The Troubadour's Romance

by Robyn Carr

  He was quiet for a moment as he considered this.

  “You say the Twyford knights approve?”

  “Lord Scelfton lately sent a score of wagons filled with goods for Segeland. The Scelfton sons returned to their father with the news that their sister is secure and content. King Henry has signed the documents that name the land in Aquitaine for Royce. Even Trothmore will find little success in putting them in bad reputation with the church, for an honest priest has been found and they build their own church in the burg now. It is done, sir knight. There is no way Boltof s schemes can unseat the lord of Segeland.”

  “The surly bastard led me to believe that no one supported Royce but Henry ... and that Henry could be moved with enough evidence against Leighton. As to Scelfton, Boltof swore the old lord hated every cursed Leighton--”

  “Did you witness Maelwine’s hate for his sister’s husband?”

  “Nay,” he admitted. “Woman, I vow Boltof plots to kill Royce and name me the murderer.”

  “No one will die, unless it is Boltof,” she assured him.

  “As I sit in this sty while he plots at Segeland, I promise you that if he doesn’t die by Royce’s hand, he need fear mine.” He stood taller, giving her a short bow. “You make good sense with your warning, madam, and I will take myself from Coventry today, but only for a short time. Then I ride with my men to Segeland, and if I find you have lied to me, you have cause to fear for your life.”

  “I have not lied. My only hope is that you will be wiser than Boltof. Mayhap one day you will bury your differences with the Lord of Segeland, but if not, at least you will both be free of the murder of Aylworth. And my lady will be safe.”

  “They must reward you handsomely for your handiwork. I have known no woman servant in all my life willing to do the things you do.”

  She smiled faintly. “I am rewarded well, sir. Better than you can know.”

  ***

  There was a loud pounding on the lord’s chamber door. The sun was barely up and the noise rudely awakened Felise, causing her to bolt upright. Royce was ahead of her in rising, his legs already out of bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. With a wave of his hand he cautioned her to stay in bed, while he extracted himself.

  The pounding came again and he leisurely drew on his chausses, knowing this form of rousing would not come from any of his men. No one would dare disturb him at this hour, in this manner.

  Felise drew the cover up to her neck and watched from the bed as Royce opened the door. Boltof stood without, peering past Royce to look into the room. He was fully dressed in a leather gamberson, his broadsword at his side, wearing mail and hauberk and carrying a bag and his shield. He was ready to ride out of Segeland.

  “Good morning, my lord. I beg you excuse my early hour, but I must ask a favor. I would ride to Daventry on a quick visit. An old comrade, Sir Morton, waits there before joining the duke, Richard. I would secure a place with that troop. If I don’t go today, I will miss them.”

  “Today? What of Celeste? Am I to gather an escort to send her home?” Royce asked.

  “Nay, Royce, but if you will have some servant see to her needs through the day, I will return for her on the morrow and deliver her home. Then I will leave her with Lord Orrick and meet Morton and Richard later. But unless I secure a position with his troop today, I miss my chance.”

  “I see,” Royce said knowingly. “Where does Morton go?”

  “To France with Richard,” Boltof said. “I cannot waste away my days soothing my sister’s hurt or farming for Aswin. And your troop does not ride for Henry. If I am to make my way in this world, I must find a good fight somewhere.”

  Royce smiled. “You seem in high spirits, Boltof.”

  “I don’t have all this to tie me, Royce. Would that I had lands and money like you, and could spend my days prodding the villagers to work or counting my rents.” He laughed. “Neither can I lie abed with a beautiful wife. I must get on the road again and see what lands can be won.” He peered at Felise as she sat in bed. “My lady, my humble apologies. I will give your husband back to you at once. Royce? By your leaved

  “Of course, Boltof. Don’t fret for Celeste. She will be well cared for in your absence.”

  “My thanks. And I shall make the journey quick, to return for her tomorrow by midday.”

  “I wish you well in your venture, Boltof. A good troop always brings a decent return.”

  “Aye, and Morton has a sound reputation. Would you agree?”

  Royce gave a sharp nod. “I can think of no better vassal to Richard. And in spite of their differences, I trust Richard will inherit a kingdom from Henry one day.” He raised one eyebrow. “We may yet ride together again.”

  “I look forward to the day, Royce. Until tomorrow.” He gave a brief salute and turned from the door.

  Royce slowly closed it and walked leisurely toward the bed. Felise began to tremble, but Royce had a pleased expression on his face.

  “Morton is a good knight of Richard,” he said softly. “And when I last saw him, he was serving Richard in Aquitaine, where he planned to remain for another year.”

  “He lies,” she whispered.

  “Aye, and he has assured himself that you take your rest in my chamber. As he rides away, he must think himself very clever.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “And so it begins.”

  The day was filled with tedious chores meant to occupy the hands and give the appearance of a usual day. No one seemed to notice that Royce’s men lingered more about the town than on other days, nor that Trumble did not take rest from the wall. Daria was instructed to take him a basket of food and did so without question, though usually the surly old knight went to her kitchen for his meals.

  Royce did not ride out that day to observe the lie of the land, but rather stayed within the wall and busied himself in the hall or the stable. Felise worked mainly in the hall, going to the village only once, to bring yarn to Ulna’s cottage. And by late afternoon many watchful eyes reddened, as if they’d spent many days on this one.

  Celeste stayed mostly in her rooms through the day, descending to break the fast and then returning to sulk behind closed doors. Boltof’s conspiracy wreaked havoc on that poor frame, for she looked more pale and drawn every time she was seen. As the hall filled with men-at-arms and squires for the evening meal and the sun began its downward path, Celeste appeared again. She kept her gaze lowered and did not see the pitying glances cast her way.

  Royce stood again on his stoop, watching the villagers come home from their day’s labors. None looked up to count the numbers of knights at the wall, nor to judge their watchfulness. There were only two more than usual: one to help Trumble count those who entered at day’s end and one to go to the hall with the report. When the gate was closed again, Royce entered the hail and sat near the hearth until the platters of food were delivered to the tables.

  He watched Felise as she moved around the tables and helped the servants ready the room for the meal. He smiled warmly as he judged the seductive swing of her skirts and the way her willing smile played on her lips. When his eyes roved to Celeste, he saw that she, too, watched Felise, but the look on her face was not one of pride. Celeste looked so forlorn that Royce found himself hoping she would not snap under the pressure of Boltof’s schemes, failing to see her part through. They depended on her betrayal.

  He had given her many opportunities throughout the day to catch him alone and lure him to her chamber, but she had been much out of sight. There was little more he could do to make her ploy easy for her.

  Royce lounged lazily, one leg stretched out toward the fire to kick occasionally at the ash that spilled over. He appeared as any confident lord of plenty: unhurried, unhindered, and comfortable in the warm hall in late day. Felise approached him with a chalice of wine and knelt beside his chair. As he took the goblet he judged her worried frown.

  “Royce,” she whispered. “Look on Celeste. I fear for her. She is too frail for this madness. She will
die of fright before the meal is out.”

  He hushed her and smiled into her eyes for any onlookers’ benefit. “There’s no help for it, love. Let it be.”

  “Surely there is some way we can save her from this. Tell her we know of Boltof and free her from this agony. Though woman true in form, she is a child. She cannot endure this.”

  Royce gently touched his wife’s cheek, warmed by her sympathy. “Nay, Felise. Though the price be dear, she must pay it. No one forced her to trust her brother. ‘Twas her own poor choice, like many others.”

  Felise’s eyes welled with tears. “Royce,” she pleaded softly. He raised a hand and his brows drew together fiercely. “Nay, I will not weep,” she whispered. “But I tell you true, while I would fight Celeste to have you, it is certain she thrived on your love and now ... it is so sad.” She shook her head. “When first I met her, she was not so thin and pale, but vibrant. She grew beautiful on your love.”

  Royce’s voice was low and hoarse and he’d rather have had a better time than now, but there was something he had to tell his wife. “I never loved her, Felise. I loved no woman before you. There was simply no one else ... Celeste was the only one near. You must find a way to understand that I did not seek her, seduce her, woo her. It is a mercy that Henry separated us, for although I did not know it, I would have destroyed Celeste one day.” He shook his head sadly and his voice was low. “We cannot pity her, this is much of her own making.”

  “But I do pity her,” she said. “I think I would die if I lost you.”

  He leaned toward her slightly and gave her lips a gentle kiss. “Then you shall never die, my love,” he whispered. “My captured bride has chained my heart.”

  When the food was hot and ready, Royce went to his place at the table. Boltof was conspicuously absent, his chair empty. Rather than taking her brother’s seat, Celeste took her usual place, leaving a gap between herself and Royce.

  There was little conversation, and Felise seemed to fidget more than ever as she waited. Finally, touching her husband’s hand, she asked, “Has she approached you, Royce?”

  He shook his head and addressed himself to his plate again.

  A young squire of Royce’s troop entered the hall, and when Royce looked his way he nodded once, then walked past all those dining to the rear of the hall. One more man had entered the town than had left that morning. Royce relaxed in his seat, confident that Trumble knew where the extra man hid.

  But still they waited. Celeste played with the food on her plate, but little reached her mouth. Royce could bear the wait no longer.

  “Lady, is there some trouble?” he asked her. “Are you ill?”

  She shook her head and he noticed that her hand trembled.

  “Is there something you need?” he pressed. Again she shook her head and the meal passed with no word from her.

  Frequently Felise turned her questioning eyes to Royce, but Royce simply touched her hand to warn her toward patience. Many of those who took their meal in the hall were leaving, and Felise rose to supervise the cleaning of the hall and storing of the extra food. Royce sat, which was never his custom, in wait. Celeste finally rose, looked into Royce’s eyes, and murmured her excuses. “By your leave, messire. I would find my bed.”

  “Celeste, I worry that you’re unwell,” he said.

  She only shook her head dejectedly and moved to the stairs. Royce felt his stomach tighten. Damn, he thought furiously. She’s lost her nerve and won’t do Boltof’s will. She’ll sour the whole of it and we won’t catch him.

  But as Celeste put her hand on the rail, she swooned slightly and, upon catching herself, fell into shuddering sobs. Royce rose to her instantly, quite surprised at her clever ploy to have a word alone with him. When he reached her, she was nearly collapsed and sat on the stair, trembling all over. “Celeste,” he entreated. “What is it?”

  “Royce, oh Royce. You have such cause to hate me.”

  “Nay, Celeste, I don’t hate you.”

  “Royce, beware. Boltof plans some trickery here.”

  “Oh?” he questioned, ready to leap into her trap. “How so, Celeste? He has gone to Daventry.”

  “I don’t know what he’ll do, but I know that somehow he means to have all that you lay claim to. He pretends that I will be rewarded, but I am not so foolish as he thinks. I know he uses me.”

  He grasped her by the upper arms, frowning. Something had failed in their carefully designed plan. “What do you say, Celeste?”

  “He told me to lure you to my chamber late at night when the moon was set and the manor sleeps. You must not come. He plans to do you harm.”

  “How are you to lure me, Celeste?”

  The woman wept harder, collapsing into Royce’s arms, clearly distraught and unable to speak. Her face was wet with tears and her frail limbs shook so dreadfully that Royce waited long for her to finish.

  “How, Celeste? You must tell me.”

  “With some tale of Boltof’s plan. If I promise to tell you how Boltof will steal your bride, you will come to my chamber for the news. He will kill you, I know it.”

  “Did he say he would kill me? Is that what he plans?”

  “Oh, nay,” she whimpered. “He said he would return to Segeland to find you in my chamber and report this to Felise. But that is not his plan. I know what he will do. As I know my brother, I know his plan. My dagger is gone. Gone!”

  “Celeste, tell me all. Hurry now!”

  Her eyes cleared slightly, as if she was finding some strength in her confession. “I was not going to tell you, and then only I would suffer ... but I am too afraid to die. Forgive me, Royce, but I am a coward. Even though I have nothing to live for, I am too cowardly to die.”

  Royce shook her until wisps of her hair floated down around her face. “What does he mean to do?” he demanded.

  She looked at him through half-crazed eyes. “When you venture to my chamber, he will be waiting for you. How he plans to enter I cannot say. But he will slay you with my dagger and then ...” She nearly lost her nerve to go on, but swallowed hard and faced him. “He will pierce my heart with the same and form my fingers above the knife.”

  “He did not tell you this,” Royce blustered. “How do you guess his crime?”

  “I know him,” she snarled, her lip curling away from her teeth. “He would let our bodies lie there until they’re discovered, perhaps by Felise. She would scorn your memory and welcome a man who would be true. Was that not the way with Aylworth? Was he not close at hand to help the poor accused pick up their shattered lives? He tells you much of my melancholy--does he pretend to know the depth of my pain? Will he know it on the morrow, when he journeys here with Wharton? I read a message he had carried to Wharton, and Boltof did not write what he swore he would. Wharton does not bring arms to ward off your attack, but meets Boltof in yon wood.

  “Your lady will be widowed and Boltof will be close at hand to help her bury you. He will gently explain my madness and my jealousy. Royce, you must beware.”

  Royce stared at her in wide-eyed astonishment. He looked over his shoulder to see Felise standing near, listening. She frowned darkly. Royce knelt before Celeste, still holding her upright by the arms.

  “Celeste,” Felise said, drawing her attention for the first time. “You betray your brother. Why?”

  Celeste seemed startled to find she had been overheard, but only a moment elapsed before she spoke. Though she had begged mercy from Royce and confessed her cowardliness, there was hatred in her eyes and voice as she answered Felise. “Though you have him, I love him still. And I won’t have his blood on my hands.”

  “So, you save my husband, lady. But you save yourself as well, if you are right about Boltof’s plan.”

  “Nay,” she laughed, shaking her head. The tears continued to course down her cheeks. “I am afraid to die, and afraid to live. There is nothing for me now but to be my brother’s pawn. When Boltof caused me to lose Royce, that was the end of my life. Though I die a slow
er death, alone, still I die each day.” She looked back at Royce and again there was pitiful devotion in her eyes. “But you will live.”

  Royce stood and drew Celeste up to her full height. “Come, Celeste. The night is young and we must wait for the moon to rise. Look,” he said, turning her to indicate the top of the stairs. There she could see Aswin, who stood leaning against his staff with a stout hunter’s knife in his belt. He was far from young and his body less than agile, but he was a ready warrior tonight. And his fierce scowl spoke louder than words could. He would not be slowed by his afflictions tonight.

  Celeste looked back at Royce. “You knew,” she breathed.

  “Aye. And I waited for your betrayal. I did not think you wise enough to see through Boltof’s treachery, but perhaps you have removed the last question. We knew he would do something terrible, but none of us knew what or how.”

  Her eyes grew cold and dry. “Would that I had the courage to hate you as I should.”

  Royce smiled coolly into her pale blue eyes. He felt the strangest combination of scorn and pity. She had found no virtue in honesty all these years and allowed herself to be the victim of Boltof’s misuse, yet she showed on this night that she could discern truth from lies, if the lie came close enough to pierce her own breast.

  “How long have you known that Boltof killed my brother?” he asked her.

  She looked at him as if she would look through him. Her chin lifted only slightly and her mouth was fixed in a straight line. She did not have to answer further. Whether before or after the crime, she had known and pledged herself to Royce just the same, encouraging him to trust Boltof, though he was a cowardly murderer. All these years Royce had thought Celeste noble and compassionate, for she had never mentioned his suspicious past or the many accusations levied against him.

  His voice was cold and hard when he spoke. “Come, Celeste. We have an appointment when the moon is set. To your chamber, my love.”

  Twenty

  The creaking of the gate as it closed gave Boltof courage. He smiled to himself as he crouched behind a stall in the stable. He heard the sounds of men hanging bridles and brushing their animals. Feed was put out for the horses, and the beasts snorted and slopped as they ate. The last to leave closed the stable door, but it was not locked. In this fair village of Royce’s there was no need for bolts, for the guard was hearty, and once the wall was secure around the hall and town, no one could enter. Boltof laughed.