The Blue Falcon

by Robyn Carr

  Chandra looked about her chamber. It was adequate, to be sure, but there were no new fixings or furniture. She pos­sessed the same oaken coffer that had been her mother’s. It functioned as a chair, space for clothing and linen, and a table to write at when a stool was set before it. There had been no new gowns and certainly there was no money for jewelry. Two tapestry wall hangings kept her chamber from being starkly naked.

  Chandra did not long for riches, but she had wants. A chair with arms carved from oak for her sleeping chamber would be a luxury item, or a bed that was raised from the floor, like the one in her mother’s chamber at Cordell. And the few clothes that were being hurriedly made for her to take to her marriage brought her little pleasure.

  She remembered the conversation she had had with her father, though it had taken place months before.

  “But I do not love him,” Chandra told Medwin.

  “That is the least of your problems,” he had replied. “Many a maid marries a stranger. If you will allow, you could learn to love him. He loves you.”

  “He does not love me,” she spat hatefully. “He loves the land I hold and I do not need a man to manage--”

  “Were it a man you loved, even if he be of lesser wealth than Tedric, I would yield to you. But this notion of living alone, putting yourself above other women whose needs require that they marry, I will not condone. I am an old man and have not much time. I will not leave you without proper protection.”

  “But Conan has given his word that he would act as warden to my lands and I would gladly see his heirs inherit--”

  Medwin’s face had reddened considerably as she said this and she could see that he was angrier than ever. “Have you no shame?” he stormed. “Your sister’s husband! When will you abandon your designs on that man?”

  “Nay, Father. Nay! ‘Tis not bent of desire, I swear on my mother’s grave! Only that I would rather live alone than as Tedric’s wife. I loathe him!”

  “Loathe him? And why? He has been nothing but generous with you and courts you as if you were a queen, when in truth you are the daughter of a poor knight! An aging lord with little to give! What he has lent me amounts to more than your precious Cordell is worth. Would you have me sell that parcel and leave you as a ward to the sisters, penniless and without even a title?”

  Weeping, she could only hang her head, for she knew how it hurt him to speak that way to her.

  “One daughter lives with her husband’s mother and might never give me a grandchild. Another daughter took her dowry to the convent and is useless to me as she serves the Lord, but this I accept without complaint for I have done little enough for the church in my life. And you, my last hope, would have me sell my home to the crown that you might have your Cordell and live without marriage. And for what? To save you from a man who treats you better than you deserve!”

  “But, Father, I fear Tedric uses you dishonestly. He has acted the part of a love-smitten swain, but that is not how I have seen him in years past. He is not known as a good knight among his peers and--”

  “And because of past deeds must ever bear the curse of wagging tongues? I say to you that he is older now and has learned more honorable ways. I could not expect more from the youngest of Theodoric’s brood and I dismiss his youthful pranks in lieu of the more honorable man he has become.”

  “Pranks? Father--”

  “Chandra! I am out of patience with your many com­plaints! You will wed the man as well you should, and you will act the lady or feel the weight of my own hand. I leave you the right in your betrothal contract to manage your own lands, but if you resist me again I shall give that right to your husband.”

  “Nay, Father, you must not!”

  “Do not tempt me further. And for every insult you lay to Tedric, that generous knight, you push me closer to that end. He promises to give you his heart and his strong arm for a lifetime!”

  Such a threat had stilled her tongue and forced her into proper acquiescence. The wedding would be in London following the coronation of Richard when so many friends and acquaintances would be gathered there. She felt a slight jump in her stomach because she knew she would see Conan. Just the thought brought the color to her cheeks and she felt herself burn with shame, for little had changed in her heart. She was able to contain her misery and did not appear to be a brokenhearted maid, but she longed for him still. She prayed every night that morning would bring her at least a feeling of indifference. But it was not to be. He invaded her thoughts and she was often caught daydreaming. He conquered her dreams, and many times she would awake so certain that he was there beside her that she would reach for him. She did more penance for her thoughts than she had ever done for sinful deeds, and the village priest had grown frustrated with her fixation, though she would not confess the identity of this man whose image was inescapable, even in sleep.

  Just as something deep within her would not allow her to feel the slightest affection for Tedric, there was something unearthly about the way Conan had taken complete posses­sion of her heart. She knew that it was not a simple infatuation that besets many a young maid. Even the total impossibility of their circumstances, even the shame that she felt at the thought of Edwina being his wife, did not lessen the strong love she felt for him. She longed to abandon the feeling. She tried everything from prayer to hard work to developing fondness for any other man. But it was futile. She came to think of it as a curse.

  About a year had passed since she had seen Conan last. He had journeyed to Phalen to see what service he could do for Medwin. Though he stayed only a few days, and they had had little time alone together, she had been left suspecting that he suffered as she did.

  Medwin had spoken fondly of Tedric to Conan, but Conan was direct and honest, saying he thought Tedric an unsuitable choice for marriage because of his lack of inheritance. While his family might well back his defense of any keep, Tedric’s protection alone would be weaker than that of many other knights. And where would Tedric’s family be when an attack came? Waiting behind Tedric to lend aid? Nay, they would be scattered throughout England and France on their own estates. The power of Theodoric and his seven sons might indeed cause some invader to think twice about waging war on Tedric, knowing that that great family would certainly take its revenge, but that alone was little reason for alliance. There were other knights and lords that could serve Medwin’s family better.

  But Conan had no way of knowing that Tedric would bring so much wealth to the proposal. He left convinced that he had swayed Medwin away from his choice.

  One morning Chandra had found Conan in the Phalen gardens, and, while she had avoided his close company earlier, she rushed to him then.

  “You came to my colors and stood up to my father for my sake, Conan. Thank you.”

  Because no other could look so deeply into his eyes, she saw the sadness there. In the presence of her father he seemed distant and uninterested. “I spoke only the truth, Chandra. I have no love for Tedric and would not support his wish to marry into this family. Medwin is my father now. I could never call Tedric brother.”

  “And if another knight were courting me through my father, what would your advice be?” she asked.

  “If he were worthy of you I would urge Medwin to accept.” She looked down, not watching him as he spoke. “It would not change the way I feel.”

  Her words were almost angry then. “If that is so, how could you help any man into marriage with me?”

  But he did not react to her anger. His voice was strained and hoarse. “How valiant would I be to choose for you a life alone rather than hope someday you could learn to love the man who takes your hand in marriage? Ah, Chandra, I have regretted so much and I am a young man. If there is a chance that you might yet find love, I wish it for you. But I am wicked, for I would rather have you spend a lifetime in lonely solitude than to have to think of you sharing a bed with Tedric.”

  “I am sorry, Conan. It was cruel of me not to think of you. Of course I do not suffer alo
ne.”

  He turned from her then and stared out into the roses and trees. “I do not think Medwin will allow you to remain unwed, however little you need a husband. Edwina is not likely to bear a child, and this he knows from her letters. You are his last hope that he will live on. If you would avoid marriage to Tedric, you must find another man worthy and profess your strong love. Scream it to the heavens and think naught of me, for you must convince your father of a better choice.”

  “But Conan, there is no one,” she murmured.

  He turned back to her and she saw the forlorn look in his eyes. “Lady, you are of beauty rare, and Cordell is worth much. There are other late-born sons with little inheritance, but of honor and strength. I cannot have you and I cannot help you.”

  Chandra thanked him humbly and left him alone, for she could not bear the sadness in his eyes. She knew that her sister was well and that she had been living with Conan’s parents since recovering from her miscarriage. She did not have to wonder what complaints Conan could have brought to her ears.

  Now the fault was hers because she did not heed Conan’s advice. She let the young men pass through Medwin’s hall without a flicker of favor for any of them, and when Medwin’s patience was at an end, Tedric rode into Phalen with saddle­bags filled with money. She pleaded then for a chance to find a young man for whom she could feel some love, but too late. Medwin had watched her turn away suitor after suitor. And her father needed the silver that Tedric offered to meet the needs of his keep plus a liberal loan to meet his debts. The marriage contract was made and the time for arguments was past.

  In her chamber at Phalen Castle, Chandra stood gritting her teeth and trying to still her agitation as the hem of her pale blue wedding gown was being cut to the proper length.

  Her arms were crossed in front of her and her lips were pursed. She often let out a slight grunt of discontent and shifted her weight to the other foot, thus swaying the skirt.

  “Lady, please,” Wynne pleaded. “If you cannot be still I shall have your knee showing in the front and the gown dragging behind.”

  “You can slit the vulgar thing to ribbons and it would suit me fine,” Chandra said hatefully.

  “Oh, lady,” Wynne said. “You do Sir Tedric a grave injustice. He is a fine knight--so chivalrous and kind.”

  “Would that you could take him in my place,” Chandra snapped, looking down at the maid.

  Wynne only sighed her answer, and Chandra knew the maid would swoon at the very thought. Wynne, daughter to Sir William, master of the guard at Cordell, had been promised this position as maid to Lady Chandra. Now at thirteen she was the perfect maid, for her training had been rigorous. Her mother, Agnes, lived in Cordell Keep and had been managing that house for many years. Wynne had been taught how to attend a lady since early in her youth. She was gay, bright and quite pretty.

  “You must not flirt with Sir Tedric so,” Chandra scolded. “You do not know him well enough to be certain your gestures will be treated with propriety. He may surprise you.”

  “Yea, lady,” she said softly.

  Chandra knew the lass did not believe that Tedric could be anything but gracious. He often sent fine gifts to Phalen to woo Chandra, and on his one visit just months earlier he was at his very best, displaying his courtly manners and behaving in a careful, courteous way. Even when Chandra made a most embarrassing display of refusing his offer of marriage, he reacted only with a disappointed frown and never did he raise his voice or attempt to subdue her. Medwin, however, promised her a sound beating if she did not hearken to his word and abide by his decision.

  She kicked a small slippered foot at the floor and groaned at the frustration of her circumstance.

  “Lady, please...” Wynne begged.

  “Are you nearly finished?” Chandra asked tartly.

  “A moment more, lady,” the maid said patiently.

  There was a knock at the door and Wynne rose slowly, her legs stiff from sitting for so long on the hard, cold floor. She opened the door a bit to see who the intruder was, and then opened it to admit Medwin.

  He paused just inside the door and let his eyes behold Chandra. The pale blue gown swirled about her feet, clinging to her hips and fitting tightly about the full bosom that had come with womanhood. Her golden hair, contrasting so beautifully with the color of the gown, fell over her shoulders. More adornments would be added later--jewels and gold--but Medwin did not need to see that for more effect. His eyes glowed with appreciation. He couldn’t remember, in all his lifetime, seeing a woman of greater beauty.

  He walked toward her, limping now from the pain in his joints that became worse with every winter. He reached his hands out to take hers and she tried to smile for him.

  “You will be a radiant bride,” he told her. “The queen will be jealous, for even in her youth she was no match for you.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she said, but she knew that she could never be a radiant bride. Not unless she could find a way to conceal the blackness of her heart.

  “I hope you are nearly finished. We must make London before the rest of the countryside if we are to find a suitable hall.”

  “I am nearly ready,” she told him.

  “Don’t make us late or I will accuse you of misbehaving. I have never known a woman who could make ready and travel as quickly as you do. I would know you wish me only ill if you dally.”

  “I will be ready,” she promised.

  Medwin lost the shimmer in his eyes as he looked into hers. She could act in the manner he demanded, but she could not hide her unhappiness. And in this she hurt for him, for she knew his love for her was real. He wanted her happiness and security above all else.

  He shook his head in resignation and left the room, his limping bringing an ache to her heart. As she looked at the door that closed behind him, a tear slowly crept down her cheek.

  Chapter 10

  Traveling frequently between Anselm and Stoddard had become a tired habit to Sir Conan, and he was relieved that his wife would once again live under his roof. But in one way he was thankful for these forced visits: they gave him a new opportunity to know his brother and sister.

  Galen, a strapping lad of fourteen, had returned to his family for a brief visit from the north of England. His training under the care of a strong knight, Sir Boswell of Tarringwood, had been the best medicine for a boy trying to match his successful brother’s reputation. In two years Galen had grown tall and strong, his shoulders broad and his arms developed into strong weapons. His chin sprouted the fine growth of what would be a thick, dark beard and his skin was beautifully bronzed from the long, hard days in the summer sun spent jousting, hawking, tilting and learning the theory of chivalry.

  Conan embraced him now as a true brother, seeing for the first time a promise that they could support each other in strength and work together to make the name of de Corbney a respected one in England.

  One of Conan’s greatest joys came from watching Edythe grow into womanhood. She had grown tall, as Alaric’s sons had, slender as a willow and graceful as a cat. Her thick, dark hair made the contrast of her radiant green eyes more overwhelming, and now, at sixteen, her blooming body spoke more of the joys of lovemaking than the folly of children’s games.

  For Edythe, many young knights had been beckoned to Anselm, but she scorned them all. Udele was becoming increasingly impatient with her daughter, for Edythe could not find a desirous quality in any of her suitors.

  “Among the great many that ride through these gates,” Conan observed, “you have not seen one to meet your fancy.”

  “Knaves all,” she replied flippantly.

  “Some have money,” he replied.

  “And what need have I for money?” she asked. “When the knight who can best you in a contest of arms rides upon me, I shall take him without hesitation. Money does not move me, nor youth and beauty. I will await a knight with enough years to his credit to protect my holdings well. I will wait for a man I can respect.”


  “And you have not seen the man who could capture your heart?” he asked.

  “I did not say that, brother,” she smiled. “Indeed, I have seen him.”

  “Then call him to Anselm and let the wedding be soon.”

  “But Conan,” she said, her smile coquettish and her eyes twinkling, “I do not know where he is. I see him every night in my dreams, and sometimes when I ride he lingers at the wood just beyond my reach. Or by the stream in the morning when I go there with linens to be washed, he is there, across the water, where I cannot run to him.” Her eyes held a quality he had not seen until now. She was a woman in love and the glow on her face promised an eternity of loving. “I wish to call him home, Conan. But I cannot. And what am I to do with these other suitors Father brings me?”

  Conan looked into her eyes, the deep emerald pools begging him for understanding. And he did understand. His own love was lost to him now and he could not recapture it. This talk of building empires, this custom of bringing young men and women together to unite families and render power and wealth, what did it bring? For him, only misery. His chance was gone, but not Edythe’s.

  “Knaves all!” Conan exclaimed, cupping her chin in his hand and lifting her face to place a kiss on her brow. “Name the man you love, and I will capture him and bring him to his knees before you.”

  “Conan,” she said seriously, “if he is good and strong and gentle of heart, does it matter that he is not rich? Brother, tell me truly, if he is a capable man of untiring spirit and stands by his oath without wavering even so much as an ancient oak on a windless day, does it matter that his name is not known through all Christendom?”

  “This man, Edythe--is he common? Is he a farmer?” She shook her head negatively. “And he is a strong knight of good repute?” She nodded quickly. “And you love him?”

  “Conan,” she breathed, tears coming to her eyes, “I love him. I love him more than life itself. And if I cannot have him, I will have no one.”