by Robyn Carr
“Good morningtide, my lord,” Marcella simpered, curtsying low, her wide velvet skirts lying in even pleats on the rushes.
“Madam,” the earl returned.
Lord Gifford slowly stood up, and Anne cautiously glanced at the man whom her parents wished her to marry. She watched as the earl and her father approached each other in the small room, each bowing at the waist, wordless. Then the earl offered his hand. His lips curved in what seemed to be a shy smile.
Anne instantly saw what had excited her mother, and indeed, what might be the answer to the prayers of any other marriageable maiden. The earl was a stately man of well over forty years, his clothing rich and newly sewn, his neatly trimmed dark hair barely kissed by new silver at the temples, and his physique that of a much younger man. Anne was impressed, for money and power did not guarantee manners, cleanliness, nor handsomeness. But he was nearly as old as her father.
“And is this Anne, your lovely daughter?”
Ferris stepped aside that the earl could look at her. She saw his intention in his eyes. They turned from a hazy to a deep, smoldering blue as he looked at her. A smile slowly formed on his lips and he held out a hand. Anne cautiously put hers into his, and she felt him tremble. Or was it herself? He bowed low over her hand, gently brushing his lips on her cold flesh. “I am honored, mademoiselle.”
“The honor is mine, my lord,” she said softly, nervously.
“Your parents have told you, I trust, that I am interested in a bride?”
She nodded weakly, looking into his eyes. He did not appear to be cruel; in fact, there was a certain gentleness in his demeanor. But just the same, her chin quivered. When she was in Dylan’s arms, she felt beautiful. At this moment she felt like livestock at barter.
“Are you frightened of me, maid Anne?” he asked, his voice soothing and kind. “Or is it the prospect of marriage that frightens you?”
“I ... I was to go to the convent ...”
His complexion seemed to darken as he gave an embarrassed chuckle, and he squeezed her hand softly. “I realize that I do not have the appearance of a young swain, nor that of a saintly mother superior, but you needn’t be afraid.” The earl looked at Ferris. “The girl is breathtaking, yet sweet. I would be honored to take her to wife. But she is too young. Too skittish. I do not wish for her to be damaged by the prospect.”
“But my lord, she will ...”
The earl held up his hand to silence Marcella’s interruption and continued speaking to Lord Gifford. “I think it is in the maiden’s best interests to extend our courtship. If I can show that I can be trusted before we are wed, the marriage will be more pleasurable to us both. If it suits you, we can draw up betrothal contracts now and be married some months hence. During the next several months I must travel to attend to many affairs of state, during which time I can make an occasional visit to your family at Raedelle. We will become better acquainted. Anne will become assured that marriage to me will not be a fearsome ordeal.”
“Fearsome ordeal, indeed,” Marcella grumbled. “Lord Forbes, if you desire a bride this eventide, she will oblige. You needn’t coddle her to this degree. She is a sturdy girl, though small. And she can read and speak French and Latin. She--”
Marcella stopped in midsentence when she saw Lord Forbes frowning. “My lady, I would expect you to be more sensitive to her age and inexperience than I. But never mind, a few months will serve us all.”
Anne felt a smile come to her lips. She had never seen anyone manage Marcella so deftly. And he promised her time. The earl looked at her. “Does that meet with your approval, my dear?”
“You are very generous, my lord.”
He reached for her hand again and this time she was more willing. “My name is Brennan Forbes, and you may use it freely. Despite your youth, you have submitted to my sudden request to meet you with poise and elegance, Anne. I thank you. You will find my disposition generous and I hope you will be pleased with what I can offer you. Your servant, mademoiselle.”
He turned to Marcella. “Call on me for any needs the girl may have. I will extend my purse to her clothing and travel costs.” He then gave an abrupt nod to Lord and Lady Gifford and departed.
As Anne watched his aristocratic departure, she was sorry for him. He seemed a good and decent man, humble and polite for one who could, through money and power, be demanding and coarse if he so chose. He was handsome, kind, and sensitive. It was a shame that her heart was no longer hers to give.
Many young women were given to older men, for often women died in childbirth. Thus, a great number of wealthy men were twice and thrice widowed before they themselves died. Often a maid was wed only for the sake of money – it was rare that the man was also civil and handsome. Brennan Forbes would be considered among the finest looking and most courtly.
Yet Anne said a silent prayer of thanks that she had been given the gift of time. She would not be married to Brennan Forbes – she must tell Dylan at once. They must flee.
“Well, daughter?” Ferris asked.
Anne answered with a calmness that she did not feel. “I find it hard to believe he is interested in me. Surely I am too young for him, surely he could find a prettier maid.”
Ferris shook his head, and Marcella frowned. Anne was the most beautiful woman in their household, and Ferris tended to think there was no greater beauty in all England. And her disposition was sweet. Her humility was a product of careless brothers who only teased her if they bothered with her at all. Trenton, the youngest boy at two years senior to Anne, had been her friend and playmate when they were younger, but lately achieving knighthood took precedence over attention to his little sister. The other boys had never been attached to her at all. And her older sister was as selfish with her kindness as she was with her gowns. Marcella had no time for Anne, except to pause to scold her occasionally, and Ferris was away from her more often than he liked. He knew that only he and old Minerva ever spoiled her.
Ferris had been bothered by more than one old lord about this pretty little maid, but had feared to tell his wife. Marcella seemed unconcerned with her children’s feelings and might have swiftly married Anne to the first lucrative offer. And yet Anne had so many visible attributes that Ferris often wondered why his wife put so much energy into the marriage of their other daughter. It often seemed as though Marcella could not acknowledge their youngest except to push her aside. His wife’s treatment of Anne hurt him deeply.
“I will walk with you to your bower, petite,” Ferris said, holding out his hand to her.
Marcella grasped her to retrieve her jewelry. “Mind your manners, Anne, or you will be punished.”
“Yes, madam,” she said. Ferris frowned at his wife.
Anne walked down the dark gallery with her father. The hour was still early and few people were astir. When they had traveled some distance from Marcella’s bedchamber, Ferris paused.
“Marriage to the earl is not the worst that could befall you, lass.”
She smiled up at him. It pained her that her father, so kind and gentle, might suffer for trying to protect her. “I know, Father. The earl seems a good man.”
“Then you will go to him willingly?”
“Yes, Father. If that is your desire.”
Ferris sighed deeply, a troubled look coming into his eyes. “Anne ... lass ... you must not ... ahem, you must let these matters of marriage rest with your parents. Do not give your love to a young swain of your choice. One whom ... we cannot approve for you.”
“No, Father,” she said, looking down at the floor.
“Do not pin your hopes on things that can never be.”
Her cheeks grew warm and she stared at the floor. Could he know? But, if he knew, he would punish her. Ferris Gifford might be the least passionate where the feud was concerned, but he had never hidden the fact that he despised Lord deFrayne.
Ferris lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to look into his eyes. “We do not always love wisely, child. I must tell you t
his, this one time only. If it occurs to you to give your heart to the wrong man, you do not face only a life of ruin for yourself, but you well could ruin the family who has reared you and the family that will follow as your heirs. Much ill can come from such a mistake, Anne--pain, fighting, poverty, even death. Marriage to Brennan Forbes will keep you well, make you rich, and, I trust, he will do everything in his power to make you happy.”
“If you wish me to marry him, I shall, my lord,” she said, knowing it was a lie and knowing, too, that Ferris Gifford must have seen Dylan smile at her.
“I wish it, lass. He is the duke’s man and the Duke of York will wear the crown of England one day. Perhaps soon.”
“Papa,” she said in a surprised whisper, touching his hand. “Do you plot against the--”
“Hush, child,” Ferris warned. “Let us just say that your marriage to the earl and other matters of negotiation will restore this family to its former wealth and importance, if all goes well. Now, if you hurry, you can still get to mass. Very few will rise for mass this morning,” he said, his tone secretive. “No one else from our family will be seen there.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “May I trust you, Anne, to do right by your old father now?”
She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, saddened by his request. Was it a plea to resist Dylan’s affection and go placidly to the earl’s marriage bed? “I love you, Papa,” she said, turning from him to go directly to the chapel.
Her throat ached and tears threatened. Her father would be crushed by her betrayal, but betray him she must, for she could never love any man as she loved Dylan – not her father, and certainly not Lord Forbes, however kind and decent he was. Nothing could make her turn her heart from Dylan now. For a year, through so much danger and risk, all she had thought of was the moment she could finally belong to him. Such determined vision in a young woman could not be easily dispelled.
And Ferris knew, she was sure of it. He had asked, in his own cautious way, that she forsake Dylan’s love and do what was right. He had even directed her to go alone to mass, a place where she might find Dylan without any members of her family looking on.
Oh Father, forgive me, for I am a bad daughter, an ill bride, and I sin and lie for the want of one love.
She kept her head bowed, seated far back behind the few who had risen for mass. She heard the sound of armor behind her, and her heart began to beat wildly. As the priest prayed she stole a look and saw Dylan, outfitted in chain mail and breastplate, his plumed helm in the crook of his arm. Why was he armored? There were no jousts today.
When the mass was complete, she rose, keeping her head bowed, crossed herself, and moved as quietly as a nun out of the church. She swiftly glided around the side, through the gardens and toward the concealing coppice. There was a narrow path that led to a clearing beside a stream. At dawn and again at dusk one could meet many a castle servant on this path, for it led from the town to the hall, but at this hour she hoped it was private.
She turned and saw that he was close behind her and his face was troubled.
“We depart, my sweet love. I have made the family tardy since I could not be found in my bed.” He shrugged. “They assume I warmed some castle wench’s pallet elsewhere. Except, perhaps, Lady Daphne, whose eyes were filled with pain. She sent me to mass to atone, and Daphne generally ignores her sons’ wenching. The pain in my mother’s eyes, I trust, is for you, Anne.”
“Dylan, why? Where do you go?”
“There is a plot against King Henry. The Duke, Richard of York, gathers armies. If King Henry falls to some conspiracy, my family will fall with him.”
She rushed to him, his armor crushing her. Tears slid down her cheeks in yet another fearful moment. “Dylan, everything has changed. We must flee quickly. My mother has found an earl who wishes to make me his bride ... and my father plots with the Duke of York. Oh please, let us be done with this!”
“There are kings and plotting dukes in every country, ma belle.”
Anne was confused by the political conspiracies that engulfed noble families. She did not know who was right or wrong. The all too frequent plots and bloody battles made only one impression on her--this futile and carnal waste of life kept her from Dylan. “But different dukes and kings. ... Oh, Dylan, we can serve the same one if we make haste away from here.”
“Anne ...” Agony seemed to draw out her name.
She stepped backward abruptly. For the first time since their eyes met, she heard hesitation in Dylan’s voice. She had committed every dream to their day. She would not dream lies – she was too proud to lie to herself. With wisdom that was rare in one so young, she questioned him quickly and purposefully. “Our promise, our oath that we will be together, is it no more? Do you have me wed this earl while you go to King Henry’s aid? Dylan, speak now.”
His features softened and he moved near. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her into his embrace, gently rubbing his cheek against hers.
“If you want me no more, Dylan, you must tell me now. We have made a promise that there is but one way, we both deny our families or not at all. If I defy my father, I cannot go to your family and present my new loyalties. ‘Tis both or not at all.”
“Anne, my love ...”
“If you cannot, I will not judge you. But your word, Dylan. Now. Today. There is little time.”
“I cannot live without you, my sweet love.”
“There is no longer a convent to protect me, Dylan. The Earl of Ayliffe gives me some months--”
“Ayliffe? Good God!”
“Do you know of him?”
Dylan laughed ruefully. “I am amazed that you do not know him. He is ... he has more than I will ever be able to offer.”
She touched his cheek. “But I love you, Dylan. And I know there are rich brides that can give you more than I. Do we doubt now, after all we have dared?”
“Nay, darling. I will come for you. It may take a little while ... but I will come.”
“And I will wait.”
“Trust me, Anne. Trust me.”
She kissed him, again fearing it would be their last kiss. “Stay here and let me depart alone. If I see your face as I mount with my parents and brothers, my eyes will betray me.” And so he left her alone by the stream. She shivered at the memory of that moment of cold dread when she feared Dylan had given up on their dream. In the end he was true, but that alone would not keep the pain of parting from bringing its inevitable tears. She sank onto the grassy bank and wept.
Anne’s tears dried, yet she remained seated on the bank of the stream. The spring morning was uplifting, the sky was clear and blue, the birds melodious. Pain was replaced with hope, for soon she could escape with Dylan. She plucked at early spring flowers and her eyes fell on the scar on her hand. She had passed it off as an accident in the weaving room, but it was wrought of a blade. It had happened on a dark, moonless night in the wood outside the Giffords’ ancestral home, Raedelle Keep, when she had crept from her bed and Dylan had spread his mantle on the grass for them.
At fifteen she came to know the woman’s ways of her body. She longed for Dylan’s lovemaking and offered her virginity, but Dylan was the one to deny her. He would not spoil her and by some merciless act of fate leave her violated, or pregnant, and punished by her family. “If they discover we have been together, it will be hard enough for us, but should it ever be learned that we have shared our bodies, I dare not think of the price we will pay, and you more than I. But lie close to me, and give me your promise we will be together one day.”
She had pulled his knife from his belt and before he could protest, she ran the sharp blade across the back of her hand, drawing an immediate swell of crimson blood. “In blood, if it pleases you,” she said. His horrified eyes roved from her hand to her face. “ ‘Tis virgin’s blood, Dylan. I will never forsake you. I will love you till I die.”
It took him a moment to recover his senses and reckon with the courage of her act. She had not winced or shuddered, but h
ad cut her flesh swiftly and deftly. He took the blade and made an identical cut on his own hand. He smiled sheepishly as he held the bloodied hands together. “This is a pact most often made between men.”
“I’m certain that lovers of old have done this and more,” she said.
“Then I pledge, my love, that we will be together one day. For more than a stolen moment – for all time.”
These promises were the ones that bound them still. It would be wrong, they decided, for only one of them to forsake a family. It would only strengthen the feud between the two families, for with such an act there would be a boastful victor and a shamed loser.
For many years, ever since Henry of Bolingbroke had usurped the throne from his cousin, King Richard II, the earls of Heathwick and Raedelle, Lords deFrayne and Gifford, had supported opposite sides. But they had once been good friends. Lord Gifford, Anne’s great-grandfather, sent a message to his friend after Richard had been captured and imprisoned. DeFrayne responded, offering Lord Gifford amnesty for his arms. The Gifford family still possessed that old letter from Lord deFrayne, their proof that the Giffords were wronged, betrayed, for the story went that when Lord Gifford went to the meeting place to surrender, he was ambushed and slain. Family wars ensued and there was much bloodshed. Then Henry V, the second Lancaster king, Bolingbroke’s son, ordered an end to the fighting with the added threat that the lands of both the victor and the vanquished would be confiscated. The Giffords, reduced to a barony and still suffering under heavy attainder for their part in support of Richard II, could not risk any further action against them from the king. And the deFraynes, who had become wealthy and influential by route of conquest, were unwilling to test the king’s order. Thus, open warfare had stilled, but the animosity continued. Now the Giffords hoped to steal the crown away from King Henry VI, another Lancaster, and give it to Richard, Duke of York.