When Bruno heard the queen was dead, he too was sad. Later when the children were abed, he said it might mean trouble for us. He did not think that Stephen would long survive his wife, and Eustace was not fit to be king. Yet if Henry, Matilda’s son, took the throne, which seemed most likely, we who had been steadfastly faithful to Stephen might suffer for that.
“No, we will not,” I said, “for Henry Plantagenet is indebted to King David.” And I brought out what I had kept quietly in my chest for all these years—two more charters, one from King David confirming those he had given to my father long ago, and one from Henry, David’s son as overlord of Cumbria, for Ulle and the other manors.
Bruno shook his head. “Little rebel,” he said, “how did you come by these?”
I reminded him then of Sir Gerald’s capture of King David and how Hugh had hidden the king among his own men and taken him safely to Jernaeve. “I did not ask for these,” I said, touching the sealed parchments. “They came with a letter from Audris, saying that it was King David’s wish that I and mine not suffer, no matter what the outcome of the war.”
Although Bruno shook his finger at me—it is the harshest punishment he has ever visited on me—for keeping the matter secret all these years, he was pleased. I am glad we are well protected because I have four children now, Malcolm is our eldest, Hugh our second, Audris our first daughter, and Bruno, the baby, is two years old. I think our Audris will be the next lady of Jernaeve, for she and Eric are already fond of each other and it is Hugh’s and Audris’s dearest wish (despite the consanguinity) that our families be bound in the next generation as in this. It will be a little confusing to have two Audrises in Jernaeve, but Bruno’s sister is eager to take our daughter, who is already a skilled weaver and—to my horror—a great climber.
That frightens Edna even more than me. She is still with me and loves my children with the passionate devotion of a woman who cannot bear her own. She nursed Fechin too in his last illness—with surprising tenderness when one considers how sharply she always spoke of him and to him, but he died last year. Bruno and I were grieved, but he went quickly and without pain. Merwyn is married to a girl from the village and is now our master-at-arms. We keep more men-at-arms now. The smaller manors are adding to our wealth as are the lands that were Magnus’s blood money, so we can afford a small private army, and we might need it. Cumbria is at peace, but Bruno fears that the war will grow fiercer now that Henry is grown from a boy to a man. Well, I write the truth here. I look forward gladly to the time when Henry Plantagenet will be king—though I do not say it to Bruno.
I am healed of the trouble that fell on me when I was thirteen too. Even when I lost a daughter, my little Melusine, though I grieved bitterly indeed, I did not suffer again the guilt and terror that had haunted me for so many years. Well, I am almost healed; when Bruno asked me if I would not name the child I am carrying now for our lost daughter or one of my brothers, I would not hear of it. If it is a boy, it will be Oliver; if a girl, I will name it Maud, for the queen. I hope the babe will be a daughter, for it was the queen who forced Bruno on me—and gave me this new and very precious life.
Author’s Note
For those readers who are familiar with the use of titles in English society, I feel it necessary to explain that it is not ignorance that allows me to call Melusine, the daughter of a simple knight, Lady Melusine. In the early twelfth century, titles and their use had not yet been formalized. All women of the noble class were “lady,” with no distinction being made between the daughter of a simple knight and that of an earl. A man who had been knighted was “sir” to his equals and superiors, but he was most often “lord” to his own servants and inferiors who did not know better.
I feel I should also mention that in the first half of the twelfth century, there were no such titles as Squire of the Body or Knight of the Body. However, the positions—both requiring close attendance and service to the king—did exist. I have used the titles as a matter of convenience, because they make clear the duties of the hero without explanations that might impede the action.
About the Author
Roberta Gellis is the bestselling author of over twenty-five historical romance novels with over one million copies sold. New York Times bestseller John Jakes has called her a superb storyteller of extraordinary talent; Publishers Weekly has termed her a master of the medieval historical. Her many awards include the Silver and Gold Medal Porgy for historical novels from West Coast Review of Books and the Golden Certificate and Golden Pen from Affaire de Coeur, several Romantic Times book awards, and also the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romance Writers of America. She lives in Lafayette, Indiana.
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