by Ann Turner
After several hours’ sleep, Esma awoke. Her clothes were still on the floor where they had been left, so she rose from the deliciousness of the goose bed, dressed and went to the table. She ate all that she possibly could before, as warned, the groom entered the room, ready to return her to her husband. She filled her pockets with more food and followed the groom to the stable, where a saddled horse waited for them. Sitting behind the groom, they rode back to the village.
Earic was sitting alone in their new home when she came in and emptied her pockets onto the table, inviting her new husband to eat. His face serious, gone was the animated and happy groom of the day before.
‘So, how was he? Did you like what he did to you? Did you bleed for him?’ Earic questioned, as his new wife fetched two plates from the shelves and filled them both with the food from Romhill.
‘I kept my eyes shut and thought about other things while he took his pleasure,’ she replied. ‘Eat, husband, there is plenty here for us.’
Earic stood up, scraping the chair back, and grabbed her arm. ‘Food can wait,’ he said, pulling Esma towards the bed. ‘He’s had you; now it is my turn.’
He pushed her face down onto the bed and threw himself onto her.
5
As the years passed, it became obvious that Rowena was to be her parent’s only child. She and Aubrette became inseparable and occasionally would be seen riding out together on their ponies. Petronella still had the haunted look of a woman unfulfilled, of never having conceived since her daughter’s birth. Her health had fluctuated over the years and false reports frequently drifted down to the village of her death. However, as though to silence the gossipers, she would occasionally be seen out in a carriage, to prove that she still lived. Secretly, however, she desired for death to come and take her, to release her from her loveless marriage and useless body. This would allow her husband to remarry and to father a legitimate son and heir for his estate.
Whenever they rode out, Esma would stop what she was doing and look at the girls. The younger of the two was undoubtedly her daughter, as she still wore the simple necklace put around her neck when she had been born. It made her heart sing with joy. The girl was pretty and had a natural grace. Her future was secure and Esma felt she could not ask more for the child she had been forced to give up.
She had never told Earic about her daughter; it was for the best that he did not know. He had surmised that her first sexual encounter was the first night of their marriage, spent with Lord Oswyn, and what he did not know would not harm him. However, he did question why she would take two gifts to Romhill every Christmas. She would tell him that the second gift was for Rowena’s companion. He complained she was wasting her time and that the little money they did have should go instead to their sons, who needed it more. Esma loved her sons, but her daughter had a secret place in her heart. In silence, Esma watched her daughter grow into a beautiful young woman.
6
Rowena Redfearn stood in her room looking at her reflection in the polished mirror. She looked hard at the leaf green gown that accentuated her slim figure, and the gold girdle that hung around her waist and drew attention to her small waist. At the end of the girdle, a gold tassel dangled and shimmered each time she moved. She raised a hand to adjust the wimple that framed her oval face and moved the gold circlet that held it in place. She was eighteen and the light of her parents’ lives. Today she was determined to do them proud; her father had bargained her as a bride to an exceptional young man and she was to be introduced to him. He had not told his daughter much about her future husband – she had had no say in who she would marry – but she had learnt that he was one of King Henry’s illegitimate sons. The king, it was said, was very generous to his bastard family, loving them more than his legitimate children. Through this marriage, her father was uniting his family with the mighty Plantagenets. This had been a more advantageous union than Oswyn could ever have imagined. He had bargained hard with the promise of many rewards, including a good dowry, and the young man had agreed to the match.
A door opened and Rowena’s adopted sister, Aubrette, slipped in to admire her sister, who was older by six months. She came and stood beside Rowena, peering critically into the mirror, scrutinizing the anxious young woman.
‘You’ve scrubbed up all right, I suppose,’ Aubrette mused. Rowena smiled, nervously.
‘Do you think Simon will like me?’ she asked, running a finger around the cloth under her chin.
Aubrette laughed. ‘He’d be blind and half mad not to, but there is a minor adjustment that needs to be done to make you perfect for your intended,’ Aubrette said seriously, and slightly moved the gold circlet before pushing it down over Rowena’s face. She then ran to the other side of the room, laughing mischievously.
‘You goat’s arse!’ shouted Rowena.
‘Nag’s head!’ Aubrette countered.
Both young women collapsed into a fit of giggling, which was brought to an abrupt halt by Rowena’s mother, Petronella, coming in and scowling at them both.
‘Rowena, it is time to come down now. This behaviour is most inappropriate. Behave yourself,’ she scolded. Though Aubrette was not her own daughter, Petronella had affection for her – even if it was a little restrained at times. ‘Aubrette, your father commands you also attend, but keep to the back.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ they both answered, quietly.
Petronella looked at the two girls, concerned by their lack of seriousness at this most important of days. This marriage would affect all of their lives. Sighing, she left the room to return to the hall and her husband to prepare for the imminent arrival of the bridegroom.
Aubrette took her sister’s hands in hers and squeezed them with affection. ‘You are fortunate to have a husband to go to. Who will be out there for me?’ she said, with a trace of regret in her voice.
‘Maybe Simon has a brother. The king has many illegitimate sons, so surely there is someone out there for you.’
Aubrette laughed, dryly. ‘Oh, I doubt it. I am of mysterious birth and do not know who my parents are. What fine gentleman would want to take up with a mongrel like me? I’m most likely to end up with the turnspit in the kitchen, not a fine well-bred knight.’ Her eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. ‘Would you have to go to Simon’s father on the first night of your marriage? We’ve seen father bringing the village brides to his special room so many times.’
‘His father is the king; I could not refuse his summons,’ agreed Rowena.
‘Well, I hope Father would not be expected to take you to his goose bed.’
Both girls shuddered, giggling at the preposterous thought.
‘Whatever happens, we shall stay together. Simon will not separate us and I will find a handsome knight for you,’ promised Rowena, and danced around the room until she came to a halt at her sister’s side.
Aubrette kissed her sister warmly on the cheek. ‘Come on, Lady Fitzroy, let’s not keep your future husband waiting,’ she said and, running lightly, hand in hand, the two young women hurried from the room, tripping lightly down the stairs, to the hall.
The great hall had been scrubbed clean and fresh rushes infused with fragrant herbs had been scattered over its swept floor. Rowena and Aubrette came into the room and saw Lord Oswyn and Petronella, waiting for their illustrious visitor. Both young women curtsied to Oswyn and he looked seriously at his daughter, ignoring the adopted girl – she was too flighty, Rowena was too easily swayed by her wayward companion. This was to be a business transaction; he had provided a powerful husband for his daughter and, by God’s grace, Romhill would have an heir when a grandson was born.
‘Rowena, stand by me. You, behind her,’ he directed.
Aubrette was accustomed to the way her adopted father talked to her. She may be regarded by many as Rowena’s sister, but Oswyn would never allow her to forget that she was not born of t
his family. He constantly reminded her how benevolent he had been in agreeing to take the child in.
The girls took their places. Rowena still adjusting her wimple and her father acidly reminded her to be still, quiet, demure and obedient.
‘You look very lovely,’ assured Petronella.
Rowena smiled nervously in reply, suddenly apprehensive about meeting this young man. It was too late to worry, though. The steward now entered and announced the arrival of Simon Fitzroy.
He came into the hall and his presence and air of confidence immediately filled the hall. He was tall and strikingly handsome, with blue eyes and the famous Plantagenet red gold hair. Rowena could feel herself blushing; he was so much more than she had imagined and she instantly fell in love with him. He bowed formally to Oswyn and Petronella.
Oswyn, smiling in delight, stepped forward. He held out a hand, which Simon took and shook firmly. ‘Come; take refreshments,’ he said, clicking his fingers at his daughter.
Rowena, having been instructed on her duties, went to the table and picked up a salver that held two of the best glasses filled with the finest wine – kept only for the most important of guests. She took them to her father and Simon, but could not bring herself to look into the face of her intended. He took his glass, amused at her coyness.
Oswyn took his glass and raised it. ‘To the uniting of our families and the successful union between you and my dearest daughter Rowena,’ he said, triumphantly.
Simon raised his glass, took one long swallow of his wine, and then held the glass to Rowena.
‘Milady, will you not celebrate with me?’ he asked, with a smile spreading over his face.
Startled at Simon’s direct request to her, Rowena looked at her father cautiously. He quickly nodded, so she took the glass from Simon and sipped the wine. He leant forward, bringing his face close to her ear. ‘We shall share more than wine soon,’ he whispered and she flushed scarlet again, the blush deepening quickly. He smiled slyly. ‘How about sharing a bed?’ he continued and softly blew into her ear through the gauze of her wimple.
Rowena began to tremble, confused and suddenly frightened. Petronella had to quickly intervene and took the glass, putting it down on the table as her daughter edged cautiously towards her.
Simon laughed aloud. ‘Lord Oswyn, you have an enchanting daughter and I cannot wait for our wedding day to arrive – or for the night that follows,’ he said, watching his intended closely as she become more agitated at such forward talk.
While all this was occurring, Aubrette was watching him. Like her sister, she thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen in her sheltered life.
‘Once we are married and my business here has been completed, we shall return to Oxford where I have a town house,’ Simon explained, sitting down at the table to be served refreshments.
Rowena looked at him with some surprise. ‘We will not remain here?’ she asked, timidly.
His bold laugh preceded his answer. ‘By God, no! You shall follow me as a dutiful wife must do – and that shall be to Oxford or wherever I shall live.’
Rowena turned to look at Aubrette. ‘At least I shall have you with me, sister. We can have adventures together.’
‘What!’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Fair heart, your maid shall remain here. Adventures? There shall be no such nonsense, you shall be running my homes and giving me sons.’
‘But Aubrette is my sister,’ pleaded Rowena. ‘We have never been apart.’
‘Sister?’ Simon echoed, looking at her parents.
Oswyn gave a small and nervous laugh, pushing his adopted daughter further back in an attempt to hide her from view. ‘My wife is very kind-hearted; she took pity on a baby, a foundling, that was left at our door on the night it was born. She took the child in and cared for it as one would care for a favourite hound,’ he explained, pushing Aubrette even further back . ‘Rowena has been raised to believe that they are sisters.’
‘We know we are not true sisters,’ Aubrette exclaimed, crossly. ‘I want to be with Rowena; she’ll be lonely on her own.’
‘Certainly not,’ Simon countered, angrily, and then realised he was about to argue with someone of no importance. ‘Lord Oswyn, have you no control over your retainers? Do you allow this maid to dictate to you? I can assure you, my subordinates know and fear me. Perhaps you have been too lenient with your daughter if she regards a servant as a sister. There shall be no such freedom with me.’ He looked directly at Rowena. ‘When we are married, you shall obey me and accept all that I demand of you. I shall not permit this ridiculous state of affairs to continue. You will not need friends; I shall be all you need.’
Aubrette pushed herself forward, past the astonished Oswyn. Her heart pounded as Simon turned his attention on her – those blue eyes, so cold, bored deep into her. ‘Your manners do not match your looks, sir,’ she said, hotly.
Petronella gasped in horror and Oswyn struck at his forehead with a hand. All he had worked tirelessly for was now in jeopardy of being unravelled by this over-familiar girl. Rowena, meanwhile, looked between her father and sister, confused and dismayed.
‘Let me remind you, and everyone here, that my father is King Henry,’ Simon answered, his face burning hot with anger. He sneered at Aubrette and stabbed a finger at her. ‘I do not need to explain myself to an abandoned bastard who thinks she is above all else.’
‘It takes one to know one.’ The malice in her words projected outwards and the pair stood glaring at each other. Oswyn cursed and snatched Aubrette’s arm, dragging her away as she protested furiously, while Rowena begged her father to let her sister go.
Petronella apologised profusely to Simon, who was on the point of leaving. He declared that the match was off and that he would have nothing to do with a family that allowed such liberty from inconsequential females of the household. Oswyn turned and pleaded earnestly with his guest to remain until they had talked, and this disobedient creature had been taught a lesson she would never forget. Oswyn continued to drag the girl out of the hall as she struggled, screaming in furious anger, as they made the journey up to her room. He shouted to one of the servants to fetch him his willow stick, so that he could beat this girl into repentance. The stick was fetched quickly – no one wanted to be on the end of the lord’s anger when his temper was roused.
Throwing Aubrette into the room, Oswyn locked the door behind him and looked at her. He thrashed the willow stick through the air, making it whistle. ‘What do you think you are doing trying to ruin my daughter’s prospects? Rowena will be marrying into the Royal family of Plantagenet. It will give me prestige, unite me with King Henry and raise the family name higher than my ancestors ever imagined.’
‘Did you hear the way he spoke to her? No man shall ever speak to me like that!’ complained Aubrette, pointing at the locked door.
Oswyn slapped her face. ‘You will never make a marriage like this; you will never have any marriage of any description! I have no intention of wasting any more money or time on you.’ The willow stick hit Aubrette’s arm and made her cry out. ‘Have you ever wondered who your sire and dam were? And do you know why I have permitted you to live under my roof, giving you my charity?’ Aubrette shrank back, wincing from another whack of the stick. She shook her head. ‘Do you know why I permitted my wife to care for you as her own child, even after I had realised there would never be a son to follow me?’ The stick came down again and again across her back, making her scream in pain.
‘No,’ she screeched under the continuous raining blows of the stick.
‘Because when you were found there was a letter with you that said you were my bastard – that I had sired you! Petronella had a fondness for you and, at that time, I still foolishly imagined that she would give me my heir. I had the idiotic thought that by keeping her happy, it would be enough to make my son grow in her belly. That slattern tempted m
e, showing me her privy parts, so how could I resist?’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling in furious exasperation, once more bringing the cane down viciously on Aubrette’s back. The action shredded the material of her dress and blood dripped from the welts on her back. ‘I made a big error that night and have paid for it ever since. You should have been left for the wolves, then nothing like this would be happening.’
The revelation struck Aubrette as hard as the lashes from the willow stick. Oswyn hurled the stick across the room and moved forward towards her. She stepped back, afraid of the man who had, after all these years, revealed himself as her natural father. He stepped forward again and now stood very close to her – so close that he was able to slide an arm around her waist and draw her towards him. She winced in pain as his fingers dug into her back. He put his face close to hers and his lips brushed her cheek in the lightest of kisses.
‘I have never been able to resist a pretty face,’ he whispered, lustfully, in her ear.
Aubrette trembled in fear, struggling to free herself from his tight grip and his intentions. This would be incest, but she was powerless to resist.
‘Father, please, no,’ she whimpered, pulling her head away, preferring the beatings to what he planned to do.
‘Why not? Who would know? Would anyone believe you over me?’ He again leant forward and kissed her more firmly, allowing his lips to slide down to her throat. She feebly tried to push him away, but was unable to stop him. He would continue and force her, just as he had forced her mother. She stepped back once more and tripped, falling onto the bed, but still moved backwards in an attempt to keep away from Oswyn.