Courtly Love

  Serena looked at her husband in surprise. "I did but ride with him, Gyles," she chided.

  "For two days! I saw the intimate conversations you carried on!" Gyles growled.

  To his surprise, Serena laughed up at him. "Gyles! I have asked you repeatedly to tell me of William's court, and you have repeatedly refused. Sir Justin has been kind enough to enlighten me somewhat." Serena's voice lowered and she moved her mount closer to Gyles. "Surely you are not jealous."

  Gyles's face hardened and the thin line of his scar whitened against the windrubbed red of his cheek. He leaned over and grasped Serena's wrist painfully. "You are mine, my wife, and I'll not have you encouraging some man into a dalliance."

  Serena touched her lips to the lean fingers that circled her wrist. "Tis the furthest thought from my mind."

  Gyles relented and wrapped the folds of Serena's cloak more securely around her. "What is it you wish to know of the court?"

  Serena's first impression of London was one of total chaos. People crowded the streets, making it impossible for the mounted column to continue with any speed, and more often than not, Gyles was forced to call a halt so that a herd of sheep or swine could pass in front of them. Roving peddlers plied their trade, adding to the confusion, calling out the prices of their wares in shrill tones that carried easily over the general hubbub. Brightly painted stalls nestled together on the sides of the streets, and it was from this vantage point that wealthier merchants sold their goods. Cloth, baubles, lace, armor; all could be purchased on the streets. For a nominal fee, one could purchase meat—fresh slaughtered, roasted, or cured—wines from England or Normandy, pastries freshly baked and stuffed with those fruits the bakers had been farsighted enough to preserve, which, Gyles informed Serena, would soon disappear during the course of the winter.

  Women, too, were available for a few coins. The strumpets Serena easily recognized on her own from the bold, inviting looks they bestowed upon the men in the retinue. Gyles particularly came under their ribald scrutiny and jests, and from the knowing looks one or two of the women gave herself and Gyles, Serena knew that Gyles had dipped into his purse more than once during his last stay in London. Surprisingly, the thought did not disturb Serena—after all, Gyles was a man of vigorous appetites and she could not fault him for sating his needs, so long as he had not continued those activities since their marriage. Fidelity was not the norm between spouses, but Serena expected it from her mate and would countenance no deviation from the wedding vows by her husband. A quick glance at Gyles showed Serena that this daylight confrontation with his one-time bedmates had caused a dull flush to creep from his neck and into his face.

  Seized by a fit of deviltry, Serena said with mock concern, "Gyles, are you not feeling well? Your face is quite flushed. Have you caught a chill?"

  Gyles shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. " Tis the wind," he said gruffly. "It rubs the cheeks quite raw."

  "Of course," Serena murmured solicitously. "I have a cream that will heal the chafed skin, and when we are settled, I shall apply it to your cheeks."

  Gyles turned an even deeper shade of red under Serena's uncompromising stare. "You can see the castle from here." Gyles pointed over the tops of the buildings.

  Serena's face fell. " 'Tis not as large as I had imagined."

  Gyles laughed. " 'Tis large enough, Serena, from here you can see only the upper stories. One day I shall take you to a hill where you can look down rather than up at the castle and you will see how grand it actually is."

  Serena was still disappointed. "If you say so."

  Gyles's lips thinned in anger. "What did you think to find, Serena, all of London overshadowed by a castle? Towers so high they pierced the clouds and continued into the heavens? Walls lined with fur-trimmed guards that would herald your arrival? Tis time you grew up and faced life as it is rather than view everything through those romantic dreams you still cling to."

  At his unkind words. Serena's chin began to tremble. "I see life most clearly, Gyles, but that need not stop me from wishing it different, or trying to change what I believe is wrong. Had you answered my questions at Camden rather than dismissing them as trivial, we should both have been spared your anger. And that, Gyles, I see very plainly," Serena said softly.

  Her quiet rebuke stung Gyles into a pensive silence. Serena was right, of course. With no knowledge of London or the court, how could she form an accurate picture of what to expect? Indeed, no woman Gyles had ever known could face life as straight-forwardly as Serena did. When problems arose, she faced them head-on. without resorting to tears and wails concerning her lot in life, and she always sought a sound, logical solution. She was an admirable, independent woman, this lass who had been forced into his life, and as Gyles studied her delicate profile, he felt an overwhelming thankfulness in his heart that God had seen fit to grant him such a mate.

  The column had wound its way through the streets and was approaching the bridge that crossed the Thames when Serena drew her mount up short with a horrified gasp.

  "Don't look!" Gyles told her sharply and made to shield Serena's eyes.

  Serena batted his hand away and stared, transfixed, at the gory sight in front of her. Three disembodied heads floated grotesquely on pikes directly above the bridge, their eyes staring sightlessly at passersby, the skin falling in lax folds from their cheekbones. The heads had been pelted with dirt and refuse and the bodies that had once obeyed the commands of the now-deteriorating brains must have suffered nameless agonies before death gave them release, for the mouths gaped open in eternal, silent screams. Even as Serena watched a carrion crow dropped from the sky to light upon one of the skulls and sink its beak into a blind eye.

  "Gyl-Gyles, what—what could they have done?" Serena's throat was so dry she could barely speak.

  "Treason, most likely. This is the usual punishment. Their bodies have probably been drawn and quartered."

  Serena blanched and pressed her hand to her mouth. An awful vision of Gyles undergoing the same fate passed through Serena's mind, and she forced herself to choke out a final question. "What is the sentence for murder?"

  Gyles turned his head deliberately to the grisly spectacle before answering in a toneless voice. "Exile at the least; at the worst, the same as that." He drew a deep breath, then reached out to squeeze Serena's shoulder reassuringly. "Do not dwell on it, Serena, for it will not happen." Serena was as pale as the snow on the ground and a shudder passed over her. "Are you able to control your mount?" Gyles asked.

  Serena raised her head in a defiant gesture Gyles knew all too well and nodded. "Let us get away from here as quickly as possible and I will be fine!"

  As Gyles had said, there was no fanfare to greet their arrival at court, but when Serena excitedly surveyed the furnishings of the royal court, any disappointment she may have felt quickly evaporated. The housecarl led them through hallways lined with tapestries and around the men and women who darted from one room to another, apparently on important business for their lord—or perhaps the king himself! The richly dressed people, Serena assumed, were there at the king's request as she was. She wished she had had the time to rearrange her hair and change from the travel-stained gown she wore. Following the housecarl through a seemingly endless maze of corridors and arches, Serena recalled her earlier statement about the castle's size and she laughed inwardly. All of Camden and Broughton could easily fit within these walls and neither had such rich appointments. Small tables and chairs sat outside nearly every doorway and knights bearing the royal standard on their chest guarded the entrance to every corridor they passed through. At last Serena gave up trying to retain her sense of direction and was only too glad when they reached their chamber.

  The servant bowed from the room and Serena pulled the cloak from her shoulders and capered about the room. "I have never seen anything like this! Look, Gyles," she lifted a candlestick, "solid gold!" Serena fingered the curtains of the bed. "And the threads of this brocade are silver—real silver—and the
coverlet, Gyles, what kind of fur is this?" Serena demanded.

  "Mink. Imported from France because of its softness and warmth," Gyles informed her.

  Serena bounced on the bed to test its softness. "Did you notice all the tapestries, Gyles? Do you have any idea how long it takes to make one hanging? All of Normandy must have been sewing for years! Look, even the floor is covered with pelts!" Serena kicked off her slippers and curled her cold toes in the fur. "Surely, 'tis a sin to be surrounded by such luxury, so I shall have to say a penance for enjoying it so much." She grinned up at her husband and fell back upon the bed to rub her cheek against the soft fur.

  Gyles looked down at her in amusement. "I can well imagine that you will demand I purchase some of these luxuries to return with us to Camden."

  Serena laughed. "Nay, Gyles, 'tis fine for the court, but I should not be able to live with it constantly, for in truth, it does make me feel ill at ease. Mink did you say?" Gyles nodded then gave a shout as Serena's foot shot out and tripped him so that he fell beside her on the mattress.

  Instantly Gyles's arm caught Serena to him and he began to tickle her unmercifully while she responded in kind. Soon both were laughing helplessly and Serena's head came to rest upon his shoulder.

  "You, Serena, are a vixen, and totally beyond my comprehension."

  Serena giggled happily and placed a kiss on his cheek. "And you are a brute to attack someone much smaller than yourself."

  Gyles's arm tightened and he pulled Serena beneath him. Her face was tinged with pink from their play and her hair had escaped its ribbons as it tumbled around her shoulders. Serena's eyes widened while she looked up at him and they held a soft glow, her lips parted slightly in invitation and Gyles lowered his head and touched her lips in the tenderest of kisses. A knock at the door jolted them apart and Serena leaped from the bed as if scalded.

  Gyles rose and quickly rearranged his tunic. "Enter," he called.

  A small boy in the dress of a page came hesitantly into the room. "The Lady Serena is bid to accompany me to the queen," he said in a high, piping voice; the words obviously learned by rote, for his brow was furrowed in concentration. "Her Majesty regrets that she must call so soon upon your services and sends her most profound apologies to Lord Gyles and yourself."

  Serena had recovered her poise enough to smile at the page. "You may wait outside for me. I shall not be long."

  When the door closed behind the page, Gyles began to laugh while Serena hurriedly changed her gown and began to brush her gold-flecked curls into order.

  "What, pray, do you find so amusing, Gyles?" Serena frowned over her shoulder.

  "You!" Gyles gasped and collapsed into a chair. "You jumped as if you'd been bitten."

  "Well, it might have been someone else—perhaps even the queen, and what would she have thoughtl" Serena said furiously.

  A smile still played on Gyles's lips when he answered. "The first lesson of court life: The queen does not come to you, cherie; you go to her. Second lesson: Matilda and William have three sons. How do you think that happened; by their having separate beds? Even at his age now, I'll wager the king still has enough strength to give Matilda a good toss now and then."

  Serena whirled, her fingers busily knotting a ribbon in her curls. "Gyles! You are speaking of your sovereign lord to whom you are pledged—"

  "I speak of a man and a woman, Serena. Titles do not alter that fact." Green eyes inspected her critically. "Your hair isn't quite right. Come here and let me fix the ribbon."

  Serena did as he asked, but fidgeted nervously, trying to inspect the line of her gown. She turned this way and that until Gyles pulled her firmly onto his lap and told her in a voice that brooked no disobedience to sit still. His hands finally fell from Serena's hair and she rose so that he could inspect her appearance. Her gown was of pale blue, shot through with silver threads, ribbons of the same color as the gown held the silver snood in place and the gold highlights of hair gleamed through it so that Serena's appearance was ethereal in its delicacy. Gyles sat, stunned by the beauty of the vision in front of him. "Well?" Serena demanded. "Am I presentable?"

  Gyles nodded slowly. What could he say? Serena looked as if she could sprout wings and float above all the lowly mortals of the court. Such loveliness would undoubtedly turn the heads of the men at court, and Gyles felt a prickle of fear for Serena's safety. He rose and walked with her to the door of their chamber. "Be careful, Serena. Speak not to any man—be he squire, knight, or lord—alone."

  Serena looked at Gyles in surprise. "But . . ." She stopped at the serious look on his face. "As you wish, Gyles. I shall say not a word unless I am surrounded by the queen's ladies or until you are by my side."

  Gyles bent and gave her a light kiss. " 'Tis for your own good. Now go, the queen is waiting."

  Serena hurried after the page, lifting her skirt so that she could stay apace with the boy and not lose him in the maze of corridors. As a result, Serena arrived flushed and breathless at the queen's chambers and had no time to compose herself because she was immediately admitted to the queen's presence.

  "The Lady Serena, formerly of Broughton, wife to Gyles, Lord of Camden, Wolcott, and St. Clair."

  Serena dropped to the floor, fighting silently to regain her breath, and listened as the page retreated and closed the door behind him. Serena remained on her knees, unmoving, not daring so much as a quick glance through her lashes. Surely the queen did not intend to leave her kneeling on the hard stones of the floor!

  "Do you speak our tongue?"

  The warm, maternal voice startled Serena and she nearly lifted her head to reply, but caught herself in time. "Oui, Sa Majesti, peu ou point." Serena switched to her native language. "My tutor preferred Latin but he had some small knowledge of your Norman tongue, which he passed on to my brother and myself."

  "You had a tutor, Lady Serena?"

  " 'Twas my brother's tutor, actually; a monk from the abbey at Broughton," Serena replied.

  "Bien! You are more suitable than any of the other Saxon women who have attended me. But, rise, rise, my child, and come here so I may see you more clearly."

  Serena obeyed and was surprised to find Matilda flanked by two young men. Matilda smiled warmly and beckoned to Serena. "Come, child, you need not fear I will bite you; nor, I promise, will either of my sons."

  "Now you see how our father won so easily at Hastings, Mother, these Saxons have as much courage as a sheep!" The older of the two men looked at Serena with contempt, his brown eyes glittering with derision.

  Serena—with some difficulty—bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips and gave Matilda a small smile. "I am most honored at having been granted the priviledge of attending you, Your Majesty."

  Matilda chuckled. "Bah! When I was your age, Lady Serena, I would have preferred the intrigues of the young men at court rather than waiting upon an old woman." She bestowed a withering look upon her older son. "As for you, William, you will treat my ladies kindly, as they are gently bred, or you may absent yourself from my chambers."

  Serena turned her blue-eyed gaze on William. He was short in stature but of a stocky, firm build, which Serena knew would turn into a paunch as he aged. William's coloring did not add to his attractiveness, for his face seemed constantly suffused with blood, as if he would fly into a rage at the least provocation—as, indeed, he often did. His features appeared to be constantly set in cruel, cynical lines and when angered, as now, the veins stood out in William's forehead, so that Serena could see the pulse beat in his temples. His eyes burned into Serena and her throat constricted with a fear she had never known. William advanced upon her and Serena yearned to back away from him, but pride stiffened her back and forced her to meet his gaze.

  "You forget your place, Saxon! Tis unmannerly to look so upon a member of the royal family without permission." William bore down upon Serena, a hand upraised as if he would strike her.

  "And far worse for a gentle lord to threaten a mere woman!" Serena r
etorted without thinking, then as realization dawned, her eyes widened in horror.

  "A nation of sheep, eh, brother?" The slender youth who had remained silently watchful during the exchange now came to where Serena and William stood, his brown eyes bright with laughter. He took Serena's hand and bowed over it. "I apologize to this lovely ewe for my brother who has the manners of a goat." His grin was infectious and in spite of her situation, Serena found herself smiling back at him. His voice lowered so that only Serena could hear his next words. "I commend you on your courage, fair lady, but warn you to caution, William will not take this lightly. Mayhap if you were to apologize ..."

  Serena's deep blue eyes thanked him and she turned to face William. She recalled now that Gyles had told her of William—nicknamed William Rufus for his reddish coloring—and his violent temper. "My apologies, your highness. I have the fault of speaking before I think."

  William snorted. "That will soon be remedied by your stay here, among your betters."

  "Tsk, tsk. William, you do have the manners of a goat. A beautiful woman humbles herself before you and all you do is berate her. I, madame, have better manners, I assure you. My name is Henry." Henry bowed once again over her hand and this time his lips pressed firmly against her fingers.

  Serena gasped softly as her pulses leapt at the gentle touch of this prince and Henry's eyes smiled down into hers, acknowledging the flare of reaction. As if he were loath to do so, Henry slowly relinquished her hand and Serena appraised him through the lowered veil of her lashes. Her overall impression was that of darkness; a dark brown tunic trimmed in ermine and embroidered with gold thread, dark hair straight and close-cropped in the Norman fashion, a naturally swarthy complexion made even darker by hours spent in sun and wind, and above all else, dark, flashing eyes that engaged all who chanced to look into their depths. But for all his darkness, Serena did not find Henry's appearance oppressive or foreboding, she saw in this prince, who was the same age as herself, a light-hearted vitality that transmitted itself to her like a physical shock from his slender, whipcord body.