Courtly Love

  Henry was clad in his new suit of armor and tears sprang to Serena's eyes as she remembered the comical picture Henry had presented in the armorer's shop. Why did Serena imagine that from her vantage point she could smell the oil that softened the leather straps of the armor? Henry's steed was restive as well, and its hooves beat eagerly at the frozen turf. Ah, Henry, dear Henry, third son of William, you are far too young to go to your grave. And that is where Gyles will surely send you. Sweet, laughing Henry.

  Gyles. My husband. Your life will be forfeit if you kill Henry, and I know you will. There is so much anger in you, so much pain. But good as well, I know that, too. The love you have given Alan proves that.

  The trumpets howled again, the noise scraping across Serena's nerves and ears. All eyes were riveted to the field, Gyles and Henry caught the lances thrown by their squires and of one accord spurred their steeds forward. A lump rose in Serena's throat and try as she might, she could not dislodge it. Pray God Gyles would be satisfied with simply unseating the prince and would call a halt to the challenge. The drumming of hoofbeats beat against Serena's ears, obscuring all else; the roar of the spectators, the sound of her own breathing ...

  The lances met and a splintering noise rent the air as Gyles's lance split and broke against Henry's armor while Henry's weapon found its way straight to its target. Even from where she sat, Serena heard the sound Henry's lance made as it sliced through Gyles's armor and into his chest. Oh! that strong, firm chest that Serena had so often used as a pillow. And the blood, staining the silver breastplate crimson as it gushed forth. Gyles toppled from the saddle and Serena was on her feet, running, crying, and screaming ... and screaming...

  "Gyles! Sweet, merciful God, no! Oh, Gyles! Gyles!"

  Rough hands on her shoulders, holding her back, stopping her from going to her husband. William's hands bruising her flesh as he laughed down at her, his face contorted with desire.

  "Oh, please, please. Let me go. Let me go to him, he needs me! Gyles, Gyles, you cannot die, you cannot! Gyles!"

  "Serena! Serena, wake up, 'tis only a dream. Serena!"

  Wild-eyed and crying Serena came bolt upright in the bed and strained to focus on the image in front of her. Oh, God, Gyles was dead, and Serena wished she were as well. Cold as death and then perhaps the pain in her heart would disappear.

  "Serena!" Gyles shook her as hard as he dared, now truly frightened. Why didn't Serena awake? She was pale as death and just as cold, her eyes wide open, staring at him and seeing . . . what? "Serena, wake up!" She was gasping now, her breath coming unevenly, and Gyles hesitated only a moment before drawing back a hand and slapping her forcefully across the cheek.

  Awareness seeped slowly into those huge sapphire eyes, while Gyles kept a firm grip on Serena's delicate shoulders. One last wrenching sob and Serena threw herself at Gyles, twining her arms so fiercely around his neck that he nearly choked. Gyles felt her tears wetting his shoulder and splashing onto his chest as he stroked the cold, shrinking flesh beneath his fingers.

  "Here!" Gyles tenderly disengaged Serena's arms from his neck. "You are freezing. Let me get your robe. Serena?" Hesitantly, Gyles slipped from the bed, moving slowly so Serena could keep him in view. "You see, I'm only going to the chest."

  Gyles found Serena's robe and his own and quickly belted the green velvet around him before returning to his wife. By the time he reached the bed, Serena had stopped crying and was simply sitting in the middle of the rumpled bedclothes looking lost and forlorn.

  "Now, put your arms through the sleeves . .. there." Gyles secured the sash at her waist, then brought her back within the circle of his arms. "Are you better now, Serena?"

  Serena's head tilted upward until she could look into Gyles's eyes. "Gyles, do you ... do you believe I dallied with Henry?" she asked tearfully.

  Gyles took a deep breath and kissed Serena's forehead before answering. "No, Serena, I do not. I was . . . angry 'tis all, and spoke before I thought. Were you any other woman, I might have believed the gossips, but not you, cherie."

  "Then why the challenge, Gyles? Because of the gossip? That doesn't bother me in the least, nor should it you. Let the old crows talk, what does it matter as long as you and I know the truth? Refuse Henry's gauntlet, Gyles. Please, I beg you. Think of Alan! How can I explain to him? Gyles, he's a little boy, he needs you. Oh, Gyles, please!" Serena caught one of his hands in both of hers. "I will do anything you ask, Gyles. Anything! I— I'll return to Camden and never leave it again. ... I'll enter a convent. ... Oh, Gyles, please!"

  "Now why should you retire to a convent?" Gyles's voice trembled with laughter. "Somehow I cannot picture you spending the days on your knees or sleeping on a hard pallet. No, cherie, 'tis far better you should stay with me and warm my bed on cold winter nights."

  In the corner of her mind a nicker of knowledge began to grow. Serena pulled away from Gyles's arms and watched a smile play on his lips; those green eyes should have been clouded with concern but they were clear and bright with just a hint of devilment.

  "Oooh! You . . . you . . ." Serena rose to her knees, azure eyes flashing. Gyles raised an eyebrow, inviting— daring—her to continue her tirade. "You lied to me! There is no challenge, there never was!"

  "Serena," Gyles warned as he saw her gathering rage. "I did not lie; you did not ask if Henry challenged me."

  "Didn't ask!" Serena fumed. "What in the name of heaven do you think I meant when I asked what you'd done? Do you have any idea what I went through?"

  Gyles cupped Serena's face in his hands and grinned wickedly. "Oh, Serena, who better than I should know how you passed the night?"

  His meaning was all too clear and Serena blushed. "I didn't mean that and you damn well know it!"

  Gyles's eyes sparkled even more brightly. "Tsk, Serena, such language to use . . . and to your husband! I think perhaps I should turn you over my knee for that."

  "Don't you lay a hand on me!" Serena flew from the bed in a single bound, her gold-streaked hair falling in a disheveled cloud around her. "You brute . . . knave!" She spat. Serena found Gyles's dress sword and brandished it in the air. "Come here, Gyles," Serena taunted. "Try to lay a finger on me. Try! I'll sever that member of which you are so proud from your body!"

  Gyles sprang from the mattress and advanced upon his spitting wife. "Put that down, Serena."

  "Nay! You've made a fool of me! You and your blasted pride—how could you? You pompous jackass, you horny goat!" Serena struggled to control her steadily rising ire. "And I was fool enough to believe you might come to some harm—I should have known better! You brutish Norman! What will you do if I do take Henry as my lover?"

  Gyles's features hardened, the whitened curved scar leaping starkly on his cheek. The humor of the situation had suddenly evaporated.

  "Do not try it, Serena," Gyles advised harshly. "Henry I may not be able to deal with, but no one would fault me if I locked you in Camden's dungeon."

  Serena's eyes glittered behind the sword. "Incarcerate me, will you!" She shrieked. "Only if I am dead!"

  "What the devil are you so upset about?" Gyles roared back. "I thought 'twas your wish I not do battle with Henry!"

  "I don't, you idiot! Do you think I want you dead?" Serena yelled.

  "Then why are you holding me at sword point!?" "Because I . . ." Serena gasped. What was she doing? Abruptly she hurled the sword across the room and began to sob.

  Gyles relaxed against a bedpost. Serena with a sword in her very capable hands was nothing to take lightly, and for one brief moment he had feared Serena would use the weapon on him. By all that was holy, what had possessed him to play such a cruel trick on her? To hear Serena admit that she still loved him? To hurt her? To lay bare her emotions as his had been in front of Henry? Well, he had done that quite effectively, so where was the triumphant feeling he should be experiencing instead of this bleak sadness that was coursing through his soul. And why did Serena's broken sobs tear so at his nonexistent heart?


  Gyles walked to where Serena had thrown his sword and weighed it thoughtfully before crossing back to Serena and depositing the weapon in its scabbard. Serena presented her back to him. Determinedly, Gyles reached out to catch a thick lock of hair and wind it around his wrist until Serena had no choice but to follow the pull of her hair and move until she stood between Gyles's thighs.

  Oh, why? Serena's mind screamed. Why this studied torture? Does he not know how he tears at my heart? Or is it that Gyles desired me only when I presented a challenge, an insult to his manly pride? And now, when he knows I seem to have no will of my own, does it please him to humiliate me by throwing my love in my face? What does it matter—I do love him and my pride be damned! God willing, I will bear his children and they at least will love me even if their father does not.

  The play of emotion on Serena's face was too strong for Gyles to resist and he tenderly enfolded Serena in his arms. " 'Twas wrong of me to play such a trick on you, Serena. Had I known it would hurt you so, I would never have done so. Nay, lass, shed no more tears over this; rather I would not blame you if you desired to strike out at me. I told you long ago that I would hurt you, Serena." Gyles's arms tightened. "Ah, lass, why didn't you listen?"

  "Because what you said is true," Serena whispered into the lush velvet that covered his chest. "I love you, Gyles, but I cannot help wondering if it is enough. I cannot stop myself from wishing..."

  Gyles sighed as he felt Serena give a small shake of her head. I will kill her yet, Gyles thought helplessly. If I do not draw the life from her body I will surely crush the spirit in her soul. And yet, I cannot send her away. Heaven help me, but I cannot.

  CHAPTER 11

  The days flew by after the Yule celebrations. Serena found the queen more demanding than before and often the only time she saw Gyles was when she crept wearily into their bed. Unfailingly Gyles awoke upon her return, but never did he do more than fold her against his chest and stroke her hair until she fell asleep.

  Serena had presented Gyles with his new dress sword after the evening meal on Christmas Day and had felt particularly pleased with her selection when after examining it closely he praised its workmanship. Then, surprisingly, Gyles had produced a leather pouch from one of his chests and, with a flourish, dropped it into Serena's palm.

  Gyles grinned. "It has occurred to me I have never given you anything save the necklace that was your wedding gift."

  With shaking fingers Serena loosed the drawstring of the pouch and tipped it so that the contents spilled into her hand. A soft "Oh" escaped her lips, for in her hand lay a ring of gold with an enormous emerald resting securely in the precious metal. Serena gaped unbelievingly at the treasure in her palm. Never had she received such a gift! What it must have cost Gyles, Serena could not imagine, but more important was the fact that Gyles had taken the time to search out a present for her.

  "It . . ." Serena choked. " Tis beautiful, Gyles. Thank you."

  Impatiently, Gyles lifted the pouch and tossed it aside. "Aren't you going to try it on?"

  "Yes ... of course," Serena said, hastily, and slipped the cool band onto the middle finger of her left hand.

  Gyles lifted her hand from her lap and inspected the jewel critically. Apparently satisfied, Gyles drew Serena to her feet. "I sought to find a sapphire to match your eyes," Gyles told her softly. "But nowhere could I find a gem to rival their beauty. So you must be content with this poor bauble."

  Tenderness washed through Serena and she twined her arms behind Gyles's neck and pressed her lips to his.

  * * *

  For a full week William held councils with his lords dealing with the troublesome Scots clans. Never willing to unite for a common cause, the fierce tribes had evidently decided they shared a common enemy at last and had turned to harassing William's outposts at every opportunity. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the unruly Scots must be made to heel.

  Among the Norman lords there was complete agreement with William's decision to send reinforcements to the border, while the few Saxon lords who remained from Edward's time exchanged meaningful looks. They knew all too well what would happen to those who contested William's power. One by one the barons stepped forward to pledge their appointed number of men to William. Broughton was called by the king's scribe who sat, quill poised above the roll, and Bryan hesitated momentarily.

  It went against all Bryan held dear—his dreams of a Saxon king once more ruling England, seeing William and his band chased back across the channel. If it would make any difference in the outcome, Bryan thought, he would deny William Broughton's men. But forty knights would not dent William's force; indeed, the king could easily fill Broughton's pledge from his own household guard. And his Father had sworn sword-oath to William, and Bryan was at court only as his Father's representative.

  An elbow jarred painfully against his ribcage and Bryan swung upon its source to find Gyles had moved from the other side of the hall to stand at his side. They are waiting, Gyles's eyes told Bryan. Best to take your stand now and decide which side you will serve.

  Resignedly Bryan stepped forward. "Broughton's pledge of forty men will be honored."

  The scribe duly noted Bryan's words as he sullenly subsided into a chair. Silently, Bryan bade farewell to his ambitions. Perhaps Serena and Catherine were right; it was time to begin building, not tearing down. Broughton would eventually fall to him, but not if he were in exile or in William's dungeon. Inevitable. That was the word Bryan sought. His cause was lost, had been lost for a long time, although he had refused to admit it. Like his sister, Bryan was blessed—or cursed—with a will of iron and a stubborn nature that in itself could have repelled the Norman invasion. Had Bryan been born ten years earlier he would have undoubtedly yielded his life at Hastings and been happier for it. However, and here Bryan sighed, 'twas more important to survive than to shed one's blood in a futile effort. Which was another trait Bryan shared with Serena—both had inherited more than their share of common sense; their will to live far outstripped their willfullness. Well, sister, Bryan smiled wryly, it seems we were both destined to be disillusioned: you in love and I in my choice of causes.

  * * *

  While their men sat in council, the women contented themselves with conversation, needlework, and attending to the new ballads that were offered up by strolling troubadors. Serena perfected her knowledge of the Norman tongue with Catherine's assistance, and whenever Matilda did not require their presence it was not unusual to find them strolling about the palace grounds or riding in the royal forest.

  Somehow, Henry escaped the councils—after all, he would not inherit the English crown, so none deemed his presence to be of any importance—and more often than not Serena and Catherine would find that Henry decided to make their outings his as well. Neither minded, for Henry was an entertaining companion and with his light-hearted comments kept both Serena and Catherine laughing until the tears streamed from their eyes. Never again did Henry attempt to single out Serena as the target for his attentions and no one could fault either the prince or the lovely Saxon wife for their behavior. If any tongues did wag or a few eyebrows raise, well, was not the Lady Catherine always present?

  What Gyles thought of these arrangements—if he was even aware of them—no one knew, for that tall, darkly handsome knight silenced with a quelling glance anyone who dared broach the topic. Those foolish enough to hint that Gyles was being cuckolded found that death wore a grim countenance and viewed the world from behind clouded green eyes. It was only a short time until even the bravest of the courtiers ceased to bait Gyles— their lives were far too precious to be wasted over a morsel of gossip, no matter how juicy.

  The councils dragged on and during that time Serena found that Gyles became withdrawn and preoccupied. His sense of humor, never in abundance in the best of times, had almost disappeared and Serena often wondered if that quality had existed solely in her imagination. Not that Gyles was ever impolite in his manner toward Serena, indeed the oppos
ite was true; his bearing was so impersonally correct that at times Serena felt like screaming. But when they conversed, Serena had the feeling that Gyles's mind was occupied elsewhere.

  Several times, Serena would sense she was being watched and would look around to find Gyles studying her. It was almost an appraising look Serena caught in those piercing green eyes—as if all her shortcomings had suddenly been brought to mind and Gyles found her lacking in everything he desired. Then Gyles's lips would twist in a brief smile and the sensation would disappear, leaving in its wake a nagging uneasiness that would not be laid to rest.

  What Serena was most grateful for during her stay at court was that she had no contact with either Beda or Aurelia. The two sisters were seen together constantly, but they steadfastly avoided any contact with the residents of Camden and Broughton. Beda had, momentarily, even lost interest in seducing Gyles, which pleased Serena immensely.

  Lady Elspeth was a constant visitor to the queen's chambers, her willowy figure drifting through the numerous ladies-in-waiting with a haughty arrogance that was, Serena found, surpassed only by Gyles's. But Serena had avoided any contact with Elspeth since their only confrontation shortly after Christmas.

  Catherine had been admiring Serena's emerald ring when Elspeth had happened by. Unceremoniously, Elspeth had snatched at Serena's hand and bestowed a withering look at the gift and Serena.

  "A bauble from Prince Henry?" Elspeth sneered maliciously.

  Serena stiffened in outrage. "Indeed not, Lady Elspeth. Tis a gift from my husband."

  Elspeth's black eyes narrowed into slits. " 'Tis odd," she looked meaningfully at Serena. "Lord Gyles used to be far more generous with his rewards for favors bestowed."