By King's Decree

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By King's Decree Page 12

by Shari Anton


  “And you?”

  “Merely to escort the women.”

  Something in Kester’s tone alerted Gerard. After the others left the sitting room, he waved Kester into a chair. “Harold told you the whole of it?”

  “He was rather blunt in his fury. I fear the entire palace will know the whole of it within the hour.”

  “I should have told him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “I asked him to, but…” Kester gave an eloquent shrug. “’Tis not Harold who concerns me now. Bronwyn, however, is most concerned about Ardith.”

  “Your wife is a meddler.”

  Kester smiled. “Aye, but she means well. In this case, I believe her reasoning sound. She wants to protect her sister as much as possible from the gossip spreading about court. You have never been one to pay heed to court intrigue, but I would advise you to pay heed now.” Kester leaned forward. “Many here have taken a liking to Ardith. Given today’s events, that will change. I fear Ardith will not understand.”

  Gerard conceded that Ardith’s tender feelings might be hurt by the more vicious among the court’s gossips. But tongues would wag. There was no way to stop them. They would accuse Ardith of becoming his leman, and for the time being, they would be right.

  “There is one concession we would ask of you, Baron. Ardith will need someone to talk to, a sympathetic ear. We ask that you allow Elva to remain here with Ardith.”

  Gerard cringed.

  “Granted,” Kester answered Gerard’s reluctance, “she is not the most pleasant of women, but she is family and also willing. In fact, she begged me to ask if she could attend her niece. She promises to cause you no trouble, or to speak against the arrangement.”

  Resigned, Gerard grumbled, “Should I hear one disparaging word fall from her lips, see one disapproving expression on her face, I will feed her to the fish in the Thames.”

  Kester stood. “There is another problem of which you should be aware. We did not think much of it until now, but some days ago, one of our servants told Bronwyn that Lady Diane’s maid was asking questions about Ardith.”

  Gerard frowned. “Why is Diane curious about Ardith?”

  “I fear you are one of the chosen.”

  “For what?”

  Kester shook his head. “I cannot believe you have not heard. I swear, you must be the only man of worthy rank who is not fawning over Diane de Varley. She is not only beautiful, but rich as sin, and much pursued.”

  “She also has a tongue as sharp as my sword and the cunning of a fox.”

  “Which most men will overlook if granted her hand.”

  “Henry has finally decided Diane must marry?”

  “He is allowing her to submit names of those she would have. You know how Henry indulges her. Gerard, if you are among those named, she may see Ardith as a rival, especially after you rebuffed Diane the other night in the hall.”

  “I did not rebuff her, precisely.”

  “Maybe not, but you showed a definite preference for Ardith’s company. For that alone, Diane may try to win you over, just to prove she can. The woman has been known to act from spite, and if she has decided on you, she will not let a Saxon lass of no rank stand in her way.”

  “I will have to make my feelings clear to Diane.”

  “Then you had best do so quickly, before Diane presents your name to Henry. I can think of no one else Henry would rather see control those vast de Varley lands in Normandy.”

  “If there is aught else you require, my lady, you need only ask,” Thomas offered.

  “My thanks, Thomas,” Ardith said.

  “A flagon of wine and a basin of wash water would seem in order. Ardith will wish to refresh herself,” Elva interjected.

  Thomas looked to Ardith.

  “Aye, that would be nice, if ‘tis not too much trouble.”

  “None at all, my lady,” Thomas replied, then ushered the trunk bearers out.

  “One would think you had forgotten how to deal with servants,” Bronwyn chided.

  Ardith turned to look at her sister, who’d made herself comfortable, perched on the edge of the bed that dominated the third and last room within Wilmont’s chamber. Four-postered, with a feather mat, the bed looked like Gerard’s, save for its smaller size and emerald curtains.

  “Thomas is not my servant. I have no right to order him about.”

  “I would say Gerard gave you certain rights when he ordered you moved in here.” Bronwyn looked about the room. “I have never liked this room. Lady Ursula always kept it so austere. It even smells of her.”

  Ardith walked over to the narrow window, and despite the cold winter air, opened the shutters. “Gerard’s mother last used this room?”

  “As mistress of Wilmont, Ursula is entitled to use it when in residence.” Bronwyn cocked her head. “These chambers are held in reserve for Wilmont, have been since the first baron served the Conqueror. No one else is allowed their use, not even when the palace seams are strained with guests and no one of Wilmont is in attendance.”

  “Is Lady Ursula expected to attend court?”

  “Nay. She stays at Wilmont. ‘Tis said she is mourning Everart. I suspect the story false, but who can say? The woman has ever kept herself aloof.”

  “Ursula has her reasons,” Elva said softly, moving to the corner by the window seat, where several religious statues, a prayer book and a crucifix sat on a small table. A prie-dieu awaited a supplicant.

  “I did not know you knew Ursula,” Ardith commented.

  “I was still at Wilmont when Ursula married Everart.” Elva fingered the crucifix. “Pitied the poor girl but could do naught to help her. I had problems of my own.”

  Elva, a young woman at the time of the Conquest, had served as Lenvil’s Saxon hostage to the first baron of Wilmont, Gerard’s grandfather, a Norman knight given land by William the Bastard, Norman conqueror of England. Something horrible had happened to Elva during that confinement to make her hate Normans so vehemently. Elva had never before admitted having been to Wilmont, much less told her story.

  Before Ardith could ask the nature of Elva’s problems, Bronwyn huffed. “Ursula’s problem is her religion. There is no joy in the woman.”

  “One finds little joy under the thumb of Wilmont.”

  Bronwyn wagged a finger. “Elva, you promised. If Kester can convince Gerard to let you stay with Ardith, you must hold your tongue.”

  Ever since Gerard had reappeared at Lenvil, Elva’s warnings to avoid men, the baron in particular, had increased. Here in Westminster, Elva had also complained about the suitors visiting Bronwyn’s chambers, despite Ardith’s assurances of indifference.

  Ardith glanced at the door she didn’t need to be told connected with Gerard’s bedchamber. Having Elva underfoot would most definitely prove a hardship.

  “Why would you wish to stay with me?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I beg you, Ardith. The trial ahead will be difficult, and you will have need of someone who loves you.”

  “Kester and I agree,” Bronwyn added. “Having Elva here may help stave off the worst of the gossip.”

  Ardith rubbed her forehead. By agreeing to stay in Wilmont’s chambers, she’d silently agreed to more than merely avoiding her father until his temper cooled. Apparently, others realized it also, Bronwyn and Elva included.

  “I doubt Gerard bargained on having Elva about He may not let her stay,” she said.

  As though her thoughts had summoned him, Gerard entered the room, and after a swift glance about, he turned to Elva.

  “Kester informs me you wish to serve Ardith,” he said, his tone menacing. “I will allow it, with one condition.”

  Ardith felt her aunt stiffen, and braced for an argument.

  “Ardith will suffer no harm while in my care,” he continued. “Should you try to convince her otherwise, by word or deed, I will banish you from these chambers, return you to Harold and his mercy. There will be no pleas for a second chance. The first scowl or disparaging word
seals your fate. Do you understand?”

  To Ardith’s amazement, Elva managed a small curtsy and said without hesitation or ire, “You have my word, my lord.”

  Gerard waved his hand toward the door. Elva stood still, but at a prod from Bronwyn, left the room without further protest Bronwyn shut the door behind them.

  Not until Gerard put a finger under her chin, closing her open mouth, did Ardith realize she gaped.

  “I do not believe it,” she whispered.

  “I fear Elva’s cooperation will be short-lived, but as long as she abides by the condition, she may stay.” Then he caressed her cheek, his eyes following the path of his fingers, his tone softening. “I must leave for a while, to see the king. Will you miss me while I am away?”

  Ardith laughed lightly. “I doubt you will be gone long enough for me to miss you. Besides, Bronwyn and Elva will keep me company while I set the room to rights.”

  His hand dropped and he glanced about, a spark of distaste lighting his eyes. “Make any changes in these chambers you wish. God’s truth, I would prefer a change.” Then he turned and left.

  Ardith sighed, glad for permission to make changes. First, she would pack away Ursula’s religious articles. Their presence would ever remind her that her relationship with Gerard violated church law.

  Bronwyn and Elva returned with warm water and wine.

  “Here, my dear, drink this,” Elva said, offering a goblet of wine. “’Twill calm you.”

  Ardith drank, looking about the room, barely tasting the wine. “Ursula would be the first to consign me to the nether regions, would she not?”

  “You are not to fret over Gerard’s mother,” Bronwyn said. “Gerard certainly does not. Ardith, some will think you honored, others will merely speculate. Then there are those who will judge harshly and censure. You must ignore them all.”

  “Dare I?”

  “For your own peace of mind, sister, you had best learn to close your ears.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Corwin at his side, Gerard stood before King Henry, who mulled over the grievances from the comfort of a thronelike chair in the royal bedchamber.

  Behind Henry stood Kester. Leaning against a bedpost, Charles, earl of Warwick, frowned deeply. Gerard didn’t mind the presence of either Warwick or Kester, called in to witness the proceedings. He respected and trusted both. Neither man would repeat a word of what he heard today.

  King Henry I of England slouched in the chair, for all appearances bored with the audience. But Gerard knew better. Deep within Henry’s eyes, a spark of ire had flashed when he was informed of the extent of Basil’s treachery.

  Yea, Henry was angry, but not because of any crime against Gerard of Wilmont. Henry possessed a mind capable of picking out the finest threads amid coils of thick rope. Henry knew, without Gerard uttering a word of warning, how Basil’s boldness could affect the stability of the throne.

  At present, Henry was at odds with most of the Norman barons over his attempt to administer justice with an even hand, treating baron and peasant alike. The English people took Henry to their hearts. The barons would consider any perceived weakness in the monarchy an excuse to unite in civil rebellion.

  The king shifted slightly, betraying his discomfort. Still, his voice held no emotion. “We thank our baron for bringing these misdeeds to royal attention. We expect Basil of Northbryre to appear at court, and we will deal with these charges in an appropriate manner.”

  “Sire, I would be willing to ensure Basil’s attendance,” Gerard offered.

  The corner of Henry’s mouth quirked. “We believe our summons sufficient guarantee of his attendance. Have you sent for your witness, Gerard?”

  Gerard swallowed his disappointment. “Health permitting, Richard should arrive any day now. With your permission, sire, I would like to grant Richard his knighthood. I feel he deserves the honor, as well as a reward.”

  Henry’s eyebrow rose. “You plan to settle land on Richard? Pray tell, which of Wilmont’s estates are you willing to part with?”

  Gerard smiled. “Not Wilmont land, sire.” Gerard held out a scroll—the list of Basil’s holdings in England. “I know my king will be generous when he bestows restitution.”

  Henry straightened as he took the scroll and scanned the list. Gerard hoped to receive half of the lands. Henry would undoubtedly keep the rest.

  The king rolled the scroll and dismissed the formal portion of the audience with the command “Now, tell me about Ardith. I hear that you have taken her into your protection.”

  Gerard smiled slightly at the term, but grew uneasy at the king’s sudden shift of subject.

  Warwick suddenly asked, “Ardith? Is she not the girl your father sought to betroth you to many years ago?”

  “My father spoke to you of the betrothal to Ardith?” Gerard asked, surprised.

  Warwick chuckled. “Aye. One would have thought him enamored of the girl. He described Ardith as possessing the face of an angel, the spirit of a hawk and the soul of a knight. Unusual praise for a female, but then Everart considered Ardith the perfect mate for you. He was quite disappointed when his plans did not work out.”

  “As well he should,” Corwin mumbled. Gerard silently agreed, but shot Corwin a warning glance, still wary of the king’s purpose.

  Henry leaned forward. “Kester informed me of what transpired today. This girl has no lands to bring you, no coin. A midwife has declared her barren. Why would you still consider taking Ardith to wife?”

  “Sire, my father was correct in his judgment of Ardith—she is lovely and spirited. She is also well versed in the running of a household. As to her barrenness, Ardith is an untried maid, and there is some doubt as to the midwife’s pronouncement.”

  Gerard ended with the argument he knew would likely sway Henry. “She is also Saxon, and we both know of your wish for more blended marriages.”

  Henry firmly believed it crucial to the kingdom’s future to fuse Normans and Saxons into one people—English. To the chagrin of the Norman nobility and the pleasure of the common folk, Henry had set the example by marrying a Saxon princess.

  Queen Matilda hadn’t retired to an abbey in Romsey for lack of feeling for Henry. She’d simply been unable to bear the viciousness of the court. Gerard also knew that, although he and Matilda lived apart, his queen held a special place in Henry’s affection.

  Henry’s expression softened, though he tapped the scroll on his knee. “I applaud your reasoning, Gerard, but I had hoped to reward you in a different manner. As you know. Lady Diane needs a husband, and I would welcome a loyal, strong baron to oversee the de Varley lands in Normandy.”

  Gerard checked a visible cringe, though inwardly his vitals twisted. Henry’s planned reward wasn’t to his liking, but an honor nonetheless. Diane de Varley as wife…hell fire, he could barely stomach the woman. Gerard glanced at Kester, who flashed an I-tried-to-warn-you smile.

  Henry voiced his musings aloud. “I can understand, however, why you might not consider my bequest as a reward. And you say there is some doubt of Ardith’s barren state?”

  “Aye, sire,” he answered.

  The king rose from his chair, adjusted his royal robes and proclaimed, “Then we decree Baron Gerard of Wilmont, our loyal and trusted vassal, betrothed to Ardith of Lenvil for the length of a year. If within the year the lady proves fruitful, they may marry. But should the lady prove barren, we declare the betrothal void, and Gerard must wed Diane de Varley and accept custody of the Normandy lands that come with her. What say you, Baron Gerard of Wilmont?”

  Stunned, Gerard protested, “What of Lady Diane, sire? Did you not give her the freedom to wed where she will?”

  “She has chosen—you—and with our approval. Diane will abide by the conditions of the decree. Will you?”

  Gerard uttered the only possible answer. “You are most generous, sire.”

  The king motioned to Kester. “See to the proper papers. Warwick will act as witness.”

  B
oth nobles voiced appropriate responses, or so Gerard thought. He was hearing another voice, one feminine and sweet-toned, acceding to the decree, then dragging him off to bed to begin the delightful task of proving fruitful.

  As they left the audience chamber, Corwin said with a slight smile, “I am glad the task falls to you to tell Ardith. I would wager she will object.”

  The pleasant vision dissolved. Ardith might certainly object, with reason. The custom of betrothal, bedding, then wedding upon conception wasn’t unknown, indeed was common practice—among the peasants.

  Sitting across from Ardith in the sitting room of Wilmont chambers, Gerard watched various reactions flash across her face as he divulged the relevant portion of his audience with Henry—the betrothal decree. When her features stilled into thoughtful repose, he relaxed, settled back in his chair, taking her silence as acceptance.

  The silence lasted overlong.

  “You are very quiet, Ardith,” he finally commented.

  “I merely consider my choices, my lord.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What choices?”

  “Well, I could obey my father’s wishes and hie myself off to a nunnery. Or I could merely go back to Lenvil. By the time Father returns he will have forgotten what angered him and life will go on as before. Or,” she continued on a sigh, “I could marry Gaylord.”

  “Gaylord!”

  “Of all the suitors he alone can make me laugh.”

  All of her choices didn’t include betrothal to him. Gerard reined in his temper and leaned toward Ardith. “A nunnery?” he countered. “You are quite unsuited to a life of prayer. You would be miserable. Go back to Lenvil? Your father may be forgetful, but I doubt his anger over your and Bronwyn’s venture will soon fade. As for Gaylord, when he hears of the decree, he will take his suit elsewhere.”

  “I feared as much.” She grew thoughtful again. “Mayhap I could go to one of my sisters. Agnes might have me.”

  He resisted the urge to reach across the table and shake her. Instead, crossing his arms on the table, he asked, “What of our betrothal? How do we fulfill the conditions if we are not together?”

 

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