by Robyn Carr
None of the brothers had opened the letters to see what their sister had written, but agreed that if Felise had made the situation appear better than it was, they were under obligation to Harlan to tell him the truth of it. Harlan’s first statement revealed that Felise had not colored a pretty picture.
“We leave on the morrow to fetch her home, Henry be damned,” he stormed.
Edrea reached for her husband’s hand but looked at her sons. “The wall is stout now and the guard a safe and loyal troop?” she asked.
“None of us could argue that, Mother. We had some concern about the local priest, for he was driven from the shire when Felise reasoned him to be evil and greedy. But the men Royce left will not let him in again, and I do not expect him to attack the place, but rather petition for their excommunication. That is an ordeal they can protest without physical injury.”
“And the people there--they are on the mend?” she asked.
“‘Twill take a goodly sum of months to prove that, madam. We offered to stay on until Royce was returned, but she would have none of it.”
Harlan shook his letter in aggravation. “She has asked to borrow against her dowry for seed, building supplies, weaving materials, many necessary things. How can a father leave his child in a village of ruin and a house that is obviously falling down around her? Nay, we’ll fetch her home.”
“Harlan,” Edrea said softly. “Excuse these men to a bath and their comforts, and here,” she said, handing him the pages that Felise had written to her, “read this and be still.”
Harlan grumbled in agitation, but Edrea pressed the letter on him and he took it. While he read, she spoke softly to her sons. “You would not have left her in danger, I am assured. That her materials are modest is no threat to her safety. We will talk more later, when you are better rested and clean.”
Maelwine shrugged almost apologetically. “Mother, there was little we could do to make Segeland a rich home for Felise, but she seems to thrive on their need for her. And no urging would convince her to leave.”
“I do not think it is her great loyalty to Henry that keeps her there, but some strange attraction to Royce,” Dalton added.
Edrea raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You do not understand this, Dalton?” she asked.
“He was not openly cruel to her, but he is a surly bastard, just the same,” Dalton said.
Edrea looked askance at Harlan. “Yea,” she said softly. “I expected as much.” Then back to her sons: “Go, and let us settle this argument. And thank you for what you’ve done for us.”
When they left, Edrea waited patiently for Harlan to finish reading the letter. Finally he put it aside. “What does this mean?” he asked hotly.
“It is very simple, my lord. Our daughter loves Royce.”
Harlan picked up the parchment again, scanning it impatiently. “It says that nowhere. Nowhere. Where do you see that she loves him?”
“In every word, every mark. Listen to me, Harlan, for you’re an old fool with love so plentiful all around you that you’ve scarce had to look for it in your lifetime.
“In her very first line she admits that it is a far better thing that the marriage was decided before anyone knew Segeland, for you would not have approved it. And better done in secret, for even Royce seems wont to cling to these old ghosts of the Leightons, and she says he is not afflicted beyond sore memories. Then she proceeds to list her needs, stating that it is a choice between patience over the years to see the place prosper, or a quick remedy with our help. And the most important thing, I think, is the need for a church there. Harlan, let us send her twice what she asks. Let her help Royce heal the town and keep ... that her firstborn can be baptized in their home.”
Harlan shook his head in confusion. “How you decipher these secrets is beyond me, woman. Is it not an equal possibility that her length of request is meant to warn us of her deprivation? Would it not be better for us to go there and see these conditions for ourselves?”
“Nay, Harlan. We will go there, but at harvest, when her child is born.”
“Child?”
Edrea sighed and took up the parchment again, searching with her eyes and then, finding the place, reading it aloud to her husband.
“My brothers will explain the banishment of the priest, which I assure you is all to the good, as I watched my father in this practice in Twyford. But the lack of a friar sorely hurts me, and one needs to be found and a small place of worship quickly erected for him to say mass, perform rites, and give these people the Word. I would not fain to birth a son to Royce if there is no man of God to bless him. If you would convince my father to advance the sum for building, I invite you to travel here for our harvest celebrations and view the improvements for yourself. By then, with your help, much will be done ... and quite soon, much will be growing here.”
“Harlan, I feel certain that our Felise suspects she is with child and will harvest crops and a babe when the summer is done. Let us grant her this; we have no reason to deny her.”
“I am not certain she is well,” he argued. “She may suffer miserably but tries to ease us with these courageous words.”
“Harlan, she sent her brothers away. Royce cannot rule while they reside so close. And I am confident that Vespera would not allow Felise to be abused. She would send word to us or steal Felise to safety of her own.”
“Vespera? That meddlesome woman has--”
“Has worried over Felise for all her life. We must give this a chance, my lord. Vespera gave Felise to us.”
“That is what you say, but there is no proof.”
“I trust her word ... I trust her prayers. I know that this is true.” She paused and tears gathered in her eyes. “We have to mind the order of this conspiracy, Harlan. Felise is not ours.”
Harlan slumped slightly. He was no longer angry with his wife, but when he had first found out that Edrea had guarded the reason for Vespera’s interference with such secrecy, he had been furious. Just prior to the naming of Royce and the disappearance of Felise from Windsor, Vespera had confided in Lady Edrea.
The search for a proper mate, a sound manager for what would show itself to be rich French property, involved more than the Scelftons, Henry, and various suitors. It mattered not at all how rich the husband be, for what Felise brought to the marriage would build a noble household enviable even by Harlan. The only characteristic the man needed to have was unquestionable loyalty. There were a few Henry would approve, but Royce was the highest in his eyes--and also he was unmarried and old enough to have gained fair experience.
Knowing Harlan worried over the Leighton name, Henry had allowed some interference, provided the man’s wealth and resources were not judged, for those came with the dower purse. Only his loyalty to the crown and his moral behavior were to be subject to inspection.
“How do we know yet whether he is a good and honest man?” Harlan asked.
“Felise is headstrong. If she feels he is not and she cannot make him so, she will flee from him. Had anyone known the extent of her wealth, the petitions for her would have confused even Henry.”
“Even so, madam, she is in need. Perhaps this tiring-woman, Vespera, conspires with Royce.”
“Nay, Vespera conspires with no man. Tis her property given to Felise, and the woman goes back to the sisters. If she is not truthful, why would she give away such wealth? She begs a short space of time to see her natural daughter well fitted for the remainder of her life, and it is a small thing to ask. Harlan, I beg you to see, Segeland is in need;--our Felise has “what she wants.”
Harlan stood and found a tankard. He banged it on the trestle table and quickly a page came with a pitcher to fill it. He downed the ale almost in one swallow and turned pleading eyes to his wife.
“What would have been lost had we been allowed to provide a mate for Felise? How are Henry and this queen’s poetess better suited to make the match than I?”
Edrea simply shook her head, without answer. “The day a ragged
little girl came to us through a priest, I knew she was only mine to raise for a short time. Already vast plans were being worked in places I could not see, for she had a history before she came to me and was not born of my body. I yielded myself to this when I took her. I can’t take this opportunity away from her now.”
“We could see that she is safe,” he offered.
Edrea looked down at the letter again. Felise wrote that much more was needed than supplies for all those people who had lost faith and had never known the comfort of a lord’s love. Yet they were hungry and cold, she had said, and for this reason Felise believed they would come to understand faith and hope and love much more quickly if they were fed and kept warm against the winter and found, with the passage of time, that there was no reason to fear her.
Felise did not say much about her husband, except that he had gone to view the dower land in Aquitaine and could be gone for two months. But Edrea read her daughter as clearly through the letter as she could have if she had looked into those bright turquoise eyes. Royce too must be among that number who had lost faith and needed time to learn trust and genuine love.
She smiled in firm inner peace, remembering well the childish temper Felise had displayed while at Windsor. The author of these letters hardly resembled the girl of the castle courtships. She had always believed Felise capable of strength, once she saw some true purpose in it. It was more than time to leave Felise to finish the task of becoming a woman.
“No, Harlan,” Edrea said as warmly as she could. “Felise has too much work to entertain us, and surely she would worry whether we approved her efforts.”
“I do not see the sense in leaving her thus,” Harlan grumbled.
“Well, my dear,” she said, rising from her seat and going to him, stroking his upper arms with her hands. “Perhaps you shall, in the fall. She sent her brothers away and clearly asks us to send her aid but leave her be. And so we shall.”
“Women,” he muttered. “Absent of logic, forever playing these tenderhearted games. ‘Tis beyond me how you think to do such great things with time and patience and love, when a good arm and whip will get the walls higher, the guards stronger, and the planting done.”
She laughed good-naturedly. “Yea, my love ... I know it is beyond you.”
***
The first of March came along with blistering winds that yielded in a few days to a teasing warmth. Felise knew that the cold would come and go through the month, and with April, the ground would soften and tilling for planting would have to begin.
The people grew stronger on the generosity of Segeland, but the coin Royce had left was nearly exhausted in the process. He had not sent word, but she reasoned he could not part with even one of his men, and messengers willing to travel to Segeland would be few and costly. She knew he must be frugal, and she took it as a good sign.
Hewe worried about their depleted sums, and Sir Trumble complained about his confinement to the keep when he was much better suited to traveling and fighting. She kept her eyes turned hopefully toward spring, although even she was becoming discouraged by the length of winter and the energy it required to keep everyone looking toward a better tomorrow. When she had failed to find a priest in Daventry, she had fought the feeling of failure, telling herself other towns would be visited until a friar or priest could be found.
She rose earlier than the others to give herself time to prepare for the day. The mistress of a large keep spent little time alone, for someone was forever bringing a problem for her to solve or needing advice or counsel. She treasured the early morning before the keep bustled with activity as a time to collect herself. And it was then, at the break of dawn, that she thought of her husband, praying that he would return a more willing spouse than he had left her.
In mid-March, during a particularly bright afternoon, she was called from the hall by a wildly excited Colbert. “A banner and men approach with a long train,” he shouted. “Sir Trumble has bolted the gate and mans the walls. Even the yeomen have run to fetch scythes and pitchforks.”
She jumped in surprise, her heart pounding fearfully. “Colbert, how many?” she asked urgently.
“Two hundred or more, lady.”
She flew to the door and down the road toward the gate, her face white with terror. Maelwine had imparted to her that neither Boltof nor Wharton carried any lingering hostility over the loss of her dower prize, but she trembled at the prospect that some other came in Royce’s absence to usurp him.
As she ran, holding her skirts up, she barely thought about what was going on around her. People were running, men, women, and even the children, gathering in meager stock bought in Coventry and entrusted to them, and wielding mean weapons against attack. It crossed her mind briefly that when she had arrived the people had simply hidden, but now they were driven to protect their homes.
There was a ramp leading to the top of the wall that held no more than two people to view the land. Trumble’s men balanced precariously atop ladders to look over the wall, intending to use these modest perches to shoot arrows at the foe. Felise called up to Sir Trumble. “Help me up! I would see this army.”
“The way is steep, lady. The rise is shaky.”
She looked around, seeing nothing but panic in all quarters, and with a powerful determination, she lifted her skirt and began the climb without assist. Seeing her intention to get up to the top of the wall, Trumble came down a step or two and held out his hand, pulling her up beside him, but not without admonishing her. “You would do better to let me guard your safety, lady, from the ground up.”
“And you, sir knight, would do better to--”
She stopped abruptly as she viewed the reason for the alarm. A train of better than twenty wagons was accompanied by over one hundred knights. But what she saw was not an approaching foe. The banner carried ahead of the troops was her father’s, and the wagons carried supplies for building, not destroying.
She gave a joyful laugh and her hands came quickly to her face as glad tears filled her eyes. Whatever they sent her from Twyford was many times what was necessary. And she had not been frugal with her requests; she had asked for the loan of everything needed to make Segeland comfortable.
“Oh, Sir Trumble, open the gate. My father sends goods. ‘Tis the banner of Twyford ... surely not come to fight.” He looked at her suspiciously and she laughed at his grumpy face. “By God, Trumble, bid them open the gate!”
Trumble did not relax completely until a knight rode through the gate and paused. Felise recognized him, but as far as she could see, not one member of her family ventured here. These were vassals of Twyford; the load had not been given to her brothers. They had paid her the highest tribute in their understanding and respect for her decision.
“I bear letters to Lady Felise Leighton, Baroness of Segeland.”
She straightened proudly. She had not thought much about Royce’s elevation to full baron until that moment. She moved toward the knight, who, upon seeing her, dismounted and handed her a scroll. She opened it quickly.
Lady Felise,
Your debt is happiness. If these carts do not bear the full remedy to your problems, sacrifice these goods to Segeland and journey to Twyford where there is a home and care for you. Our loan is this: we loan you to the lord of Segeland, for only so long as this remains your choice.
The missive was signed by the lord and lady of Twyford. A tear crept down her cheek. It was unheard of to snatch a woman home to her father, just as it was incredible to gift a daughter with wagonloads of goods.
A breathless Vespera was at her side, looking in wonder at the huge entourage of knights and wagons.
“We cannot remain, lady, but must remove the goods from all but two wagons and depart at once. Lord Harlan cannot be long without these many guards, but the baggage needed protection. My lord bids you keep two wagons, and the others must return to the Twyford towns before the planting.”
“Of course,” she replied, almost too happy for words. “Please, bri
ng the wagons to the hall and we’ll begin at once.”
A clamoring through the gate began and the people of Segeland stood around with gaping mouths as the train proceeded toward the hall. Felise passed the letter from her parents to Vespera, who was also moved to tears by the brief message. “They are extraordinary, lady,” she said breathlessly.
A gelding bearing a small, bald man and heavily laden with leather saddlebags approached. “The lady of Segeland?” he asked.
She noticed the silver cross that hung around his neck. “Aye, Father,” she affirmed.
“I was told you have need of a priest, and I am lately freed of my obligation near Twyford. Lady Edrea of Twyford paid my passage and said you might offer shelter.”
“Make your home in the hall, Father, until a better rectory is found for you,” she said with a smile.
“Thank you, lady,” he said, spurring his horse down the road toward the towering hall.
Felise looked at Vespera with glowing eyes. She could not express what she felt. That her parents could believe in her to this generous extent was beyond her wildest dreams. She opened her mouth several times to speak but, failing to find words, finally collapsed into Vespera’s arms and wept joyfully.
“Yea, you are blessed,” Vespera murmured.
“I can’t say why they give me so much, when I have given them so little. I am not even born of them, but a poor wretch they took in out of charity ... and yet their charity never ceases.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I will never find the means to repay all of this.”
Vespera patted her affectionately. “That you choose to show charity to those in need is payment, lady. If you can heal the sorrow in this burg alone, there is great purpose in your life. Perhaps this is why you were born.”
“Yea, perhaps,” she said, sniffing back her tears. Setting the town to rights and improving the hall were things she could do. The pity she couldn’t call for some healing balm from Twyford that would entice her husband to love her. But that would come, she promised herself. She would not rest until it did. “I shall try. God willing, we shall see all the sorrows healed.”