by Jo Beverley
Her mother had come out to breakfast and looked much as she had over the past few weeks. She was not the happy woman she had been months ago, but nor was she deep in grief. The grieving had started the day her husband had ridden away, and now was coming to an end.
Lady Agnes was her grumpy self. It was always hard to tell what she felt.
Thomas was the only one who seemed truly unhappy, but that was probably because he’d been caught and was having to serve at table. She hoped the frequent splashes and dropped food were clumsiness not rebellion.
When Thomas presented a platter of bread to her, his lower lip was definitely rebellious. She smiled at him, trying to lighten his mood. He just scowled more.
Oh, Jesu. De Lisle was right. He was spoiled. He should have been trained to such duties years ago.
She’d loved her father dearly, but he’d liked peace and smiles. He’d not thought of training Thomas to be a warrior, and as for learning, with Lady Murielle wanting Thomas happy, it had been easier for her father not to insist on study. Claire had been the one who’d dragged her brother into reading, or considering customs and talleys.
Now her brother had no estate, but lacked the learning to be a cleric, or the skills to be a fighting man. What would become of him if cast out into the world?
“So”—Lady Agnes poked her head forward—“have you decided which to marry, young man?”
“It is for the ladies to decide.”
Thomas was back, this time with a platter of bacon. De Lisle took some to place on Lady Agnes’s trencher. “Isn’t there a story of three goddesses fighting for the favor of a man?”
“Fighting for favor?” Lady Agnes cackled. “These three are fighting to escape the ogre.”
De Lisle turned to Claire. “Ogre?”
Claire wished her grandmother would suffer a temporary loss of voice. “Her word, my lord, not mine.”
“But you are indeed all fighting not to wed me.”
She picked up the piece of meat he’d served to her, glad of an excuse to look away from his perceptive eyes. “Is it surprising? You come here a stranger …”
She reached to take some meat for de Lisle, but with a smirk Thomas tilted the platter so much of it slid off, to the delight of the hounds. De Lisle reached across the table, covering both the boy’s hands, and straightened the wooden board. “I know many interesting exercises to help correct clumsiness, Thomas. Let me know if you need them.”
Whether it was touch, voice, words, or simply a look in the eyes, all trace of scowl disappeared and her brother gulped. “No, my lord. I mean, yes, my lord …”
De Lisle let him go and turned back to her, politely calm. “You were saying?”
As nervous as Thomas, she chose a piece of meat, trying to remember what she’d been saying. Something about who should wed him, of course. “Felice will find you pleasing, my lord.”
“But you don’t.”
She picked up her own food, but she couldn’t face putting it in her dry mouth. Desperately, she asked, “Is it not time to send for my aunt, my lord, or to go and talk to her?”
He swallowed, looking at her thoughtfully as if the question were a mighty one. Then he tossed the remains of his breakfast to the hounds, wiped his hands, and rose. “Very well. Let us go out and put the matter to the test.”
As they left the table, Claire heard her grandmother mutter, “Foolish child.”
De Lisle held out his hand, and Claire felt obliged to take it as they left the hall. He kept possession of her hand all the way across the courtyard and over the wooden bridge. At least he had no excuse to lift her into his arms today, for the big puddle at the end of the bridge had drained to mud and she only had to pick her way carefully around the edge.
His camp looked more cheerful, too, in the dry and sunshine. His men were clearing up after their own breakfast, or mending clothing, armor, or harness. They seemed orderly for rough soldiers. A guard stood outside the large tent that held her aunts, but he was relaxed and chatting to friends nearby. He snapped to attention at the sight of his lord.
Claire let de Lisle lead her toward the tent, handsome in its bright colors, but she wavered as if suddenly at the brink of something perilous, as if she should stop and beg for time to think.
The guard stepped aside, and de Lisle looked at her as if he could read her mind. “Are you sure?”
For answer, she pulled back the flap of the tent and walked into the dimness. “Felice? Amice … ?”
It was a large tent, luxuriously appointed, but it wasn’t large enough to hide two people. “Felice … ?”
After a frozen moment he stalked by her to the back wall of the tent. He wrenched wide a cut right down it and stepped through.
Claire hurried after, numb with astonishment. “They’ve gone? Where? How?”
“The how is clear enough. To me!” His bellow brought men running and he glared at them. “Just because we’re in peaceful countryside, you didn’t think to keep watch all around?” Two-handed, he seized the heavy cloth and tore it yet more. “You thought this was a stone wall, perhaps? Where are the women?”
His seething rage made Claire’s heart race with panic. She wasn’t surprised to see the hardened soldiers backing away.
Sweet Jesu, the man must be a terror when roused!
“My lord!” She made herself step between. “Have pity! I’m sure my aunts seemed docile enough. I can’t imagine why they felt driven to flee. They must not have received my letter.”
He put her out of his way. “You!” He pointed to one man. “Was the letter delivered?”
“Aye, my lord. Exactly as ordered, my lord!”
“And when were the ladies last seen?”
The man swallowed as if he was about to confess to a mortal sin. “Last night, my lord, when the letter was given to them, my lord! They said they didn’t want to be disturbed until they called. They had their own servants there with them …”
Claire waited, trembling, for repercussions—for floggings, perhaps even slaughter—wondering what she could do to prevent it. But suddenly de Lisle grimaced with exasperation. “Fooled by pretty faces, were you?”
Claire blew out a breath. For a while there, she’d been truly frightened.
Then she became aware of the men eyeing her. She touched her hair, thinking that must be causing them to stare, but they weren’t those kind of stares. A glance showed her clothes were all in order.
Then she realized. They must know that one of the maids of Summerbourne had to marry their lord, and now she was the only one left. They thought they were looking at the bride!
She seized his sleeve. “My lord! We must go after them. They cannot have thought …”
He turned on her. “Your letter doesn’t seem to have been very persuasive, Lady Claire. I wonder what you wrote.”
She snatched her hand back. “You can’t think … I assure you, I do not want to marry you! I wrote only good things.”
One brow rose. “I should warn you, my lady, that I consider lying a very serious offense.”
Neatly caught, Claire felt her cheeks turn red. “I didn’t exactly lie.”
“So you think me a paragon, but choose not to marry me. ’Tis almost a riddle, my lady, but we can unravel it another time. For now, let’s find the other candidates. Where will they have gone?”
Claire considered the matter seriously. Sweet Jesu, they had to get Felice back! “St. Frideswide’s. It’s the only place.”
“How far?”
“No more than a league.”
“And they are on foot. Or at least”—he spoke caustically to his men—”I assume you didn’t let them steal horses as well.”
“No, my lord!” It was almost a chorus of terror.
“Then saddle four.”
Claire teetered on a dilemma. If he was such a terrifying master, could she push Felice into the marriage? She told herself that he was only harsh with his men. After all, despite his veiled threats, he’d not raised hand or voice with her.
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Yes, that must be it. He was gentle with women. Some men were like that. But she dared not let him ride out after her aunts in this mood, or not without her.
“My lord Renald, I beg you. Let me come with you.”
His look could raise blisters. “I think not. Your interference seems to have a contrary effect.”
“Me? Probably your men did something to frighten them.”
“And why would they do that?”
At the end of her nerves, Claire put her hands on her hips and glared. “Because they’re rough and uncouth, just like their master!”
He raised his brows. “Lady Claire, am I paragon or ogre?” Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head and stalked off to interrogate his poor men. She noted that he commanded them over to the far side of the camp where she couldn’t hear or see what took place.
Claire wrapped her arms around herself and shivered despite the lovely day. He was an ogre. She now had the evidence of her own eyes and ears. He had a terrible temper and his men feared him. The trouble was, if de Lisle really was a brute, she’d have to marry him. She couldn’t foist him off on Felice.
And if he wasn’t?
Then she would work to give him to her aunt.
She shook her head. He was right. It was a riddle worthy of her father’s inventive mind.
Chapter 8
Claire was relieved to hear no more shouting, no sound of blows, no screams. Perhaps his rages were brief and soon over. That wouldn’t be too bad. A wife would only have to learn how to keep out of his way at the worst moments.
Could Felice do that, however?
Of course she could. She wasn’t stupid.
He came striding back just as Josce trotted out of Summerbourne with his sword and shield. Other men led up four lively horses.
De Lisle looked her over. “Do you want to go pillion?”
She wouldn’t normally sit astride in her finest clothes, but she didn’t want to be up behind him. “I can ride.”
He called for the smallest horse and she mounted without help. She caught what looked like approval in his eyes and it soothed a part of her. She wasn’t used to being seen as helpless and silly.
Also, she noted, he didn’t look the same man as the angry one. He was a veritable Janus, with two faces to show the world. How would a person ever know which was the truth?
He chose two other men to accompany them, and in moments they were riding toward St. Frideswide’s. In fact, the convent bells sounded terce, as if to summon them.
Claire analyzed the situation. “There are two ways.”
He reined in, signaling for his men to halt. “Two ways?”
“To the convent. This road and a path through the woods. I don’t know which they’d take. The road is easier, but if they wanted to hide, they’d go through the woods.”
“Michael, Gerard, follow the road. Lady Claire,” he said, turning to her, “lead me through the woods. But this had best not be a trick.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to her and she looked him in the eye to prove it. “I merely want to find my aunt, Lord Renald, so you can have the most suitable bride.”
“Then we have the same goal. Lead on.”
Claire obeyed, praying that they would overtake her aunts, but fearing they must already be inside the convent. What if they wouldn’t come out?
On the narrow path, they had to go in single file, so when he spoke, he was behind her. “When I marry your aunt, Lady Claire, what will you do?”
“I might marry. Or take the veil.”
“Will you enter this nunnery?”
“No, my lord. Summerbourne is too painful for me now. I intend to go far away. Perhaps to France.”
He said no more and Claire was glad of it, for his questions upset her. She’d never thought of going so far, and putting it into words was frightening. But what else could she do?
As they rode, she found herself studying each tree, each boll, each glade, and storing it in her memory. She didn’t want to leave her home. She certainly didn’t want to cross the sea to a foreign land.
She could stay. She thought of the man riding behind …
No, no she could not. She could not marry a cold wolf like de Lisle.
In the green shade of the summer woods, Claire felt a prickling, as if enemies were all around.
But this was her land, where she’d never suffered any attack, and she had an armed man at her back. Then she realized the prickling was caused by that armed man. Renald de Lisle made her nervous, and not just because he was big and a blooded sword.
She shivered with relief to see a break in the trees framing the convent. Set comfortably by the river, and bathed in warm sunshine, it looked like a safe haven. In moments, she too was in the blessed sun.
Tall wooden walls surrounded the thatched-roof buildings of St. Frideswide’s, making it very like Summerbourne itself except that it lacked the watchtower. As usual, the gates were closed, but the place clearly wasn’t in any state of alarm.
As they approached the convent, the two men cantered up without prisoners. Felice and Amice must be inside with Mother Winifred, who was notoriously jealous of her domain.
De Lisle leaned from his saddle to ring the bell. Claire dismounted and went to the peep-door in the gate to be ready.
It slid back. “Yes? Oh, Lady Claire!”
“I’m looking for my aunts, Sister. Ladies Felice and Amice.”
“They’re here right enough, but I’m not sure they’ll want to see you.” The nun’s eyes were wide. “Especially with armed men at your back.”
“These men mean my aunts no harm. I would like to come in and speak to them.”
“I’ll ask Reverend Mother.” The door slid back with a loud smack.
Claire swung around and glared at her escort. “You could try to look less frightening!”
“But it’s what we do best, my lady.” His men smirked, and perhaps humor glinted in his eyes. It could be disarming except that he was right. It was their trade to be frightening, and it wasn’t just for show.
She heard the convent gate unlatch and turned back to face Mother Winifred.
The gate swung open—the smaller portal within the larger—and the reverend mother filled the opening with black robe, white headdress, and square pale face. Round as a barrel, there was nothing soft about her or her stern eyes.
“Lady Claire. Why are you bringing war-wolves down upon us?”
Claire dropped a curtsy. “This is Lord Renald, the new lord of Summerbourne, Reverend Mother. My aunts have disappeared and we hope they are here.”
“Disappeared is not quite the word, is it, young lady? Escaped, more likely. Escaped a murdering brute.” She glared up. “Which of you is Renald de Lisle?”
Claire turned a little so as to be able to see both sides of this confrontation. She expected it to be a fiery one, but was shocked by the look of cold menace that suddenly settled on de Lisle’s face.
“And whom have I murdered, Reverend Mother?”
Dear Savior, had he murdered someone?
“Doubtless hundreds,” snapped the nun. “You’re a mercenary and a tourney fighter, a man who lives by blood. Can you deny it?”
“No.” He smiled coolly, totally unrepentant.
Claire shivered. Mercenaries could be excommunicated. Tourney fighting was considered a sin.
Mother Winifred just glared. “We are not used to your type in these parts, my lord. Lord Clarence was not a man of violence.”
“Which only shows that avoiding violence offers no security.”
“Prayer and good living does.”
“Only in the next life, Reverend Mother. In this one, it needs to be surrounded by efficient blades.”
Claire remembered their purpose. “Reverend Mother”—she interjected—“Lord Renald has behaved like a good and just lord since arriving at Summerbourne.”
Mother Winifred’s sharp eyes turned to her. “Indeed. Then you’ll be happy to marry him, won’
t you?”
“Reverend Mother—”
“You made an arrangement with your aunts, did you not, Lady Claire? If this man is so meek and mild, why are you trying to change your mind?”
“I didn’t say … I just felt …” Claire pulled herself together. “Felice and Amice were nervous, Reverend Mother. We all were. Before it is too late, they should know that Lord Renald is not the ogre we thought.”
“Sweet words,” murmured a voice behind her.
Claire plowed on, knowing her face was turning red. “I know Felice would like to marry—”
“And you don’t think she can find a husband any other way?”
Claire felt her cheeks flare even more. “I never said that.”
“Why else are you here?”
Claire silently cursed herself. She should have thought more about Reverend Mother Winifred’s role in this. The woman had always wanted one or more daughters of Summerbourne in her community. Now, she must think she had two birds in the hand.
The nun smiled, a tight, triumphant little smile. “Or perhaps,” she suggested, “you are convinced this man will be a monstrous husband and wish to put another victim in your place.”
“No!” Claire insisted, though she wasn’t sure she was innocent. “Reverend Mother, I must insist on speaking to my aunts about this.” Suspecting that Felice would have found a way to listen to this exchange, she added, “Amice and Felice are both older and have a prior claim. I must be sure that they haven’t changed their minds before I agree to marry Lord Renald.”
She deliberately made it sound as if she wanted to marry the wolf, and Mother Winifred’s eyes might have glinted with appreciation of the move. She simply turned and went back through the door. “Come.”
Claire hurried after, but as one foot went over the threshold a hand seized her girdle, stopping her in her tracks. De Lisle must have almost thrown himself off his horse to have reached her so fast.
“What’s the matter? I just want to—”
His strong left arm cinched her to him, drawing her back. “I’m not letting my only bride-in-the-hand disappear through those gates.” He looked to where the Reverend Mother glared at them. “Bring Lady Felice to the door to speak to her niece.”