The Troubadour's Romance

by Robyn Carr

  “The priest,” she repeated.

  “Monseigneur Trothmore,” he advised. “And madam, this priest is not well liked in this burg. I would appreciate your silence on the matter of family friendship. Our welcome here is sorely strained as it is, and I would rend it no further by association with a man who has been cast from this town. Oh, yea, I have heard the fair Felise banished him. It was a contest I would like to have seen,” he chuckled. “But, I only communicate with the priest out of honor to my father, God rest him.”

  “Your father is dead?” Vespera asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  “Aye, many years past. My stepfather lives and manages his lands now. I suppose they will be mine one day.”

  Vespera looked down, for she knew the shock would have registered on her face. Of course Boltof was too much older than Felise to be a son of Aswin’s born after she had known him, but at the time the relationship was first mentioned to her, she had panicked at the thought. It had occurred to her when she first saw Boltof that there was some resemblance, but she wondered now if she had imagined that. Or perhaps Aswin sired the boy before she met him nearly twenty years ago.

  All that had been clear to her at the time was that Aswin had a son, Boltof. And this son wished to marry her daughter. She had fled to Henry and thrown herself on his mercy. Henry’s approval of Boltof would see brother and sister wed. It was the first time in twenty years she had named Felise’s father.

  And she had misunderstood it all.

  “Madam?” Boltof questioned.

  She looked down at the small, rolled parchment. It trembled in her hand. “Messire?”

  “The missive. You will not mention it?”

  “I will say nothing. But this priest, you do not know him?”

  Boltof shrugged and smiled. “As I have said, I feel an obligation to my father to make contact with the man, since they were friends. I may visit him upon leaving here. But since I was a small child I have not seen him.”

  “I will take your letter to Monseigneur Trothmore and buy a cloak for Lady Celeste,” she said, tucking the bag of coins and the note into her deep pockets. “Is there anything else you would have me buy?”

  “Nay, that is all. You return on Sunday?” Vespera nodded. “Good, we will leave as soon as you deliver the cloak.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You are generous and kind.”

  “I will escort you to your mount,” Boltof offered.

  “There is no need, messire,” she attempted.

  “Ah, I insist, madam,” he said, taking her arm.

  Vespera had no alternative but to let him walk with her to where her horse and three escorts waited. An empty wagon would accompany them to give the impression that goods were being brought back to Segeland, although their purpose in going had nothing to do with making purchases, other than Celeste’s cloak. But with Boltof’s escort, Vespera lost the chance to read the message before leaving the keep.

  Felise waited by the door below. She nodded briefly to Boltof, trying to remain expressionless. She concentrated on Vespera. “Do you remember every item?” she asked.

  “Aye, my lady. Would you have me repeat them again?”

  “Nay,” Felise said. “Though ‘twould be a simpler matter if I could give you a list to read to the merchants there.” She noted Boltof’s sly smile out of the corner of her eye. “You have never made a mistake in the past, and I will not worry now. I will walk with you to the gate.”

  “I will take her to the gate,” Boltof said.

  “You needn’t bother, Sir Boltof, I--”

  “But I consider it my obligation, since I have asked the good woman to make a purchase for my sister. A cloak of lighter weight to make the journey home more comfortable for her will liven her spirits. By your leave.” He gave a short nod and took Vespera’s arm again.

  “Madam,” Felise said, “have a care to be prompt with my goods. I have need of them by Sunday. Don’t dally.”

  “Nay, madam.”

  “And do not wander from Royce’s men. Take them with you on your errands.”

  “Aye, madam.”

  Vespera felt an urgency in Felise’s manner, although the younger woman tried to remain poised. Before Boltof could become suspicious, Vespera quickly left the hall with him, for it was better to get on the road to Coventry than to delay. She knew well Felise’s distress. They had all hoped to know the contents of Boltof’s message forthwith. Now Royce would have to ride out on some excuse and try to intercept the travelers to know Boltof’s plan.

  Boltof walked with Vespera well away from the hall, leading her palfrey while the three escorts, two horsed and one managing the empty wagon, trailed along behind. Vespera paused as they entered the village and the gate was in sight. She turned to Boltof. “Will you give me aid in mounting, sir?” she asked.

  He stopped, looked toward the gate, which Trumble was having pushed open, and must have reasoned he could watch her departure from where he stood. He placed his hands on her waist and gave her a lift into the saddle. “You needn’t take guards on all your errands,” he said softly.

  “I know the Coventry streets quite well, monseigneur,” she replied. “I need no escort.”

  He nodded, the look in his eyes conveying his belief that he had succeeded in getting his message to Wharton through Trothmore. Vespera gave her horse a gentle heel and proceeded ahead of the others toward the gate. She did not turn to see if Boltof watched, for she felt his eyes on her back. He would assure himself that his letter was safely out of Segeland.

  As they moved down the village road, Vespera let her eyes travel to either side and gave a slight nod to those villagers she knew. The trains coming and going to Coventry had become a common enough sight to these people, for Felise’s custom of making purchases for the hall and town was an accepted practice now. As she passed Ulna’s cottage she looked there out of habit, for the widow usually came to the door when she heard the sound of creaking wagon wheels.

  The top half of Ulna’s door was open, and as Vespera looked, she saw a man standing in the frame. The darkness within the cottage made his features difficult to see clearly, but she knew the face far too well to be confused. Although he had accompanied Boltof and Celeste to Windsor, she had not seen him. But there was no mistaking him, it was Aswin Orrick.

  Their eyes met over the brief space for but an instant. She looked away quickly before he had a chance to recognize her, although with her covered crown and high-collared mantle he would most likely not know her.

  Her heart began to pound within her breast. She had not spoken to Royce that morning, but perhaps Aswin’s presence in the village was the cause of Felise’s agitation. They surely knew he was arrived; indeed, who but Royce or Felise would have placed him in Ulna’s house? The widow was a trusted friend and it was unlikely she would hide a conspirator. Had Aswin come to aid his stepson in some plot, he would be in the hall, for he was nobly bred and in better graces with the couple than was Boltof. Royce must have hidden Aswin and enlisted his aid. That was all Vespera could imagine.

  Before she was well out of the gate, she knew that her plans had been greatly changed. She would not return from Coventry, but leave from there to buy passage to Fontevrault. Some excuse could be delivered to Felise, and her meager possessions could be sent to her at a future time. She would not face Aswin. The pain had been too great, his betrayal of their love too deep. She would not allow that hurt to reach her ever again.

  A thick tear gathered on her lashes and her breath caught. Perhaps it was better that there were no farewells. She would meet Wharton and convince him that he was betrayed, Boltof would be captured before he could do injury --her time with the young couple was done. She had been foolish to think it could go on much longer. She had given up Felise years before, knowing she could lay no further claim to the lass.

  She gave her horse another spurring heel to hurry the pace. Once out of sight of the wall she would read Boltof’s letter. Royce would surely reach them bef
ore midday to gather the information and, she hoped, reassure her that Aswin’s presence in the town was to aid them. These chores, once accomplished, would be her last for Felise.

  But although she knew she’d made the best decision for all concerned, her tears marked her cheeks just the same.

  ***

  Royce had let the sun rise high above the keep before he set Hewe to the task of watching over Felise and rode out of the gate with a few men-at-arms, as was the landholder’s rote. Vespera and her group had been gone for several hours, but he knew they would wait. Boltof was enjoying his favorite pastime of lounging in the main hall before the hearth and ordering the servants to fetch him ale or food.

  The first time Royce left Segeland to survey his lands, Boltof had invited himself along.

  “I ride the perimeters of the farmlands and hunting areas every day to be assured there are no trespassers on my property,” Royce had rather brusquely replied. “I do not invite guests to ride with my men and me. Especially guests whose presence I do not understand.”

  Boltof had bristled at the rude remark. “I am at a loss as to why you are so determined to destroy our long friendship, Royce. I came here to pledge anew, in spite of the insult, and you have ignored us and asked us to leave.”

  “Perhaps you will wait upon an invitation in the future, Boltof,” Royce had replied. And he went on to say, “It is on Sunday that you will leave, is it not? My hospitality will extend itself no further, that is certain.”

  “Someday, Royce, you may regret your lack of generosity.”

  “Perhaps,” Royce had replied. “Then again, perhaps not.”

  From that time forward, Boltof must surely have been sorry for his presumptuous behavior, for he was allowed only the hall, the stables, and the hunting birds for his pleasures. They dined together in the hall, as all members of the household did. The conversations were strained and heavy. Celeste in the main stared at her plate, although Felise occasionally turned kind words her way. Boltof tried to turn the talk to old war stories, but in finding Royce sulky and uninterested, he let the subjects die. Boltof and Celeste were assured, upon Royce’s arrival, that they were unwelcome and should not have come.

  That Royce endured their presence beyond the first day after his return had only to do with Boltof’s plan. Had Hewe not seen the two knights in Coventry and had Vespera not overheard the plotting, Royce would have provided an entourage to take the brother and sister away immediately. He often shook his head in wonder that Boltof assumed it was his cleverness that had gained him access and continued lodging in Segeland. He seemed not even suspicious that though Royce voiced his displeasure with their visit, he allowed them to stay another week.

  When he returned from his afternoon ride, he found Felise seated in the main room, busily sewing an article of clothing. Hewe was faithfully near, rubbing a high shine onto his shield. And Boltof was there, swigging ale from a generous tankard and enjoying the company and the warmth of the hall.

  “Do you find your lands in good order, Royce?” Boltof asked, unusually high in spirits.

  “All is well,” he replied.

  Hewe’s eyes were on him, and he considered calling a meeting, but thought better of it. He would make no excuse to speak alone with his wife and this young knight. Instead he pulled off his gauntlets and hauberk and made himself comfortable in the room. He asked for drink and aid in removing his boots, and proceeded to make small talk with Hewe about the hunting and planting that must proceed and what masons must be fetched from neighboring towns to begin the building of the church.

  Boltof tossed in comments here and there, many of which were meant to be unkind. “It has been a long time since there was a church here, has it not?” he asked.

  “Too long,” Felise replied coolly. “That has all changed since Royce has returned to Segeland.”

  And later, Boltof interrupted their conversation with another comment “I didn’t know the villagers here had so many tools for their farming. On one of my brief visits with you, your people were hard put to farm, yet now it seems they could not want for more in the way of plows, hoes, shovels, and scythes.”

  “The generosity of Twyford,” Royce snorted. “My wife’s family saw fit to extend their purse to our needs.”

  “You seem to lack nothing now.”

  Royce looked at him closely. “Nay. We are well fixed.”

  “You have extended the farm plots,” Boltof said. “You’ll have need of more farmers, as well as masons and craftsmen.”

  Royce wondered at Boltof’s attempts at pleasantry. “Already there are more villagers than upon our arrival. They are busy roofing their huts and enlarging their farm plots. Their number grows equal to our new prosperity.”

  Boltof looked into his cup. “You have been more fortunate than I realized.” All eyes were on him, but Boltof looked at no one. “I have known you for a decade and a half, and your lot has changed greatly since our meeting. I remember when you battled the bad reputation of the Leighton name, for few trusted you. The Leightons paid no homage to church or king, and the place was poor. There were oft hostages here, and battles with neighboring barons. The people for miles around would bolt their doors when your shield was seen as we passed, for the Leighton family was to be distrusted and feared.

  “I remember when you cared little about heirs and said, quite frankly, that you would be pleased enough to see my children inherit Segeland.” Royce’s head snapped in his direction. Had he been so bold as to confide even that? Looking back, he thought he might easily have done so, knowing that Boltof must have suspected he had lain with Celeste. Little had Royce known back then that Celeste must have proudly confirmed the fact. So, Boltof had had his eye on Segeland for some time. Perhaps the marriage to Celeste alone would not have been enough. Perhaps Boltof had long ago planned further treachery.

  “Yet now,” Boltof droned on, “the keep and town are rich, you have a beautiful wife to dote upon and the trust of the king and the mighty Scelfton family and lands in Aquitaine.” He let his eyes rise to meet Royce’s. “I know you must value the change. You must work hard to keep your reputation sound.”

  Royce gave him a leveling stare. “I never fought my family’s reputation in the past and I do not struggle with mine now. Let people believe what they will. We will live on the same.”

  Boltof shrugged and smiled. “Perhaps you have finally buried the past, Royce, and it will not rise up against you again. I am happy for you.” He tilted his cup and drained the contents.

  Royce felt Felise’s eyes on him and looked at her. The question was shining bright and torturous. She was eager to know if Boltof’s message to Coventry further incriminated him.

  Royce gave her a slight but firm nod. She let her eyes gently close and she gripped the shirt in her lap. The moments dragged like hours. They all waited, trying to keep suspicion from their eyes and all praying that their theories were right and Boltof would not surprise them with some move they did not anticipate. It would prove a very long two days.

  Boltof, it seemed, was the only one at ease. When Celeste joined them for the evening meal, he was solicitous of her comfort, fawning over her in a most gallant, brotherly fashion. He helped her find a chair, propped up her feet, and called for a goblet of wine to soothe her. He apologized quietly for her sullenness and said she suffered from melancholia and must be dealt with gently. A side of pork sizzled over the hearth and Royce distractedly gave the meat a poke. Boltof moved to stand beside him. “You are right, Royce. I was foolish to bring my sister here and so strain our friendship. It has been difficult for all of us. I hope one day you will find it possible to forgive me.” He shrugged his bulky shoulders. “I had thought myself well schooled in the finer manners of the nobly born, but I can see now that I presumed too much of you. I am sorry.”

  Royce looked at him closely. His words as well as his eyes held sincerity. He appeared at least as genuine as he had on that dim morning long ago when he had offered to support a sto
ry that he had been with Royce all through the night on which Aylworth was killed.

  “Time may indeed lessen the strain, Boltof. But you must take Celeste home. It is clear she suffers here. You should have known better.”

  Boltof showed a childlike look of shame and fairly hung his head. He picked up a nearby poker and stirred the logs in the hearth. Royce felt the urge to grab him and shake him, for this kind of lying and plotting made his insides churn. This waiting while the snake slithered toward its victim gnawed at him. He’d rather meet an opponent in fair battle.

  “I’ll secure the stables before the sun sets,” Royce said, no longer able to endure the hall. “See to your sister, should she need anything.”

  He turned from Boltof and went out into the late afternoon air, closing the huge doors behind him. He stood there, viewing his town before him, and made no move toward the stables. A long while passed as he stood watching the sun lower, deeply considering his situation. He thought he knew Boltof’s strengths and weaknesses, but he couldn’t imagine how he would tie the plot together.

  He went over small details in his mind again and again: He will leave on a quick journey to a neighboring town on the pretense of meeting a friend, but he does not call for Wharton to meet him until early Sunday. How does he use Wharton? With arms or as a witness? He convinces Celeste that they can accuse me of adultery, but that fair dame cannot think such a ploy would prompt me to abandon Felise and marry her. Surely she is not so stupid. Yet she does his will. There is more to their plotting; there must be.

  Royce shook his head for the hundredth time. He would have to lay in wait. There was no other way.

  The door slowly opened and Felise came out onto the step, her shawl pulled tightly around her. He smiled and raised an arm to encircle her shoulders.

  “I thought you were going to the stable,” she said.

  “I could bear no more of Boltof’s good humor,” he replied.