his throat. “Be warned, he promised your lady will burn in hell.”

  “She did this alone?”

  “Nay, Royce. Her brother and some of your men were called for. But I have little doubt she’d have whipped the friar herself had no guard appeared. I have not seen a woman’s anger reach that height since Eleanor was taken to her prison.” Then, still laughing, Trumble left Royce in the stable.

  Through the maintenance of his destrier and equipment, Royce seethed. She did not ask his advice, rely on his counsel, wait for his command, or defer to his higher authority. She could have made the acquaintance of the priest, judged his behavior, and brought the matter to Royce’s attention. But instead, with her mighty brothers in tow, she took control of the hall, town, and people and did her will.

  He stripped off his gamberson and used the water in the stable for washing, sorely vexed by this recent custom as well. He hoped to avoid being caught in any state of undress in his own hall lest someone take notice of his mark and ridicule him. He had already decided that when the Scelfton knights finally departed and he felt at last the ruler of his own demesne, he would use his chamber for his baths--and he hoped that the time would come soon. Until they were gone, he feared some word of his deformity would give them the excuse they desired to take their sister away. The cold water and the mean condition of the stable only heightened his ire.

  He heard the stable door close and he whirled around to face the intruder. Felise stood several paces away from him, just inside the door. “I have looked for you the day long, messire,” she said.

  Droplets of water fell from his hair and dripped off his beard onto his bare chest. Donned in only chausses and soft leather boots, he reached for the linen that hung over a stall. “How long have you been there?” he asked almost angrily.

  “I’ve just come. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I asked after you and Sir Trumble said you were here.”

  He grabbed his gamberson and pulled it over his wet body. “And so you find me. What is it you want?”

  “I wished to speak to you, Royce, to explain that I have been to the village and--”

  “This I have been told. You have been to the village to judge the peasants and have banished a lowly priest.”

  “He was not lowly, my lord, but very rich. And his visits here are in the main to strip the people of your town of everything they have. By now it is little enough: they starve.”

  “But you could not bring this to my ears alone, and allow me the common dignity due a lord of lands by letting me decide on the priest? You found the need to act in my stead?”

  “Did I offend you, my lord?” she asked defensively, a bright swell of anger appearing in her blue-green eyes.

  “What is my purpose here, lady, if you are able enough to manage the men, the hall, the peasants, the priests? Mayhap I should ride hither to some other keep and allow you to rule your hall.”

  She stiffened, her mouth rigid with anger. “You have made none of yourself available to the needs of this town and hall. Forsooth, you are gone from dawn till the setting sun ... and am I to humbly accept this impoverished lot and make no effort to better it?”

  He laughed cynically. “Pardon, madam, I thought you dined each night on food got of my bow and spear. I did not know you missed my labors in the washing of linens.”

  Her breath drew in sharply, his whooshed out as a dragon’s would. They stood, several paces separating them, both tall in their anger, each with eyes blazing and fists clenched. With every exchanged remark, their voices became louder and stronger.

  “Many in this hall can hunt, but only a few have the courage to face the conditions of the town. If you absent yourself from your obligation to the people, ‘tis mine to assume or else watch the pain caused by these haunts you speak of so often.”

  “You might allow me to lend myself to their ills in all good time, since I know the nature of this old curse and you do not.”

  “Curse?” she nearly screamed. “The only curse I see is fear and self-pity.”

  “There is the curse of the pompous rich dame come to right all wrongs and rule as any dowager, complete with her own army of protectors.”

  “I did not bid my brothers venture here; indeed, they work as hard as any to see this wretched place fit.”

  “They flaunt their power and wealth and importance of name as much as you, leaving me to wonder what my part in my own keep is to be.”

  She put out her hands. “The blisters here come of labors , and not of the doling out of coin from my riches,” she shouted. “And I have yet to hear one word of praise from you, when this hall has gone from a swine bed to a decent abode.”

  “You never consulted me, or asked for my approval. You have taken all matters of ruling into your own hands.”

  “You have never offered service or aid, but only criticized my every effort to offer you a good home where before naught but ghosts and evil and filth stood.” Her eyes began to cloud with brilliant tears. “Your place is husband. Yet you scorn the right.”

  “Your place is wife,” he shouted. “Yet you act more as king.”

  “Had the priest had a moment more before the knights rode on us, you might have been freed of that great burden,” she raged. She turned to flee, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back. He embraced her instantly, crushing her to him. In either her rage or s
oftness, he wanted her so badly that his entire body ached.

  “What do you mean to say?” he demanded harshly.

  She blinked her eyes tightly closed, the tears flowing from under sealed lids. “They drew their swords,” she whispered. “Yea, they were eager for blood.” Her eyes opened and she looked deeply into his. “But your only concern is who rules.”

  He looked at the tears that coursed down her cheeks and let his lips gently taste the salt of her passionate wrath. He had imagined her tantrum in the village street accompanied by her ever-protective brothers. He had not considered that she might have raised this issue with a dangerous man ... alone. He couldn’t imagine losing her. He covered her mouth with his and felt the rising of his own desires. The sweetness of her mouth and the fragrance of her hair drugged him, and he demanded much with his kiss, devouring her.

  When he released her mouth, she looked up at him with glittering eyes that had softened to a deep blue. “Would you take me in the stable, monseigneur?” she whispered.

  He let his arms slacken and she turned quickly from him, fleeing from the stable. When she’d disappeared completely from his sight, he turned and let his fist fly into the wall, bruising his knuckles and making a hole that would take a skilled craftsman to repair. He took a few deep breaths and ran his hand through his damp, tousled hair.

  “What fool,” he asked himself aloud, “thrusts from himself the very thing he wants?”

  Some nights, deep in the dark when sleep did not come, he tossed upon his bed in anguish so deep the pain of it was physical. He loved her as he had never loved, yet abhorred the passion lest she see him more clearly and reject him. His confusion and inability to find the answers worked on his mind so frequently that his mood had been sour and mean since the day her brothers journeyed with him to the Chaney house. He could not decide what was expected of him, nor could he think clearly.

  Does she do all this in an effort to please me, or trick me into thinking she can be content? Or does she intend to make Segeland a suitable place, only to find some champion to usurp me? he wondered.

  He was wretched, and yet he had taken the woman as his bride and brought her home because it had seemed the lesser of evils. Better to try to hold her, he told himself, than to try to live with only a memory of her.

  He kicked a pile of hay and sent it flying into the air. “Women,” he cursed. “Nothing but deceit that wants to castrate a man.” He stomped out of the stable.

  Eleven

  A matter that had plagued Royce since the meeting at Windsor was the fact that the king had instructed him to view and appraise the Aquitaine property and report his findings. The area of land, the revenues, number of tenants, site of the keep, and amount of stock and produce had not been assessed since Sir Flavian de Raissa had died and left the lands with a castellan. The scarce information concerning the parcel of land was that the only child, a daughter, had taken the veil and so the land had become Eleanor’s to dispose of, since it fell within her dower demesne. In an act of compassion, Eleanor had let the property fall to Felise, who had been orphaned into her care.

  This task, Royce believed, could be accomplished at any time. In the ten days since returning to Segeland he had given the matter grave contemplation. He had come to a decision that was hard earned, wrought of many sleepless nights. He invited one of his favorites, Sir Hewe, to visit his chamber after the evening meal.

  Hewe anxiously awaited the topic of discussion. Royce did not hedge. “You are one of the youngest of my men-at-arms,” Royce said, handing the young man a chalice of Gascony wine. “Yet I would entrust you with a weighty responsibility, if you think yourself capable.”

  Hewe virtually beamed with pride. He was large, strong, and in tourneys and battles he had done well. Hewe believed it was only a matter of time before money and lands would begin to fall his way. He had stayed with Royce after his training because the king took obvious notice of Royce and his men. He could not prevent a boyish smile from spreading all over his young face.

  Royce chuckled. “Don’t drink a toast yet, Sir Hewe. You may never forgive me for this in the end. Hear me out.

  “You know as much of this contract with Henry as any of us. I am not a man to protest my king,” he stated firmly. Then he threw his arm wide in the direction of the chamber that Felise occupied. “Neither does it sit well with me to keep a woman prisoner against her family’s will to have myself a wife, however rich her dowry.”

  “But the king has instructed--” Hewe began to argue.

  “We are all aware of His Majesty’s instructions, and I will not disobey. If Lord Scelfton or any of his knights reject the orders of the king, I am honor-bound to try to prevent them. But if the lady refuses--now--I will leave her family to defend her against the crown.”

  Hewe shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand ...”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” Royce laughed uncomfortably. “I have been bidden to Acquitaine, to view the de Raissa land that has fallen as dowry to my wife. I will leave in the early morning, and you will stay here with fifteen of my strongest men. Your authority is endorsed by me and I will inform the others.

  “Your obligations are many. You must guard my wife in my absence, sleeping on the floor outside her door if you deem it a worthy notion. Any aggressor attempting to usurp me must be stopped at my gate. And I will not ask the Scelfton men to leave. Since my allegiance is to Henry and yours is to me, you are bound by oath to kill any one of them who defies this order and takes her away.

  “And ...,” he began, frowning down on the young man with what he hoped was a convincing expression of determination. “If I return to find that you’ve tampered with the woman, your head will ride a pike on my wall.”

  “My lord, I would not,” Hewe said earnestly. But the young man’s eyes revealed what Royce already knew: the lad had been smitten with his wife from their first encounter. Royce judged that was why the young knight kept a safe distance, spending his nights in the hall seated far from her table and his days on the road far away from her.

  “You cannot avoid being near her while you protect her,” Royce said firmly.

  “By my word, my lord,” he said.

  “Aye, I would not have called you here if I doubted that. I know her fairness; I know well her charms. Twill take a strong and noble sort.”

  Hewe gave a sharp nod of affirmation. In fact, trusting Hewe was only part of the test. Royce could have chosen a seedy old warhorse like Sir Trumble to sleep outside the lady’s door. Trumble, in like, was a strong and trustworthy vassal ... and the woman gave him a wide berth because of his age, size, and homely face. Still, he had decided upon Hewe, youthful at two and twenty, strong and virile, handsome. It was also in his mind to know something of his wife, and her loyalty.

  “You have a burdensome chore,” Royce continued. “Do you think yourself equal to the task?”

  Hewe may have had his doubts, but he nodded resolutely just the same.

  “Unfortunately, I have not yet mentioned your greatest challenge.” Royce sipped from his cup and looked at Hewe over the rim. He saw the young man gulp uncomfortably. He had already given him chores worthy of an army of men. “You must find a way to understand the workings of her mind. She must not be taken from me, she must not be assaulted or abused. But if it is her desire to leave this place, you must find it in yourself to look the other way as she flees.”

  Hewe’s eyes grew wide and disbelieving. “My God,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Yea, you must do it. And then, upon my return, you must contend with me.”

  “But, my lord, how am I to know--”

  “You have your eyes cast to lands and vassals of your own, Sir Hewe. It is a simple matter to mount a trusted steed and draw your sword or brace your lance, to ride toward opposition with but one quest, to win. But it takes a greater wisdom to deal fairly with your troops, coax the villeins to plant and harvest, offer reward and punishment as befits the circumstance. I see
no better training than in this thing you do on my behalf.”

  “Have you told the lady she is free to go?” Hewe asked.

  Royce was silent for a moment, restlessly turning away and then turning full circle to face young Hewe again. “Nay, I’ll have none of that. If she goes, she and her family must bear the weight of Henry’s wrath. I would keep her and her dowry against heaven and hell, but not against her will.” He lowered his voice. “Do you begin to understand?”

  Hewe looked down for a moment, sighing heavily. Royce contemplated his friend. Hewe would know that his future depended not only upon his strength, but also upon the wisdom of his actions. But Hewe raised his eyes quickly to Royce, speaking firmly. “My word is my life,” the young knight said.

  Royce rumbled with laughter. “And in this case, your word is most definitely your life.”

  Hewe rose, downed the last of the wine, and stood before Royce. “As in other contests, Royce, I will give my best.”

  Royce nodded. “I will rest easier knowing this. I see there is great hope for you, Hewe. If you pray to the Virgin, mayhap the king will one day thrust some damsel into your arms.”

  Hewe mumbled something low and, by the sound, rueful.

  “Beg pardon, Hewe?”

  “I said, ah ... I do well enough with my meager gifts.”

  “What, ho! The young buck does not wish these plentiful mercies--riches, beauty...” Royce chuckled good-naturedly. In looking at young Hewe, this vigorous knight on the brink of his real manhood, he felt sympathy. Many were the times he wished to return to that part of his life when the future could be planned on a whim.

  It was not always a pleasure to be the recipient of generosity such as Henry’s. Grave responsibility accompanied the king’s goodwill. Life would have held less bliss on cold nights with Celeste, but likewise less torment. And Royce would never have tossed upon his pallet with the fear that she would leave him. He couldn’t have made himself care enough. Suddenly he’d found himself with a new entanglement: a distant and flickering image of the kind of life he wanted more than life itself. And an unreasonable fear of reaching for it.