by Speer, Flora
“Come in, child, and close the door. I wish to speak with you in private.” Isabel did not move from the stone window seat. She pulled the silk cushion at her back into a more comfortable position and then looked out the window with apparent indifference, waiting patiently for Selene to come to her across the lavender-strewn floor of the guest chamber.
The herbs on the floor rustled softly, sending up a faint fragrance, and Selene moved into view again. Out of the corner of one eye, Isabel could see her standing quietly in her plain dark blue woolen gown, hands folded before her. Isabel wanted to establish her own dominant position in this interview, so she let the girl wait a few moments before turning her head to look Selene full in the face. When she did, she met a pair of wide emerald eyes, challenging and scornful, before the girl dropped shadowed lids over their green fire. Isabel, taken aback, said nothing, and Selene spoke first.
‘The Lady Aloise has told me of your proposition, madame, that I should marry your son.” The voice was surprisingly low-pitched to come out of so small a body, and it was charged with an anger most unsuitable to this occasion. Isabel noted that the girl had said “Lady Aloise,” not “my mother.”
“You sound as though you do not like the idea. But you must,” Isabel said. “You have been raised, as all noble girls are, with the knowledge that one day you will be wed to a man chosen for you by your parents, and that you must obey them. I assure you, my son Thomas is young, handsome, kind-hearted, and in good health. He has a great future before him.”
Somewhere in the back of Isabel’s mind rose the memory of her father saying something remarkably similar to her before her own marriage to Sir Lionel. How disastrously wrong her father had been. Isabel pushed that thought aside. This was different; this was Thomas she was speaking of, and all the information she had been able to garner about him indicated that what she had just told Selene was true.
Selene, though outwardly meek, apparently had a spark of defiance in her. Those remarkable emerald eyes glared at Isabel, and her low voice was husky with emotion when she spoke again.
“I do not wish to marry. I want to become a nun.”
“You would be wasted in a convent.” Isabel shivered a little, not wholly from the damp draft coming through the imperfectly fitted window beside her, for her own permanent incarceration in a convent was too near a threat for Isabel’s comfort. No, this girl would do as Isabel wished. Selene, and therefore Isabel, would remain outside conventual walls. “You are beautiful, and I suspect you are intelligent,” Isabel added. “You would be much admired at the English court.”
“Beauty is a snare,” Selene replied loftily. “And a royal court is a place of deadly temptation to vanity and worldly ambition.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot for a moment that Aloise foolishly sent you to a convent for schooling.” Isabel had not forgotten a single piece of the information she had obtained about Selene before choosing her for Thomas’s wife, but she wanted to hear what the girl would say next.
“I am not my mother’s favorite child,” Selene said, her low voice cold with self-control. “I know it, and it matters not at all to me. She was glad to be rid of me, and I happy to leave her domain, where I have never been welcome or at ease. A convent is the proper place for me, madame. I beg you, do not pursue this plan of marriage that you and my mother have concocted.”
Isabel digested this a moment. Then she tried another approach. “I suppose you have learned to read and write while in the convent? Well, so can Thomas. He has been trained in an abbey. You two will have much to talk about.”
“I do not expect that I will ever speak to your son at all, madame, for I do not intend to marry him – or anyone.” Selene’s voice held a note of desperation. She seemed to have realized that her plea had been dismissed by Isabel and would probably be equally disregarded by those others who were planning her life’s course.
“Sit down, Selene.” Isabel waved a hand toward the window seat opposite her own place and tried not to laugh at this too-serious girl. Selene obeyed her, cloaking herself once more in the air of meekness with which she hid her frightened, yet still defiant, spirit. Isabel sat appraising her future daughter-in-law, amused and pleased with her. Selene would serve her purposes well.
“The marriage is not yet arranged,” Selene said at last, apparently becoming impatient with the silence which Isabel had deliberately let go on and on. “When I see my father again, I will tell him I do not wish to marry. I pray he will listen to me if you and my mother will not.”
Isabel shrugged, unconcerned by the threat. She had helped Aloise to dictate the letter to Sir Valaire which suggested that he raise the subject of Selene’s marriage to Thomas of Afoncaer. The letter was well on its way to England. Once the arrangements were made and the contracts drawn up, this child’s wishes in the matter would count for nothing. Sir Valaire would never risk offending Baron Guy or his nephew by calling off the wedding arrangements. Meanwhile, she would use her charm on Selene to make her at least a little more agreeable to the idea. It would not do to have a violently opposed bride. From what she had learned of her, Isabel judged Selene capable of violence, or worse, if pushed too far.
“Would you like me to tell you about my son?” Isabel asked. “He was such a dear little boy, and such a handsome young man. Everyone loves him.”
“Men.” Selene gave a most expressive shudder. “The nuns have told me what men do to women. They told me on the first day I became a woman.”
So that was it, and with all her information about the girl, Isabel had not previously guessed it. The silly child was afraid of men. That could be put right easily enough. Isabel almost laughed aloud.
“It is not always unpleasant,” Isabel said, recalling the early days of her marriage to Walter fitz Alan. She moved a little on the hard stone seat. Even now, after all these years, the memory could still stir her blood. Ah, Walter, Walter, what we once had, what we so foolishly lost in resentment and regrets. “The nuns have not told you everything, Selene. Sometimes it can be marvelously exciting. Delicious, like honey, or a rich, heady wine. It can be wonderful to be with a man.”
Selene sat staring at her, lips parted. She had a small, pretty mouth, but rather thin lips. The girl was probably not passionate at all, Isabel decided, but she could fill Selene’s mind with Thomas, even try to think of something pleasant to say about Afoncaer, and she would soon come around. Isabel could see that she had her quarry interested now. Girls her age were always intrigued by talk of lovemaking, even if they pretended they were not, and Selene was still young enough to be impressed by an attractive adult who paid particular attention to her, especially if she didn’t get along with Aloise. How convenient that was.
“Shall I tell you about Thomas?” Isabel asked again.
“If you like,” Selene said. “You are a guest in this house, and I must listen to you politely, madame, but I warn you, you will not change my mind about marriage.”
Oh, but she would, Isabel thought as she began to talk. Her visit would last a month, longer if she could maneuver Aloise into a further invitation, and in that time she would make an ally of Selene. Before Isabel was done, the girl would love her as though Isabel were her own mother, and at Isabel’s bidding she would willingly marry Thomas.
Isabel wanted to avoid entering a convent, as she had told Aloise, but there was more to her purpose, much more. Isabel wanted revenge on Baron Guy of Afoncaer. It was because of Guy that she had spent ten years in miserable exile. Now Isabel had a plan to pay him back, a long, slow, clever plan that need not depend upon a knife in his back or an army to unseat him from Afoncaer. Isabel was too clever, too patient, for such crude methods. And Selene, that cold, proud girl sitting stiffly across the window niche from her, listening intently to Isabel’s words in spite of her feigned indifference, Selene would be her weapon.
* * * * *
By the time the castle chaplain finished reading the letter from Sir Valaire to her, Aloise knew what she would do. It
was not a sudden decision. She had lain awake many a night during the past two months wrestling with the problem, trying to find a solution to the fears that troubled her and unwilling to make the choice she knew she must make. But she understood from her husband’s words on parchment that Isabel’s desire had come to pass and Selene would wed Thomas of Afoncaer shortly after Christmas. Now that it was definite, Aloise’s hesitation disappeared.
She dismissed the chaplain and went to seek the one person she could depend upon to render her the faithful service that would banish, or at least alleviate, her lingering fears. Aloise found her hard at work in the castle kitchen, lending aid to the temperamental cook by supervising the lesser kitchen help as, in preparation for the midday meal, they turned meat upon spits or chopped vegetables for stews. Aloise watched her fondly, a tall girl with a well-rounded figure swathed in a long apron, and with a wealth of curling, dark brown hair shot through with red lights when she bent over into the fire’s glow.
Aloise sighed. Her foster daughter had proven well worth taking in and nurturing. Aloise hated to send her away, indeed would miss her far more than she would miss Selene, but it must be done. She could see no other way.
“Arianna.”
The girl turned, her golden skin flushed from the heat of the cooking fires.
“My lady.” The wide, laughing mouth deflected one’s attention from a nose that was just a little too long and hawk-like for a feminine face. Her beautiful wide-set grey eyes, her best feature, were fringed with thick, dark lashes. Nothing about her individual features fitted the ideal of female loveliness, yet the impression Arianna gave was of strong, exotic beauty, lit by humor and quick intelligence.
Aloise beckoned to the girl, who left her post by the spit and followed the castle’s mistress into a small pantry off one side of the busy kitchen. The servants, seeing their lady conferring with Arianna, thought nothing of it and went about their work, leaving the two in privacy.
“A message has come from Sir Valaire,” Aloise said. “The marriage is agreed to, the contracts drawn up.”
“Does Selene know?”
“Not yet. I want you to come with me when I tell her.”
“My lady, she has seemed content these last weeks. Lady Isabel has spent much time with her, and has apparently turned her mind toward Thomas of Afoncaer. I doubt Selene will be overly distressed, or even the least bit surprised, by this news.”
“Arianna, I, too, have thought much of Thomas of Afoncaer. And of Lord Guy. I cannot let Selene go to Afoncaer unattended.”
“But she will not, my lady. There will be servants, waiting women, pages, as large a company as she wishes. Sir Valaire will be generous with her.”
“I must speak truly, Arianna,” Lady Aloise said, using one of her favorite phrases, which Arianna had long ago noticed was usually followed by words she ought not to speak at all. But Arianna knew how to keep a confidence. She would repeat nothing Aloise said to her, and she knew Aloise trusted her completely.
“I fear Selene will go to her marriage as a martyr,” Aloise went on. “She will take as few folk from her father’s household as she possibly can, and as soon as she is at Afoncaer she will send all those away. Once she is in a strange place, with unfamiliar people, who can tell what she might do? She could bring dishonor upon her father and me. I must try to prevent that.”
“Surely her new husband will exert some control over her.”
“I hope so. I don’t understand her, Arianna. I never have. She is such a peculiar girl. I feel her hostility toward me, I’ve endured her terrible rages, and yet I don’t know why she behaves as she does. She has been chastised, exhorted by the chaplain, whipped, prayed over, and nothing helps.”
“She was content at the convent, my lady. Perhaps she should have stayed there. She may be better suited to the cloister than to marriage.”
“She is too valuable to her father to be allowed that indulgence. Her marriage to Thomas of Afoncaer will seal the friendship between Lord Guy and Sir Valaire. Arianna, I want you to go to Afoncaer with Selene. She cannot send you away. She wouldn’t want to – you are one of the few people she cares about. You know how to soothe her when she is distraught. Continue to be her friend, Arianna, as you have been in the past, stay close to her, care for her children when they are born, and be as faithful in your duty to Selene as you have always been to me.” Here Aloise embraced her foster daughter with a warmth greater than anything she had ever extended to her own child. “You will have your reward in heaven, my dear, dear girl.”
“Leave you, my lady? Leave this my home?” Arianna’s surprised, initially reluctant expression lasted only a moment before her grey eyes began to shine. “I’ve heard the Welsh border is an exciting place. The Welsh refuse to be conquered. Sir Valaire told me that the last time he was home.”
“You and Selene will be safe enough in Lord Guy’s castle, Arianna.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of danger,” Arianna responded, laughing. “To travel so far, to see a new place, how wonderful it will be. I will miss you, my lady, for I love you dearly. You have been kind to me beyond anything I deserve. I owe you and Sir Valaire a great debt.”
It was a debt Arianna knew she could never repay. Sir Valaire and his lady had taken her into their care when she was still a baby, orphaned and unwanted by her half-brothers, who had resented their father’s second marriage to an unknown and untitled woman. Arianna had spent nearly all of her life in this household; it was home to her, and she would be sorry to leave it. But the blood of a crusader father and a daring mother who had defied her own parents to marry him mingled in Arianna’s veins, and her spirits soared at the thought of crossing the Narrow Sea and living in a strange new land. Who knew what opportunities for usefulness might await her there? Selene would need her, of that she was certain.
“Yes, my lady. If Sir Valaire gives his permission, then send me,” Arianna cried, her heart full of love and gratitude. “I’ll do my best to watch over Selene, and her children, when she has them. It’s little enough to repay you for all you have done for me. I will go to Afoncaer most willingly.”
Part II
Selene
A.D. 1115-1116
Chapter 2
St. Albans, England
December, A.D. 1115
“I would have preferred,” Thomas said, “to be knighted at Afoncaer, by Uncle Guy. I have dreamed of it since I was a boy.”
The new abbey church of St. Albans was to be consecrated this Christmastide, and King Henry had brought his court hither for the ceremonies. Thomas had come from Afoncaer with his family, unwillingly but dutifully, at his king’s bidding, to be among the select group who would be knighted in the church by the king himself several days after the consecration. It was an honor and he knew it, but still he was unhappy about it.
“And,” he went on with increasing irritation, “I wanted Geoffrey to be at my knighting. It’s only right, since I was his squire. He should be here.” Thomas strode restlessly about the small guest chamber that had been allotted to the Baron of Afoncaer and his lady. A serving woman sat quietly in one corner mending the hem of a gown, but otherwise he and his aunt were alone.
“You know Guy felt it best for Geoffrey to remain at Afoncaer.” Meredith spoke in a soothing tone, smiling up at the young man. She was sure he had grown even taller in the last month. He topped Guy by at least two inches, and he looked so much like Guy it was uncanny. He had the same golden hair and piercing blue eyes, and the same square jaw. He was just like Guy when she had first seen him and fallen in love with him. Those old enough to remember said the late Baron Lionel and his younger brother Guy had been as much alike, but Meredith had never seen Lionel. One of Meredith’s hands came down on Thomas’s arm to stop his pacing and hold him before her so he would listen carefully to what she said. “Geoffrey will keep the castle safe while we are away. Guy feels there may be some trouble brewing among the Welsh, and he wanted someone dependable in charge. Captain John is not
as young as he once was. We will need a new captain of the guard soon, I fear.”
“The Welsh have no reason to dislike my uncle’s rule. He has always been most fair with his people, and that part of the border is more prosperous than it has ever been.”
Meredith, who knew more of Welsh ways than Thomas did and understood why they hated the Normans so much, smiled at her nephew again when he shook his head at the unpredictable tenants of Afoncaer. Then she changed the subject.
“When you came in, you said you wanted to speak about something very important. I think I distracted you by mentioning your knighting.”
“It’s my marriage. It worries me. I’ve been thinking about it constantly. I ought to be thinking just as much about my knighting and all it means, but instead I lie awake half of every night wondering what will happen after I’m married.”
“You don’t object to the terms, do you? I thought Guy made it all quite clear to you, every item in the contract, and all the arrangements for the ceremony. You did agree.”
“I still agree. I trust Uncle Guy, and Sir Valaire, and I know this is the way noble marriages are made, but, Meredith, I don’t want a merely formal arrangement. I have seen you and Uncle Guy these past ten years, seen how you love and support each other, how you work together, and how good that is, for you two and my cousin Cristin, and for all of Afoncaer. My parents had the usual kind of marriage. They spent almost no time together – I scarcely remember my father – and I grew up feeling lonely and unloved, until I met you. I don’t want my wife or children to live like that, in that cold, empty loneliness. I sometimes think that was why my mother did the terrible things she did. Because she was lonely, and afraid, and unloved.”