by Robyn Carr
She smiled placidly. She looked at the thin, almost vanished scar on her hand. “I do not regret anything but Brennan’s death. That is enough regret for any woman. And I will not let the guilt I feel make me hateful and bitter, I will raise my children faithfully and well. Understand me, Dylan – there will be no more talk of this forever love. That was youth and short vision. It is buried. Go. Find a woman who can return your love. It is not too late for you to breed up a small army. Leave me to raise these young.”
She lifted the babe and displayed him. She urged the tiny bundle toward Dylan. She did not weep or tremble. As the child grew in her, she had had many months to think. She knew her heart. If Dylan could not free himself, she would set him free.
Dylan held the babe and she saw his eyes mist.
“Get a wife who will give you children,” she said. “You are handsome, young, fit, and strong. Get rid of Raynia, send her home where she longs to be and ask the king to free you of that impetuous bond. You will live to be very old. Do not delay, Dylan. Place no more hopes on our childish dreams. I have been through too much grief for something that cannot be. I love you no more.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Then you will have pain you do not deserve. It is not my wish that you be unhappy. Better you should go and live your life. We were young, impatient. We created a troubadour’s painful song out of war and deprivation. We should have been more prudent. I am more wise now.”
“Anne, what do you say?”
“I am done with it, Dylan. I am free of that foolish torment.”
“Once we longed to be free of such doomed love, but it would leave neither of us.”
“Leave me to raise my children,” she whispered. “Let me be a faithful wife to Sir Clifton. He helped me when no one else could.”
“You trust him? He is a buck in rut! He is a soldier, a stag! He has sniffed at your skirts since you came here. He saw his chance in your misfortune. Thank God he values you, but I doubt that he has any real love for you. He does not know what real love is. Anne?”
“He is my husband now,” she whispered, emphasizing each word. She indicated the babe. “His name is Gage. I promise you, I will bring him to manhood with the greatest of care.”
Dylan kissed the tiny head, then raised his eyes and searched Anne’s. He saw the hard glint of determination. He had known her first husband and was not oblivious to the size and skills of her second. But Dylan knew his lifelong love better than anyone.
“Listen to me, Anne. I know you do not wish to hear this, but you must. Put these words in the back of your mind for some future day and heed them. I give you my word, as I have in the past, that whenever you say me nay, I am gone from you. But I love you. I will always love you. When you are in trouble, you must call on me. Do not let Sir Clifton hurt you. Do not let him hurt the children.”
“He is a loyal man, Dylan. He--”
“He is a brute! But he values you. Perhaps all will be well, and I will pray for you. But when you need me, you must find me. Remember!”
“I think you are wrong. I think ...”
“I hope I am wrong. And take this to your heart--when you are lonely and frightened, when you remember these words that you spoke over my son’s head, that you loved me no more, remember that I do not believe you. When tears come late in the dark of night because you fear that I took them to heart, that I have somehow forgotten, be at ease. I know you love me still. I will go on with my life knowing that, taking comfort from the unspoken truth. You are a strong woman, my Anne. You have been through much because of me. I would undo your pain and leave you only the joy if I could, but I cannot. Still, I love you. I will love you always. Until I die, I will dream of our someday. Our oath was forever.”
She bit her lip. She wanted to say it, but she could not. She had made a decision. By sheer dint of will she would not allow her eyes to moisten. She shook her head. If she opened her mouth she would blurt the truth. Dylan must be free of this, even if she could not escape her own feelings. She was relieved of the burden, for the door to her bedchamber gently opened. Her time was spent.
Dylan rose and, still holding the babe, faced Clifton. He gently kissed the infant’s wizened brow and held him close for a moment. Then he passed the child to Clifton. “I thank you, sir. It was my wish that a child of my body come to life, even if he is never to know his true sire. I assure you, I wish him and you well. No good could come of my claim on him now, and I give him to you with good faith.”
“You are wise, my lord. No lad should look to the horizon for his father. My wife has suffered enough without bearing the shame of your further attentions.”
“Oh, I assure you, Sir Cliff, you will not suffer my presence. I will not bother the good woman.” He looked over his shoulder at Anne. “I have been told, and I respect those vows sworn before God. I am a stranger to you now. God keep you.” He touched the child once more. “All of you.”
The door closed behind Dylan, and Clifton came to stand beside Anne. He handed her the child and smiled down on her, but his eyes were hard. “My word was honored. Now you are mine.”
PART 3
May 2, 1482
Chapter Seventeen
In 1478 Dylan deFrayne was named the first Earl of Nowlan.
The reasons for this appointment were publicly read and included glorious battle skills exercised in dangerous uprisings all over England, largely in the north and often along the Scottish border. Additionally, service to the king done in secrecy was said to have ultimately effected the downfall of Warwick and the House of Lancaster. DeFrayne also worked at many negotiations with foreign powers, and settled local disputes between barons and gentry, showing his intelligence as well as brawny strength. All the praise was deserved, but only Dylan and King Edward knew there were even more reasons for the appointment.
The king’s two brothers, Richard of Gloucester and George of Clarence, married to Neville daughters, argued the division of the enormous estate of Warwick. Dylan remained in the middle of their struggle for longer than he liked. George of Clarence often attacked innocents and frequently went above the law in creating local regulations, taxes, and punishments in his demesne. His vacillating loyalty among various powers did not end with Warwick’s death, but continued to disrupt the peace. Finally, in ‘78, Dylan witnessed the gruesome private execution of George in the tower. He then accepted title and property close to Richard of Gloucester, now the only living brother of the king. The title was his reward. Even though his work for Edward was to be a secret operation, deFrayne became known among the peers as the keeper of the brothers.
The greatest change in his fortune, in his restoration, was not in Dylan’s title or the acquisition of property. After he accepted the earldom he finally relented and sent Raynia and her maid home to Calais. He could have done so much sooner and regretted that he had not. His happiness peaked when she was gone. He had his mother and Justin, hard work and travel, popularity among the people, and a stable life. Still, he frequently thought how sad it was that between himself and Raynia there had never been a moment of acceptance, of happiness. He had paid a yearly visit to her humble homestead in Calais, often taking Justin with him. This year, after four years of separation, he returned to Calais to bury her. She was only four and thirty.
He looked pensively at the unpretentious mound of dirt that was her grave. ‘Twice she miscarried, once she delivered a dead child, and for twelve years or more before she died she would have none of me. I wonder if she ever had any happiness in her life.” He turned and looked at his eighteen-year old nephew. “Your father and I married close to the crown while in exile. There was never any question of our purpose – people do what they must. But with your mother and father there was love and happiness.” He reflected for a moment. “How does Bess now?”
Justin smiled sympathetically and clamped a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Mother does well, she is content. You need not worry about her. Visit her – she has a brood
of young children and a hardworking husband. Come away from here, Uncle. Let these servants close up this place.”
“I’ll be along. There is someone I have to see.”
He sent Justin to have their horses readied and climbed up the polished wood staircase to the second floor of Raynia’s house. It was a peaceful little house, pretty and clean. He tapped lightly on the door that he knew to have been Raynia’s bedchamber, but there was no answer. He pushed the door open and found Jeannette standing beside the bed holding up a linen that she had been folding.
For the first time in seventeen years the homely face of the maid did not cause him to wince. He looked at her with compassion. “All is in order, madam,” he said. “I will be leaving for the last time. Where do you go?”
“To the convent of Fontevrault, messire,” she said quietly.
“Ah, the sisters.” He dropped his gaze. “You need not,” he said, looking back at her face. “The house is yours if you want it.”
He saw the tears gather in her eyes. “The offer is generous,” she said in her thick French accent. “I cannot stay here without her.”
He smiled at her. “I think I understand.” She had loved Raynia; beyond that, Dylan really did not understand anything. “Take whatever you wish, then. I will have it sold. There is a purse for you--your retirement.”
“It is unnecessary to--”
“ ‘Tis done. Raynia would have wished it.” Jeannette let her chin slowly drop in a single nod of acquiescence. Her misting eyes had not shed tears once in Dylan’s presence. Her grief was as private an affair as her peculiar relationship with his wife had been. He imagined she refused to cry in front of him. “Was she ... ever happy? A little bit?”
Her eyes gathered a storm of emotion that the maid would not let fall. She nodded her head again, but her lips were pressed hard together and became pink around the edges. The force of grief was strong in her, and Dylan could not tolerate the sight of it. “Thank you,” he said. “Adieu.” And he quickly left the room, the house.
He was anxious to leave this place. Without a word to his patient nephew, he spurred his horse into a brisk gallop back toward the city. He rode two leagues thus before he slowed. He would not think of her again.
Justin was panting when Dylan finally abandoned his hard speed and brought the horse to an even trot. “Well, Uncle, Calais is full of beautiful wenches.”
Dylan chuckled. “Are there any left that you have not sampled?”
“You do me wrong,” he insisted. “I was born to uphold a chivalrous code and treat the women with great courtesy.” He leaned close as if sharing a secret. “They seem to thrive on courtesy ... and patience. They like a man ... a man who has ... all night.”
Dylan threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do they, now? And you are patient, eh? They like to marry, lad! That is what they like.”
“I know a few who have no interest in wedlock.”
“Hah, those will either lighten your purse or introduce you to an angry father who is very interested in marriage When do you sleep?”
“You give me more credit than I’m due, Uncle. I sleep more than I would like.”
“Some wench is going to see you coming and smell gold, lad. She’ll play the game and you’ll find her skirts wrapped around your legs and, before you can blink, you’ll be singing the vows that will keep you in one bed for a lifetime. Mark me, wenching has its dangers.”
“Such a woman will have to be more clever than the ones I have been courting. Now we must get you married.”
“Me? Nay. I am content as I am.”
“Lord Debarge is old, Lady Debarge is …”
Dylan frowned. Elise Debarge was a beautiful young countess, wed to an ancient earl. It was quite obvious that she was bored with her husband. Also obvious was her attraction to Dylan. “All gossip, Justin.”
“Her eyes brighten considerably when you enter the room.”
“What Elise Debarge is looking for is far more dangerous than marriage. The earl may be old, but his soldiers are young. Now, do I look that foolish?”
“We’ll find you a woman who--”
“Justin, don’t you think you should leave this discussion alone?”
“You had no marriage with Raynia – you’ve said so. Your passing fancies are fewer than mine. You’re still young, you could have sons.”
A melancholy smile appeared on Dylan’s face. He looked straight ahead. “I have you, Justin.”
“Bah, a nephew? Never mind children, then. A woman,” he whispered conspiratorially, “soft and sweet and anxious, eh? Someone to stir your porridge and your blood?”
Dylan laughed. “Do you ever think of anything but women?”
“I have to get you married,” he said. “I pant at their skirts and they all look at my older and wiser famous uncle. Once you’re out of the way, the court of dames is mine.”
“You should spend as much time at work as you do at wenching. You’re going to find your favorite part in a snare one of these days, and your chasing will be over. Besides, your grandmother has taken charge of my home and will never allow another woman to gainsay her authority.”
“Grandmother is old, Dylan,” he said quietly. “I do not want you to be alone forever.”
“I am happy, Justin.” He clapped the boy on the back. “I will try not to steal all your favorite wenches. I don’t mind being alone. In fact, I prefer it.”
“It is not healthy for a man to be without a woman for so long. Eventually, you will suffer in this loneliness.”
Health, ah! What did the boy know? What I could tell him, Dylan thought. It was most unhealthy being tied in a cask room awaiting execution for almost a fortnight. How was it that now, twenty-two years later, it seemed as though it might have been his happiest time? Neither was exile a healthy state, nor the following years when he lived for a glance of Anne, a quick embrace, a private word. Most of his life, his future, still waited for him at Ayliffe. Waited under Clifton’s close, protective hand. Marriage, indeed. There was only one woman, there had always been only one.
Having her had been so close. There had never been an opportunity to tell her about it, of course, they had not spoken in eleven years. It was for the best, he supposed. She had enough grief without adding to it the knowledge that Dylan could have wed her, had he only been there in time. His marriage to Raynia could have been annulled. It would have been a costly and time-consuming ordeal, perhaps not quite complete in time for Gage’s birth, but Raynia would have been cooperative. Raynia had denied him his conjugal rights, and Dylan had been close enough to the Archbishop of Canterbury to have had good support.
But ... by the time Dylan returned to London, his work for the king finally done, Anne had already been there. She was already married to Sir Clifton. Had he suspected she carried Gage, he would have fled from Edward’s side the moment he heard of Lord Forbes’s death and rushed to her.
In any case, he had hurried to London, hopeful. He knew his beloved had been widowed. He meant to begin the procedure of having his marriage annulled, but the first piece of gossip he met at court was about Lady Forbes’s hasty marriage. He even briefly considered pursuing the matter beyond her marriage, but finally good sense won out. She had been through enough because of him. He kept Raynia, then, because he meant never to marry again ... until he could marry Anne. Had he proceeded with the annulment, he would have faced the clumsy prospect of turning away potential brides.
He had seen her at court in the past eleven years. She looked well kept and in good health. She maintained her dignified bearing. They talked about her most liberally at court, and it had taken a will of iron to keep from defending her. She had sent her old husband off to battle, they whispered, and invited a common soldier to her bed. To look at her one would not think her such a wanton, physical creature, she had a pure look. But the old earl was not cold in his grave before she wed her guard. The little countess, they said, now there was a woman who could not be a day without a man
. That was why, it was assumed, Sir Clifton never left her side The Countess of Ayliffe and her manly consort provided some good gossip.
Dylan knew that Clifton’s possessive presence had little to do with passion. He had seen Cliff’s brooding frown the first time they were all present at the king’s court. Anne did not look at Dylan, but Clifton did. Thereafter Dylan was careful to have a woman on his arm, especially if he was certain Anne and Clifton were present. He had not felt any lasting attraction in those few, brief flirtations and certainly he was not fooled by Elise Debarge’s determination to cuckold her old husband with a younger, more virile man. He hoped, however, that his public display of attention toward other women would pacify Clifton and lessen his jealousy. And he hoped Anne would understand.
I wonder if she knows why I dally with beautiful women, he asked himself often. Does she remember that I promised to always love her? Hardly a promise difficult to keep ... I cannot be free. She does not love him – her life with him presses down hard on her. Though she is proud and beautiful, I know that dull pain in her eyes as no one else would know it. But, she took Sir Clifton thinking he was her single chance to raise her young--my sons. She has forsaken our love to see our boys tall and good and strong. I could love no other kind of woman.
“You should have a family,” Justin said.
“I do have a family, lad. One that I’m quite proud of.”
“I mean more than Grandmother and me,” Justin said.
Dylan smiled and rode silently on to the center of Calais.
They stopped at a crowded alehouse near the wharves. Justin, so much the young man of the world, was quick to find acquaintances and abandoned his uncle, leaving Dylan contentedly alone with his thoughts and his brew.
Dylan was proud of the boy. He’d grown up to be good and strong, playful still, but maturing just the same. He was more interested in bracing an arm with a comrade or chasing a swinging skirt than in policies, politics, land, and fame. But this was as it should be for a young man not yet twenty. There was time enough for seriousness. Dylan was fortunate to be able to bring the boy through adolescence in a peaceful climate. Edward’s England had been mostly at rest for eleven years. At four and forty, Dylan knew that to be a rare blessing. He hoped it would continue for a long time.