The Defiant Bride

by Leslie Hachtel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Defiant Bride

  Copyright © 2015 Leslie Hachtel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  lesliehachtel.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks so much to Paula Dooley whose expertise and meticulous care made this book so much better. And thanks to Allison Campbell who let nothing slip through the cracks. You ladies rock!

  Dedication

  To my wonderful husband, Bob, who gave me the gift of time.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  BIOGRAPHY

  CHAPTER 1

  England, 1508

  “A fortnight, a fortnight,” Lady Dariana chanted as she galloped her gelding across the meadow toward the stream. “A fortnight, indeed. Well, I won’t do it. I won’t!” But she knew better. The king would not hesitate to seize all her father owned, and worse. He had forced stronger men to work in his kitchens, and had imprisoned and executed others who defied him. He could not allow disobedience from his nobles or there would surely be anarchy. She and her father would be punished, and in ways she had not even imagined. Perhaps the king could be reasoned with, though she was certain this was a vain hope.

  She reached the rushing water and dismounted. The gray course stretched out in both directions. A recent storm had caused it to reach high up on the banks and tumble back on itself. Her horse occupied himself nibbling spring grass as Dariana walked to the edge of the jagged rocks. The water mimicked her mood; it crashed against the rocks and churned backward. She stood transfixed, the words she spoke earlier coming back like an echo: I will die first.

  She hadn’t really meant it. Death was a dark tunnel one traveled never to return. The promise of heaven would be removed if she took her own life. Her eyes lifted to the cloudy sky and she inhaled the fresh air, praying desperately for an answer that would serve.

  Dariana looked into the foaming water as it tossed itself against the rocks. She imagined herself on a high cliff, looking down into the sea. Maybe she could fly from that perch and end this agony, this torment. She wondered if there could be a worse fate than being torn from everything she had ever known, forced to live in a foreign land with who knows what kind of monster.

  Hope sprang in her heart. Perhaps he would be kind and not too hard on the eyes. She dismissed the thought, knowing that a man of means and handsome of face would choose his own fate when it came to selecting a wife. Women were nothing more than property, to be used as a means of exchange, one thing for the other.

  If she were to disappear, what would happen? Would Henry exact his revenge with confiscation? He saw treason everywhere and struck out against threats real or imagined. Suddenly, the misery was too much; hot tears burned her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

  Earlier this morning, she’d sat on the stone window seat, braiding her thick, black hair, her thoughts touching on one thing, then another, a sense of excitement filling her with hope. She’d inhaled deeply of the sweet air and wondered if she should spend her day riding the countryside or reading one of her beloved books. The thought of staying within the manor walls was unthinkable on such a fine day, although the chill in the air was a reminder that winter was not quite ready to move aside.

  She looked out to the greening expanse and was startled to see a cloud of dust. A rider in the distance. It was unusual to have unexpected visitors. Dariana recognized the colors of the crown. She shivered as the king’s messenger entered the gate; this did not bode well. News from the king was never good these days. He no longer showed sympathy for his people since his beloved son and wife had died. To make matters worse, the rider reached for a scroll as he dismounted and threw the reins to a waiting stable boy. The horse was lathered despite the cool temperature, underscoring the man’s urgency.

  Dariana was not surprised when, an hour later, her young maid appeared at the door. The girl curtsied quickly and spoke in a whisper. “Your father requires your presence, milady.”

  “How bad is the news, I wonder?”

  “I know not, my lady. Only that your father keeps biting his lips and shaking his head.”

  Dariana straightened her gown and rose. In no great hurry to hear this edict from the crown, filled as she was with apprehension at its contents, Dariana walked from her chamber and down the stone steps of the old castle, her back rigid with anticipation.

  Her father was pacing to and fro in front of the great fireplace, the flames crackling loudly as if in warning. He was a solid man, tall and strong. His eyes were an unusual shade of green. His moods were as visible in their depths as a compass telling direction. She could see he sensed her presence, but he merely continued his striding, back hunched, hands clasped behind him. Suddenly, he muttered, “Not good, nay, not good,” to no one in particular.

  “Sir?” She spoke nervously, curiosity gnawing at her and warring with the fear of having that curiosity satisfied.

  Her father moved to his chair by the hearth and sat heavily, his age showing in the deep lines of his face. He pated a stool next to him. Then he pierced her with his intense gaze. “Come sit, child. I have a message from the king himself.”

  Obediently, Dariana sat where her father indicated and took his hand. She was overcome with the love she felt for this man who had seen to her all her life. Her mother had died of the fever when Dariana was but a babe and this man was the only parent she had ever known.

  “My lord, what can be so terrible? You have done nothing to raise the ire of the king. You are both loyal and innocent.”

  “You must marry.” He stated this flatly, as if he spoke of the end of the world.

  Dariana smiled in relief. “Is that all? You have been very patient with me. I hope you do not regret promising I could make my own choice.” She smiled at her sire. “Few would allow their daughters such generosity. Soon I will surely find a suitable husband whose lands are nearby so I will never be far away. Worry not of this. But what has this to do with the king…?” Her voice trailed off as she feared what he would say next.

  He gave a mirthless laugh, then dropped his gaze to the stone floor, shaking his head.

  “Surely I did not raise you to be such an innocent. Do you really believe the world is as this castle where your every whim is indulged?” Before she could protest, he continued, “You are to marry a Spaniard of the king’s choice, to further seal the alliance with Spain.”

  It took a moment for the words to penetrate. Then her anger rose up and filled her head. “Why me? I understand not.” She tried to calm herself. Perhaps there was some sense to be made of this.

  “There is no more to understand than what you have just been told. He chose you because he covets my lands and hopes you will disobey. You are a rarity, my girl. Most would be married with babes clinging to their skirts at your age. Henry has lately made demands for his own pleasure.” Her father scratched his head, as if pondering the will of the king. “It should
be an honor for his majesty to intervene, but I do not think it such. It matters not. You are to leave in a fortnight and be married before the next full moon.”

  Dariana’s head swam. Suddenly, she giggled. “You jest with me!” Looking into her father’s face and seeing the pain residing there, the laughter caught in her throat. She stared at him, waiting, breathless.

  “If you do not comply, daughter, the king will confiscate my lands and my title and, if we are truly lucky, he will stop at that and not take my life as well. Do you not understand, child? There is no choice. I have indulged you far too long. Perhaps I could not face being alone in my dotage, so it suited me to have you remain unmarried. But now the matter is out of my hands.”

  Anger rose again in waves and washed over her. “This is not possible. How dare he be as cruel as this? I am the daughter of an earl.”

  “And he is King of England. He values alliances now above all else. He himself formed one between the houses of York and Lancaster when he married Elizabeth.” Her father’s voice was flat, defeated.

  “He is a fool, an angry, greedy, bitter miserable man. I will not do as he demands.”

  “Quiet! Speak you not of treason, foolish girl. We must do as we are told, and that is the sum of it. Now, go to your chamber and begin preparations. And never speak such words again. You are subject to the will of Henry and, if we are blessed, he will never come to know of the selfish, spoiled girl I have raised. Now go!”

  She was shocked. Her father had never raised his voice to her. Before Dariana could protest, he dismissed her by raising his hand and turning away.

  “I’ll die first!” She raced up the stairs to her chamber, tears blinding her.

  “It is your only chance of escaping your fate,” her father called after her.

  Dariana could not fathom what had just occurred. After a while, she calmed and tried to think with purpose. She needed advice. A friend to talk to. There was someone Dariana could trust. Tamara would offer a solution.

  Lady Tamara, Countess of Westonbury, was at her writing desk when Dariana burst through the portal and threw herself into her open arms, sobbing.

  “Child, child, quiet yourself. What can be so terrible to be worthy of all this misery?”

  Lady Tamara, still lovely at nearly two score years with her pale blonde hair and eyes that missed nothing, was quite a bit older than the eighteen-year-old Dariana. In spite of that, their friendship had grown over the years.

  It was no secret that the lady had no great love for the king. Tamara’s father had been unjustly accused of supporting the young pretender to the throne, Lambert Simmel. Subsequently, he had been stripped of his lands, and his remaining wealth confiscated by the crown. Even when it was clear he had not played any part in the traitorous scheme, the king refused to return what he had taken. Soon after, Tamara’s father had died a broken man.

  Dariana tried to catch her breath and coughed, then slowly regained control of her emotions. Tamara put her arm around Dariana’s shoulders and led her into the great room, to a comfortable chair near the hearth. Tamara sat across from her and took both of Dariana’s hands. “Tell me all.”

  Dariana drew in her breath and the words spilled out. “I must marry.”

  Tamara smiled in relief. “Is that all? Of course you must marry, love. ‘Tis nothing to fear. A man would know himself to be blessed to have such a sweet and beautiful wife. You would, indeed, be a gift to any man. You are only unmarried as yet since your father has indulged you and allowed you to select your husband. Has his patience run thin?”

  “You understand not. Henry has sent an edict demanding I marry a Spaniard to aid in the alliance.”

  “Henry has done what?”

  “I know not what I should do. I will not go to Spain with a man I have never even laid eyes upon. It is unthinkable. And he is certainly some hideous monster.”

  Tamara stared into the distance for a moment. “No, love. It is not unthinkable. You have been lucky to have escaped the king’s notice for so long a time. But I do not blame you. I would feel the same. Perhaps we can find a solution so Henry does not win this battle.”

  “What can we do? He is, after all, the king. And you of all people know his punishment for disobedience. I have even thought of taking my own life. I am so desperate.”

  “What a wonderful idea!”

  Dariana was shocked. “You wish me to die?” She could hardly utter the words. Her world had just dropped away and she was nearly breathless with the pain of it.

  Tamara smiled. “No, love. You misunderstand my words. I would never wish for your demise. That is—not privately.”

  Dariana gazed at her friend, confusion rampant in her thoughts. “I understand nothing you are saying. Do you love me so little?”

  Tamara smiled again. “No, I love you so much. That is why you must die.”

  She and Tamara spent two days formulating a plan that would seal her fate. It was simple. Dariana was sent home with an attitude of obedience. She was to act the perfect daughter while preparing for her departure. She was to tell no one, of course. Arouse no suspicions. There was much to do and precious little time.

  Near the edge of the King’s Forest, yet well concealed, was an abandoned cottage that had once belonged to a caretaker. Since the forest was forbidden to all but the nobility and those they allowed to serve as keepers, few, if any, would pass nearby. The forest was reserved for the hunt; game was more plentiful in its depths. If she was careful, Dariana could take up residence there until it was deemed safe for her to reappear under some other identity. She would have to find some convincing masquerade to be above suspicion.

  Tamara would meanwhile plant the seed that her husband’s niece might arrive in hopes of gaining a worthy mate. Or perhaps a nun from a nearby convent would visit. Still, Dariana knew her return was but a vain hope, considering the deception she was about to commit.

  In the time allowed, the two spent each day together riding. Dariana had packed her belongings and appeared prepared for her inevitable journey, so her father did not object to the time she spent with Tamara. No one thought anything amiss since their devotion was known. Tamara had made no secret of the fact her dearest friend was being sent away. Happily, since the area between their homes was declared safe, they were permitted to ride within the confines of the adjoining lands without escort.

  On their rides, they secreted provisions to furnish the small cottage in the forest. They would ride out, skirt the meadow, and then slip into the forest to deposit the bounty. They discovered a large kettle and a small table and chairs already present, as well as a strong rope cot. The cottage was happily in good repair. In a short time, it was supplied with a comfortable bed of furs, a stock of warm cloaks, woolen dresses, and cooking utensils. Lighting the hearth could prove dangerous in attracting unwanted attention, so they had prepared for the onslaught of the cold with additional clothing and blankets. Her father had taught her how to hunt for sport and Dariana had been adept with bow and arrow since she was a child. It was her weapon of choice, so those were supplied, along with several daggers. However, she didn’t give thought to how to prepare animals after hunting. Food had always appeared at proper times and not been a concern.

  The excitement of planning made the truth of what they were doing less terrible. Dariana was committing an act that could cost her father’s life. The king would certainly demand retribution should he ever discover the truth. And her friend was helping her. What would Tamara’s punishment be? Dariana tried desperately to convince herself this was the only solution to escape a heartless royal edict.

  Tamara had a family retainer who had served her father and moved with her when she married. Humphrey adored his mistress and his loyalty was unassailable. He was chosen to share their secret. He could come and go without challenge and could easily deliver food and other necessities without arousing suspicion.

  On the last day, Dariana rode her horse to the edge of the stream. She dismounted and dropped
her cloak, making certain it caught on the outcropping of rock. She tore a small bit of her riding habit and tangled it in the underbrush. Tamara had managed to secrete some cow’s blood from the kitchen and now Dariana liberally doused it on the cloak. Then, after kissing him on his soft nose, she slapped the horse on the rump and sent him toward home while she sought her refuge in the cottage.

  Tamara later told her the result of her efforts; the worst had been feared. Her father had led a search and, after many hours, had been devastated when he came to the very spot they had intended him to find. There had been no choice but to arrive at the most obvious conclusion: his dearest daughter was dead. No doubt she had been thrown from her horse or some other terrible fate had overcome her. He would never know. The immutable fact was that she was gone. He was inconsolable.

  When Dariana had not presented at court at the appointed time for her nuptials, the king sent an angry missive demanding her appearance. The earl’s response explaining her death did not satisfy Henry, who was clever enough in his own right to suspect there might be games afoot. As expected, men were dispatched to search for the disobedient girl, but they were not quiet in their work as they searched the earl’s lands and surrounding countryside, so their presence did not go undetected. When they neared her part of the forest, she heard them from a great distance away. Dariana was ready to escape if they came too near.

  She waited, all senses alert, but it never occurred to anyone that a lady of the realm would take refuge in a rough cottage, so it went unmolested if not unseen. Dariana had been terrified of discovery and it took days for her to have a restful sleep for fear the king’s men would return and expose her.

  Time passed and Tamara kept her promise, sending Humphrey with savory meats and cheeses, loaves of bread and clean clothing. Occasionally, when Tamara could sneak away, she would come to visit. Her presence was a comfort.

  It was Dariana’s custom to wash in the nearby stream each morning, even when the autumn chill had made the bath not quite so welcoming and the frigid cold of winter had shortened her ritual to a few quick splashes. It struck her as strange that but a few miles down this very stream was where she had ‘died.’