by Robyn Carr
While the families argued over diverse politics, Anne and Dylan had been free. They had love, what need had they for the arguments of dukes and kings? But then she had seen Dylan at mass in chain mail. It was not for the tourney this time, but for a real conflict. He spoke as though his support had been commissioned and the political animosity, once so distant, crept closer, edging its way into the hopes and dreams of young love.
For a moment she thought Dylan might forsake their love for a cause. She would have freed him tearlessly had he asked it of her. Not painlessly, she knew, but Anne was stronger and more brave than she realized. And she would do anything for Dylan’s sake. But in the end he had pledged himself anew, true to their plans. Anne continued to push the plots and wars far from her mind, thinking only of Dylan’s embrace, his kiss, oblivious to how closely threatened she really was. Anne had absolutely no idea of the kind of life she might have to endure in exile at Dylan’s side, and Dylan had only a vague notion.
“ ‘Tis an unseemly place for a maid to hide.”
She jumped at the masculine voice and looked up to see the Earl of Ayliffe towering above her. Her cheeks flamed, as if he could read her mind.
“Do you not worry about your safety, Anne? What if some man happened down this path and spied you?”
“It appears, my lord, that a man has done exactly that. Need I be afraid?”
He smiled and dropped down onto the grass near her, drawing up his knees. She was again struck by his youthful appearance, that he’d not grown paunchy or sloppy with age. At twenty he might have been as handsome as Dylan, and, indeed, he was handsome still.
“May we talk awhile, maid Anne?”
She cocked her head to one side. Her experience with men was severely limited, but an earl who asked permission to speak inspired her curiosity. “You are overly solicitous, my lord. Certainly you could assert your great power and wealth and have a young bride at your whim. You could have had your wedding done in my mother’s bedchamber this morn, had you asked for it.”
He laughed lightly. “I suppose I could. But, Anne, did it ever occur to you that that which is won by force is held only by hope? I would have you love me.”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks grew hot again. She looked away from his face.
“I suppose it seems absurd to you now, for you are so young, and I am nearly as old as your father. But you will learn, petite, that age has little to do with it. Or perhaps it is a great advantage. Were I a young knight smitten by your beauty, I would be hard pressed to delay the marriage.” He laughed pleasantly. “It would be most difficult to ignore the great opportunity of this private coppice. But I am no longer an impatient young man, and I respect your youth and your purity. And,” he said, reaching out a finger to turn her face back toward him, “I wish for you to be as happy as I shall be.”
“I do not deserve such kindness, my lord.”
“And why not?” he asked with a laugh. “Because you have had your heart set on some young squire, or some arrogant and handsome young knight? I can assure you, demoiselle, I have traveled enough of this world to know the way of young hearts and young virgins. If you are an honest maid with good intentions, all you need is time. And I shall show you that marriage to me and your life as the Countess of Ayliffe will be pleasurable and happy. In time all the young knights who have filled your dreams will fade away and the love of a good and generous man will replace them.” He shrugged. “In time, Anne, you will become a woman. And I plan for that to happen in my home, under my patient care.”
She could not help but smile at him, for it was clear that he was a tender and kind man. If she had not known Dylan, she could love a man such as Brennan Forbes. “I thank you, my lord, for your uncommon goodness.”
“My name, Anne. Please, use my name.”
“Brennan,” she tested, laughing.
“You need not thank me. I have been married, twice, and both times have been very fortunate to be loved by good women. I’m afraid I was not as good a husband as they were wives, but they both did their parts to refine me a bit. Gone are the barbs of a selfish, impatient young man, and I can be a good husband now. If you only let me, I can make you very happy.”
“Your wives? They died?”
“Aye, the first over twenty years ago when I was but a lad. Childbed took her and my firstborn. I was a long time in getting over that loss. The second, a good woman, gave me a son who is now ten years old, and a fever took her two years past. I have missed her and, until very recently, I could not imagine that I would take a third bride.”
“I am so sorry for your losses, Brennan,” Anne said sincerely. “I cannot imagine losing a loved one ... “In even thinking of the possibility of losing Dylan, Anne felt the threat of tears.
“It was difficult, but there is always great risk in loving someone. I have known your parents and they mentioned their daughter, but ...” His voice trailed off and he studied her face. “I was pleased to see you at the tournament. Otherwise, we might not have met.”
“I have a sister ...”
“Yes. Divina.”
“It was assumed that she would marry and I would go to the convent.”
Brennan’s shoulders moved in a rueful chuckle. “Lady Gifford seems more clever than to make such a dreadful mistake. Why has she kept you hidden until this tournament?”
Anne shrugged her shoulders as she thought of how she wished to have been hidden just a little longer. But the idea of Divina failing to meet this man’s standards almost made her smile. With the energy her sister put toward finding a husband, and in that effort the accrual of many pretty dresses and trinkets that she selfishly hoarded, Divina had become filled with self-importance. Anne often felt that Divina had their mother’s favor. She tried to console herself that it was their mother’s obligation to see the older daughter wed first, but that explanation for her mother’s inattentiveness seemed inadequate. Even though Anne felt no temptation toward Lord Forbes’s prestigious offer of marriage, something inside her began to glow from the sheer vanity of being singled out. Divina would be deliciously scandalized.
“How long have you been sitting alone in the wood?”
“Since mass,” she said absently.
“Worrying over what harsh demands would be made on you by an eager earl?”
“I was worried before. Until this morning, it was only the convent ...”
“I will protect you better than nuns, Anne.”
She nodded, but looked down again.
“Do you come willingly, ma cherie?” he asked.
Again, she nodded. She looked into his eyes. “You are kind to me, Brennan. I would not have you think me ungrateful.”
“But?” he asked. Anne chewed her lip. “Come, my love, let us not begin with lies between us. I have told you I can be understanding of your plight – I am aware of your youth. If you tell me the truth, perhaps I can help.”
Anne knew better than to think there was any possible way Brennan Forbes could really accept the truth. She loved another and always would. But she boldly expressed one reservation she felt, if only to see the extent of the man’s professed understanding. “You are kind and polite, and handsome as well. Indeed, all the things a maid would wish to have in a husband. Perhaps too kind, Brennan. You almost seem--” she paused, her eyes lightly closed, and took a deep breath before finishing, “like a father.”
Only silence answered her. She cautiously opened her eyes and found him smiling at her. He slowly rose and held out a hand to help her to her feet. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and began to lead her out of the copse, down the path toward the gardens.
“Are you angry with me, my lord?” she asked as they walked.
“No, my sweet. Some of those things you expect from a father will certainly be yours as my wife. You will have protection and a strong arm as you achieve your full womanhood. You will have the generosity of my purse, as if you were a favored daughter. You will lend dignity to my name, as you have given
your father’s name greater worthwhile you lived under his roof.”
He paused on the path crowded by trees and looked down into her eyes. “But there will come a time, my love, when the ways of men and women will be ours, and then you must see me as a husband and lover, not as a parent to guide you into your adulthood.” He gave her forehead a light kiss. “There is time enough for you to adjust yourself to seeing me in a different light. When the time has come, you will have no doubt--my affection for you is not fatherly in nature.”
***
“Mother will not allow it,” Divina shrieked. “It is unheard of!”
Anne stared at her sister in wide-eye wonder. Had she really looked forward to this? Divina had sullenly held her peace until the family had returned to Raedelle, and then the feathers began to fly. Anne had followed Divina up the stairs to the room they had shared all these years, only to watch Divina angrily throw all of her gowns out on the bed to remove them from their common bower.
“Divina, it was not of my doing. I’m sorry you are jealous.”
“Jealous? I am not jealous but outraged! What did you do to attract him? What did you promise?”
“Nothing,” Anne cried. “I had never even seen him before.”
“He has been about. You have seen him.”
“You have seen him, Divina. He has seen you. I have never gone to a tournament before.”
“I will not stay here in this room with you another day. You lie! You did something sinful to attract him to you!” The door to their bedchamber slowly swung open, and Marcella stood to her full and menacing height, frowning at her daughters. “Mother, tell her that you will not allow it, this betrothal. It is not fair.”
Marcella looked from Divina to Anne, then back to Divina. “It is done. The Earl of Ayliffe has requested the hand of your sister and would consider no other.”
“But why?” Divina wailed.
“His fancy,” Marcella shrugged, smiling rather deviously. “He is rich and was not enticed by her dowry. Understanding his fancy is not my concern, an alliance with his influence is.”
“But Mother--”
“Lower your voice, Divina. I will not listen to this shrieking.”
“I will not go to the convent in her stead. I will not!”
“It is not too late to find you a suitable marriage. I was almost twenty when I was wed. And ... we have invested a goodly sum in that effort already. Your clothes will do you no good with the sisters.” She glanced at Anne and frowned. She had not considered Anne to be good marriageable stock, she was small, thin, and had always preferred playing with the boys to learning the management of a castle. Divina, hearty and determined to copy her mother’s behavior, seemed more logical in a wifely role. Yet Anne had captured a rich earl in her simple, ill-fitting frocks, saying nothing encouraging, smiling shyly. It was beyond Marcella’s comprehension. Beside Divina, Anne appeared frail.
Marcella pinched her eyes closed. Like Daphne. Anne was more like Daphne than she had realized. Perhaps it made men feel powerful and strong when facing frail and timid women.
She had never looked at Anne as an eligible nobleman might. But she would gladly accept the earl’s influence in any case.
“I will not stay in this room with her any longer,” Divina cried. “I will not!”
Marcella ground her teeth. “Do not make the convent seem a preferable place for you to live, Divina.”
“How could you allow it, madam? You should have refused his offer. Refused it outright.”
“It would have been much as refusing an open chest filled with gold,” she said, failing to mention that it had also been a favorable match, that the earl would make an exemplary mate, and that he had approached the Giffords, not the other way around.
“Madam, tell her not to hate me so,” Anne entreated. “Tell her it was not of my doing. I did nothing to entice the--”
“You have been a great deal of trouble,” Marcella said. “Try not to goad the rest of us with your good fortune, which was little of your own making.” She turned to Divina. “Find another room if you wish, but do not make me listen to any more of your tantrums. I have a great deal on my mind.”
Anne watched as Divina finished dividing her belongings from Anne’s.
“I would give you this betrothal if I could,” Anne said quietly.
Divina glared at her. “Perhaps that will happen yet,” Divina replied icily.
Chapter Three
Summer came and was gone. The days shortened and grew cold and the candles and torches burned until late at night at Raedelle Castle, for the Giffords were busy with secret meetings, the gathering of arms and funds, and many messages were being sent and received. The Duke of York was preparing to take London by siege, if necessary, and at his right hand would be the Gifford family. Marcella’s energy was high and ran rampant through the castle as her demands increased, her temper shortened, and a flush of excitement brightened her cheeks.
The Gifford sons and the men-at-arms suited daily for possible call to battle, laying out their accouterments and keeping their squires and pages fleet and ready. Horses were curried and exercised with dubious intent. At the first call to arms, they would ride.
During this time Anne heard nothing from Dylan. Only her memories kept her warm as the days grew colder. Word had come that the deFraynes rode with the forces of Henry’s queen, Margaret of Anjou. Anne prayed each night that Dylan was not with them, but she knew he must be. She had waited for over five months to see that twinkling eye emerge from behind a thick-trunked oak, or that playful smile sparkle from within a group of traveling monks. Never before had so many months passed without a surprise appearance. He had promised he would come, yet nothing happened.
The Earl of Ayliffe journeyed to Raedelle five times in five months. Each visit stretched out longer than the last, and each time Anne pitied him more. His eyes grew velvety soft with desire, his words deep and resonant with longing. And all Anne could accord him was respect and a mien of obedience. For all his claims to have put aside the impatience of youth, his mannerisms betrayed him as a man who chafed at delay and grew eager for a bride. His extended courtship had won him only a young woman who admired him, but did not want him for a husband.
Brennan Forbes had stolen a kiss on his last visit. Oh, it was not a theft, as Anne recalled. He desired to be kissed. And so she allowed, closing her eyes and tilting her chin. He had moved over her mouth with hunger, but she met him with indifference. She wept that night for shame, for nothing in her was stirred, and he deserved better. He was a good man. “There is no lacking within you, Brennan,” she had said. “ ‘Tis I. I fear I will not please you.”
It was the truth, for she had begun to curse her inability to accept such good fortune. There was not a man in the land who would make a better husband than Brennan Forbes. Even Dylan, she well knew, could not offer so much. His temper was shorter, his passion for all things was not only quicker, but richer and deeper, and he would not be a docile mate. Sometimes frivolous, sometimes deadly serious, she wondered if a life of flight and hiding would cause him to one day resent her. It would take strength to share Dylan’s pallet, when all Brennan wished to do was spoil and pamper her. However, Dylan was the man she loved. It was then that the realization came to her as it had earlier come to Dylan--this was not a love they willingly struggled to keep alive, as in those first early days. It was a love neither of them could deny. She hoped it would not lead to their doom.
Yet Dylan did not come, and Brennan visited regularly. And in the month of October old Minerva, Anne’s nurse since birth, fell ill and bedridden. The lonely days stretched out longer as Anne sat vigil by Minerva’s bed while the rest of her family plotted wars and reigns.
Minerva had lived in Raedelle all of her sixty-seven years. She had taken Ferris from the womb and nursed him, and she had tended others of the Gifford house, and each of Ferris’s children. Of the entire family, it was only Anne and Ferris who suffered when she fell ill. From her ra
sping breath and fevered form, they knew death was imminent.
Ferris placed his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and looked down at his dying nurse. “Go on, lass,” he said softly. “I’ll sit here for a time with my old love.”
“She is no better, Papa,” Anne whispered. “Her fever does not break and she can barely breathe. The midwife and the leech know of nothing more to do.”
“I know that, lass. She has had a long life. You have been a faithful ward. You alone sit with old Minerva.”
Tears began to gather in Anne’s eyes. She knew that her beloved servant would die. This woman, not her own mother, brought her through childhood with love and tenderness. There were few enough remedies for serious illness – none for old age. And it hurt her deeply that none of the other children nor their mother, all of whom Minerva had served so faithfully, paid homage in this sickroom.
There was a faint stirring in the bed, and Minerva opened her eyes. For a moment her stare was blank as she looked at Ferris and Anne, and then recognition cleared her gaze. A weak smile touched her lips. “Ferris, my boy,” she whispered. “Get this sweet child from this foul place.”
Anne picked up Minerva’s hot bony hand and rubbed it against her cheek. “I would stay with you, my dear.”
“Death is unpleasant enough, without being seen by one with such life,” the old nurse said. “Let me talk to my boy. Come back in an hour.”
Anne exchanged troubled glances with her father.
“Walk about in the cool air, lass. Clear your head of this sickroom and come back later. She’ll be here.”
Anne left as she was told, wandering about Raedelle Castle absentmindedly. She paused briefly to watch as Quentin practiced arms in the courtyard in front of the hall with other knights. Quentin would be the next baron of Raedelle, and she had no trouble imagining him in that role. Though he strongly resembled their mother, his temperament was more even than Marcella’s. Quentin loved soldiering, and he loved Raedelle. He was not soft, but sometimes kind. Quentin was usually fair-minded, as was borne out when he reprimanded Bart at the feast following the tournament. Quentin was large, thick, and somber. He excelled at knightly arts, mostly because of his natural bulk and strength. But he was not ambitious. He would inherit Raedelle and there was little reason to wish for more.