Ellen grew pale and dropped the fruit on the table. She could almost believe Mikos had read her mind. She watched helplessly, as the apple bounced once and landed hard in the edge of Nicholas’ plate, upsetting it onto his lap. Gravy splattered his face, while a lump of congealed fat slowly rolled down his chest. Ellen choked back a fierce desire to laugh and instead, jumped up from her chair, a look of panic on her face at the small disaster she had caused. She dared not look at Nicholas again, fearing he would see in her eyes what was on her mind.
"Your Highness,” she turned suddenly to the king. “Your Highness, forgive me.” Ellen glanced at her father, then scooted between the chairs and ran from the dais and up the steps at the end of the great hall. She knew everyone watched her, wondering what had happened. One of the soldiers standing by the staircase stepped aside to let her pass. Ellen glanced back. The one eyed gypsy stared after her, still grinning.
Ellen's heart continued to beat rapidly as she slipped through the narrow opening. The gypsy's knowing eye haunted her. Her vision blurred, and she felt faint. She paused on the narrow staircase long enough to press her sleeve against her tear filled eyes, then hurried to her chamber. “It cannot be,” she sobbed, “It cannot be."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The night before her wedding ... Despite the continued noise and laughter belowstairs, Lady Ellen sighed. She had regained tight control over her emotions; if she gave in now there would be no end to it. What she had seen in that gypsy's eye, at the last moment, could not possibly have been real. It was wishful thinking to believe what she imagined could be true. Her mind played cruel tricks on her. David was gone, and she was alone; all hope was finally shattered. All the dreams for a bright future were dead. Ellen stood before the window in her bedchamber and gazed out over the wintry scene. The shutters lay open, letting in the bitterly cold night air.
No wind disturbed the white flakes drifting earthward to cover the barren land. Branches of trees beyond the meadow reached out in despair, covered with an icy burden of fragile white. They appeared as forlorn as she felt. The wet blanket below the castle walls sparkled in the moonlight, like a bed of countless diamonds. Despite its beauty, the snow shone with a cold desolation, matched only by the growing ice in her heart.
Ellen could easily imagine the source of the ribald laughter, echoing from below. It was not difficult imagining Nicholas responsible for the crude remarks aimed at her and her quick departure from the hall. She could make out none of the words, but she knew him too well, knew the pleasure he derived from belittling her before his friends. His voice shouted above the others, providing the rowdy guests with entertainment. She refused to listen to the merriment or give thought to tomorrow. This Christmas brought no joy; no desire to take part in the festivities.
Earlier in the day, Ellen had all she could do to keep grasping hands away from her female servants as they worked in the hall completing preparations which were being made for the evening's festivities. Several male servants, under the steward's direction concentrated on the placement of holiday decorations. Holly branches were tied and hung over doorways and window seats.
As she stood before the open window in her room, she thought of the sap from freshly cut logs popping and crackling in the hearth fire, while the scent of pine from well placed boughs filled the air, mingling with aromas from the kitchens. Cook was not to be outdone. Roasted goose and boar, venison, and quail were only the beginning of the planned feast. The scents of sauces, sweetmeats, freshly baked bread, tarts, assorted pastries and spicy frumenty failed to lure Ellen to join the guests. She had lost her appetite for food or company. The gypsy had seen to that.
For the last three days, he seemed to be everywhere, following her. He unnerved her with his silent, one-eyed stare. Ellen felt as if he knew her thoughts before she did. What was he up to? Was he looking for an opportunity to lure her away? Stop it, Ellen. You have listened to too many tales of gypsy cunning and thievery. He would not dare come near you. With King John here, you would be particularly safe. After all, he wants nothing to happen to the bride.
The chamber door opened, and Kitty burst into the room, followed by Ellen's maid. Muriel carried a tray bearing a light meal and a goblet of wine. The young woman placed the tray on a table, careful not to upset the cup already there, and glanced at the braziers around the room. The coals glowed brightly, but did nothing to dispel the icy draft from the open window.
"You will catch your death,” Muriel declared. “And with your wedding-"
"Hush, Muriel,” Kitty gently silenced the woman. “Be off with you. I will tend to my sister."
Kitty waited until the servant left, then hunted through a chest for a warm cloak. She found a large one, and draped it about Ellen's shoulders. She eased the edges of the cloak together to enclose and warm her sister. “The king made your excuses for not attending the celebration so tonight. But there was nothing kind about them. He seemed to enjoy making sport of you. Nicholas seems angry that the bishop can forgive your absence so easily, but His Grace assured Nicholas he understands your nervousness the night before your wedding. I think Nicholas hoped to have the king command your presence. He would have liked nothing better than to see you shamed before Papa and the rest of the nobility, especially with that one-eyed gypsy always staring after you."
Kitty stared at Ellen, then continued her report. “The rest of the meal has been served and the guests are eating and drinking as if there is no bottom to the larder. If they continue this way, there will not be enough to see us through to spring. I do believe Nicholas would like to try to empty the coffers. You would think Papa controls an endless bounty, the way Nicholas indulges himself and his friends. He takes advantage of Papa's generosity,” she finished with obvious sarcasm.
"He thinks himself lord of the manor before the wedding is done,” Ellen scoffed without turning. “He is nothing more than a greedy serf in a lord's guise. What of Papa?"
"He sits quietly by the bishop's side. What can he say? The king decreed this marriage and Renfrew will see it done. I do not think Renfrew is pleased to see how Nicholas already acts the heir to Ravencliff. Renfrew is certainly different from Father Bernard. I cannot fathom what Nicholas could have done to get the king to write up these contracts."
Ellen wondered vaguely if Kitty's sudden shiver was due to the cold bedchamber or thoughts of Nicholas. “Whatever it was, you know for certain it had to be underhanded.” Ellen paused a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely audible, as if she were afraid to voice her thoughts. “If it were not a sin, I would have killed myself when the betrothal was made."
Kitty gasped in horror at Ellen's words. “Do not speak of such things! To take one's own life is a mortal sin.” Kitty hesitated. “It was the gypsy. What did he say to you, Ellen?"
"He never spoke a word. It was the way he looked at me. It was unnerving. I could not stay there and remain subject to his stares. And yet, I could see David in his eyes."
"Perhaps we should have a word with Papa. I am sure if you tell him how you feel, he will see to it the gypsy band is sent on its way. Nicholas must be fairly drunk. He paid little heed to the grease splattered across his clothing. Only this time, there was no bouncing apple to blame. I must admit, he plays the fool rather well, even if he does not realize it himself.” Kitty attempted to redirect her sister's line of thought. “Please, Ellen, do try to eat something and get some rest. Tomorrow will be difficult enough."
"Do you believe in miracles, Kitty?” Ellen still did not look away from the window, and remained centered on her own thoughts.
"Miracles? Why, this is the season for miracles,” Kitty replied with a touch of hope in her voice.
Ellen needed something more than a miracle to escape this unwanted marriage. If only David ... She let the painful thought slip away. “For a moment tonight, I thought I had been blessed with one, but realized it was too much to hope for. Pray for a miracle to end this farce of a marriage before it is begun.
"
Kitty moved to stand between Ellen and the window. She wrapped her arms about her sister's waist and closed her eyes, fighting back tears. “I will pray really hard, Ellen.
I promise you, I will."
Ellen returned the embrace, then gently turned Kitty's head to gaze into her shining green eyes. Ellen smiled. “You must not weep for me, sister. With Gordon gone, I am the eldest and must wed where the king wills. My wishes not to remarry are no longer of any consequence. Nicholas has seen to that. “As for you ... It's past time you seek your own bed.” Ellen managed a brave smile. “At least one of us should be pretty on the morrow. What would Geoffrey think if he saw dark circles under your eyes? Off you go now, and do not worry. Everything will be all right, and I will be fine.” She kissed her sister's cheek, then sent her on her way.
"You will not...” Kitty dared not finish the question, but her meaning was understood.
"No, sister, I will not. In that respect I am too much the coward.” The sisters exchanged one more hug and Kitty reluctantly left.
The door latch caught with a soft click and Ellen closed her eyes. Twin tracks of moisture streaked her face. Kitty would have been upset to see her weeping. A miracle indeed. Ellen stopped believing in miracles the day her father's soldiers brought proof of David's death. After eight months, she still could not think of it without tears. She sighed, then closed and fastened the shutters against the night. If only she could as easily close out the mocking sounds of merriment below.
Ellen stepped before the small fire burning in the brazier to warm her hands, and barely glanced at the food on the tray. She finished the cup of wine sitting on the table before Jane brought the tray. The cup the maid had left, contained a sleeping potion, and Ellen wanted no part of it. She half expected Nicholas to come creeping into her bedchamber when everyone else had drifted off to sleep. He was not above trying to get a sample of what would be his before the vows were said. She set aside her own goblet and almost changed her mind about Jane's potion, but climbed onto the large bed, instead. She curled up within the heavy cloak, pulling the garment about her thin body, and snuggling into its warmth.
Ellen breathed deeply of the faint scent remaining of the man who had worn the garment. She slid her hand lovingly across the tightly woven fabric, recalling the way it draped across a pair of broad shoulders.
Was it just a year ago they had been blissfully happy? How could fate have been so cruel, to take him from her when their life together was just beginning? She ignored the bedside candle and stared into the shadows, waiting for blessed sleep to quiet her thoughts and bring her peace. No matter what happened tomorrow, she would never forget laughing black eyes and a teasing smile, set in dark gypsy features. Nicholas may force her into a marriage she did not want, but he would never destroy her memories.
* * * *
The chamber door clicked open, a silent figure entered and carefully shut the door again, sealing out the rest of the castle. Jane tiptoed her way across the room, directly to where the tray lay, and clucked sadly after examining the goblet in the dim light of the brazier. Everything on the tray remained untouched; not a morsel of food had been eaten, or a drop of wine drunk. She quietly moved a stool to the side of the bed where she sat and watched Ellen sleep.
Jane could not bear to see the earlier look of resignation and defeat etched into Ellen's features. So sad and thin. This no longer was the girl she had watched grow up, following her brother and the young Scots boy. I remember hearing of the time Ellen doused David and Nicholas with water from the stream, when she caught them fighting over her. The maid smiled and nodded. Even that angry incident had played out in happier days for everyone. Jane spied the dried tracks of tears on Ellen's face, made barely noticeable in the brief candlelight. Ellen was not one to carry on and complain when things failed to go her way. Jane wanted to reach out and trace the smudges, but knew Ellen would awaken. The maid reluctantly sat back, her heart aching for her young mistress.
No one knew Jane sat with her mistress. Old Gwennyth's daughter could do no less. It was a fact, no one ever noticed servants ’til one needed them, making it possible for those workers to see all that went on, and exchange gossip. Even the servants, who knew more than most what went on about the estates, could not understand the turn of events. How had things gone so wrong? Jane heard the faint sounds coming from belowstairs and shuddered at what she imagined was going on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bishop Renfrew sat between King John and Lord Hugh on the dais, and watched Nicholas. Crude jokes were shouted at the soon-to-be bridegroom, and Nicholas laughed at every one. Unlike the majority of priests, Renfrew held a certain respect for women, understanding and accepting the fact they had their place in the world. It would have pleased Ellen to know the bishop did not like the jokes that were aimed at her. Had Father Bernard been present, he would have placed full blame on Ellen for refusing to join them in the hall. Renfrew's eyes missed nothing as he watched Nicholas grabbing at the serving maids. Nicholas certainly did not behave like a man in love, as he had at first given the bishop to believe.
"I wonder if the timing of this wedding is fair to Lady Ellen.” Renfrew spread some honey on a piece of bread and took a bite. His comment seemed not to be directed toward anyone in particular.
Nicholas returned to the dais and refilled his goblet. Wine dribbled down his chin and stained his tunic as he gulped down the potent liquid. “Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?"
"Am I to understand, Lady Ellen has not been allowed her full year of mourning?"
Renfrew stared at the new earl.
Nicholas’ drunken gaze fixed on the bishop and a slow smile crept across his ruddy features. “Better she remarry now, then spend more time mourning the death of a heathen Scot.” His slurred speech did nothing to take the sting out of the caustic words. Several of his friends sniggered at the remark. Nicholas shrugged, and turned away, just in time to catch another serving maid and plop her onto his lap. He offered the giggling girl some of his wine, which she accepted willingly, spilling more when Nicholas tipped the cup too fast.
Renfrew appeared to be thoroughly disgusted with Nicholas’ cavorting. He turned to Lord Hugh and spoke quietly. “I do not envy you having him for a son by marriage. Had I known what the king was up to, I would have argued with him to at least permit your daughter her full year of mourning. That would have allowed more time to find a way out of this debacle of a marriage."
Hugh leaned toward the bishop and bowed his head in appreciation “I thank Your Grace, for your kind thoughts toward my daughter, but you know the king better than anyone.” Hugh glanced at the king who, was laughing at Nicholas’ antics, then lowered his voice so his words would not carry back to the monarch. “Once he has his mind set on something, there is no changing it. I do have to wonder what Nicholas offered John, to be awarded Ellen's hand in marriage."
Renfrew sipped his wine and leaned closer to the duke. “He paid for the privilege. John's coffers are low, fighting his barons to keep his throne. He needs all the gold he can get his hands on."
Hugh sat back in disgust, and drank from his cup. The wine tasted sour on his tongue. He had no taste for this evening's debauched celebration, or the wedding to follow on the morrow.
Renfrew glanced about the great hall, a curious expression set on his features. “What has become of Father Bernard? I had expected to meet with him upon my arrival.
From what I have heard, he is in favor of this match?"
Hugh snorted with disgust. “Father Bernard is in favor of anything which pleases Nicholas. I have often wondered about the friendship between those two. But his absence has nothing to do with Nicholas. A few days ago, Bernard received word his brother was seriously ill, and he left immediately for the abbey. He did assure me he would return in time for the wedding. He wanted to be here to see it come to pass. I thought he would return before tonight to take part in this ‘celebration.’”
"Let us be grateful
there is one less questionable personage to deal with. I am not pleased to have to perform this marriage, but since the king has ordered it, at the very least it will be done properly."
"This was never meant to be, and can only bring more misery to my Ellen. I can only wish there were a way to stop the marriage for good."
"Amen to that,” Renfrew concluded and finished off his wine. “If you will excuse me, Lord Hugh. I thank you for your hospitality and your efforts to make this as pleasant an evening as possible. I find I am still tired from the long journey, and the callousness of the bridegroom has rather disgusted me."
"Of course, Your Grace.” Hugh stood as the bishop moved away from the table, followed by his scribe.
The bishop turned to King John, who appeared to be amusing himself with the goings on. “By your leave, Your majesty.” Renfrew bowed slightly in respect and turned as John negligently waved him away.
Renfrew paused when obnoxious laughter erupted nearby. Nicholas spoke animatedly with one of his friends, and their words drifted back to the priest, despite the raucous din filling the hall.
"I am finally getting what I have wanted these many years, Donald. It will be a pleasure to tame that woman. It is long past time she learned her place.” Nicholas laid a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder.
Donald laughed, tipping his cup toward Nicholas, as he swayed drunkenly. “Even those two fools could not stop you from your goal."
"No one can stop me when I want something. You should know that."
Renfrew's hands tightened within the confines of his wide cassock sleeves. How much more could one man endure? He agonized for Lord Hugh as they watched Nicholas slap his friend on the back, then stagger away to find more entertainment. Two fools? Does he speak of Gordon and David? Nicholas would not dare have involved himself in their deaths. The cleric's stomach tightened when he saw Hugh's hands clenched by his sides as the angry duke watched Nicholas fondle yet another of the serving maids. Renfrew felt helpless in his ability to stop the wedding. Could the Earl of Fair Haven have had anything to do with Gordon's and David's untimely demise? Nicholas may not have involved himself directly in the deaths, but Renfrew surmised it was not beyond Nicholas to go to any means to get what he wanted. There was little doubt in his mind that the idea continued to nag at Hugh and the duke would surely seek out the truth if it took to the end of his days.
To Every Love, There is a Season Page 20