Finding Peace - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 2)

by Lisa Shea

  She rolled over, pressing a gentle kiss against Richard’s lips. “If I could, I would stay here all week with you,” she murmured. “But as it is, we have a deadline. There are several hours left before sunset; more than enough time to get you safely away.”

  “I will not leave you,” he stated, his hand moving to brush the hair from her face. “To think of you in the hands of that monster -”

  She shook her head gently. “I am safe now,” she pointed out. “I am now your lawful wife. I cannot be wed twice. You must get to Thomas, and from there to Charles, to James, and to the others. Raise an army of our neighbors, and return in force. Whatever Corwin has up his sleeve, he will not be able to stand against your strength.”

  “And what of you?” he asked, his eyes holding concern.

  She smiled reassuringly at him. “Oh, my father will rage, and Corwin will threaten, and they will lock me in my room. But they would never permanently hurt me, not when my father is now so close to having the one thing he has always craved in life.”

  “And what is that?”

  She moved her hand to her abdomen. “A grandson,” she murmured.

  His hand moved to tenderly rest over hers, his eyes drawing up to hold hers.

  Her voice was low and gentle. “Your son will not be a bastard,” she promised. “He will be loved, and praised, and his father and mother will always be there for him.”

  He was drawing her in again, and as much as she knew time was of the essence, she went willingly, opening herself fully to him.

  *

  The sun slid lower as she drew on her chemise, then the dress, buckling her belt in place with a sure tug. At her side Richard was doing the same, drawing up their cloaks and carrying them along to lay before the stalls.

  “I will take my own steed,” he decided at last. “While the others might be quicker, or have greater stamina, Fidelis has seen me through more battles than I can count. I would have no other.”

  She nodded in agreement, looking amongst the others. “I hate to harm any horse,” she added after a moment. “And yet, undoubtedly these will be the creatures who are thundering after you in short order. To think one of them could carry the man who delivers your death blow …”

  He shook his head. “We do no damage at all to any horse here, nor to the saddle, the bit, or any other aspect.”

  A shiver dashed through Elizabeth. “Surely Corwin would not be so honorable,” she mused.

  Richard nodded, turning to her. “Indeed he would not,” he countered. “And so, the moment he is able to, he will begin searching the horses and gear for the signs of our sabotage. When he cannot find any, it will never occur to him that we are innocent. Instead, he will think we are too clever for him, that we hid the marks of our efforts with great skill. It will cause him to spend even more time searching out the tiniest clue, examining each horse for the smallest indication of what we have done. Every cough, every slight tug will send his mind racing.” He smiled wryly. “By doing nothing at all, we do far more than one could imagine.”

  She smiled at that, and then they were going through the supplies, ensuring he had ample ale and cheese for the flight. He patted his steed fondly on the neck, drawing him out of the stall. He turned again to look down at Elizabeth. “We can still find another way,” he offered, his gaze serious.

  She shook her head. “This is the best way,” she returned, leaning up to kiss him. He drew her in hard against him, pouring his love down into her, and at last they parted. She drew her cloak snugly against her body, then nodded. He moved to the bar, sliding it hard, then pressed the large doors open.

  Corwin was standing there, staring at the doors with a smile. He gave a whistle, and in a moment his men came trotting to his side from the corners of the barn where they had been watching guard.

  “There you are,” he grinned, looking over the pair of them. “Done with all your arrangements are we? I am quite interested to see just what they involve. I enjoy puzzles. But for now, I believe it is time you are on your way, dear brother.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “Say goodbye to my wife now. Think of how she will be pleasuring me in the years to come.”

  Richard stiffened, but he glanced down at Elizabeth, his eyes softening. “You take care,” he offered, his voice warm.

  “Safe travels,” she returned, holding her cloak tightly against the chill.

  Corwin’s eyes scanned down the form of his brother, and his eyes sharpened. “What is this? Blood on your cloak?”

  Elizabeth froze; there was indeed a bloodstain clearly evident on the side of the cloak, at Richard’s hip. If Corwin were to guess …

  The man’s eyes moved up to Richard’s face, and then he gave a short laugh. “I see that you injure more easily than I would have thought, brother,” he scoffed. “See that you do not fall on the road before night comes. It would be a shame to ruin the hunt in such a manner.”

  “I will not fall,” agreed Richard, his voice a vow, his eyes moving to hold Elizabeth’s.

  Corwin made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and Richard gave her one last look before turning his horse’s head and thundering hard from the jousting field. In moments his steed was lost in the woods beyond.

  Corwin laughed, moving to stand alongside Elizabeth. “And there, my dear, is the last you will see of my brave brother, as he rides as quickly as he can away from you. Luckily for you, I am made of sturdier stock.”

  Elizabeth stared after Richard for a moment, sending her most fervent hopes with him. Then she dropped to a sitting position, giving a controlled wave with one hand. “And now we wait until sunset.”

  Corwin nodded in pleasant agreement, indicating to the men. One by one they settled down into a ring, drawing their cloaks close against the wintry chill. “And now we wait for the games to begin,” he answered with a smile.

  Chapter 22

  Elizabeth looked around the darkened courtyard as the keep’s inhabitants bustled into it, filling it with each passing minute, the ring of torches sending flickering shadows dancing. Dusk had fallen as they led the horses back from the jousting grounds; she had smiled with amusement as Corwin had steadfastly refused to let any be ridden. Now three of his men had galloped out hard on fresh mounts while the other two stayed close at her side. But his eyes had gone from wary to complacent pleasure as she had given him quiet compliance, as she had bowed to every request. She stood, as ordered, by the front steps of the small stone chapel, her cloak pulled tight, the two guards alert on either side of her.

  Corwin’s voice was warm with pleasure. “Ah, and here comes your father,” he informed her, as a pair of burly men carrying a carved wooden chair walked through the main doors of the keep. He called out to them. “Right over here, at the place of honor.” Her father’s eyes blinked open blearily as he was settled down at the foot of the chapel stairs, facing up them.

  Corwin turned to the elderly priest. “And you, Father Godfrey, you belong at the top of the stairs, of course,” he added.

  Father Godfrey’s eyes moved with concern to hold Elizabeth’s. “My child, are you sure you are making the right decision here?” he asked, his voice tight with worry. “There is no rush, after all.”

  She offered a reassuring smile to the wizened man. “I vowed I would marry today,” she stated. “That vow is my word and my bond.”

  Corwin grinned with delight. “And she is nothing if not stubborn,” he agreed. “I will see pig dung turn to gold ere I see her go back on her word.”

  He looked around as the flow of people into the square faded to a trickle, then stopped. “Good, good, is that everybody?” he called out. “I want there to be no question about what goes on this night.”

  He put out a hand to her, and she placed her own into it, moving to take a place at his side. Together they ascended the stairs, stopping at the second to last one, standing before the priest.

  Father Godfrey glanced at Elizabeth with concern before looking out over the congregation.

  “Marria
ge is a sacred institution, and it should not be entered into lightly,” he intoned. “It is the most holy of vows. It is about a man and a woman pledging their lives to each other, promising to forsake all others. Both partners strive to be loyal, true, and to treat each other with the highest respect at all times.”

  He glanced nervously at Corwin. “There was no time to properly publish the banns, so this serves as the final request. I make it to all present. If any here knows any reason – any reason at all – that these two should not marry, it is your Christian duty to speak now and draw a halt to these proceedings.”

  He looked slowly around the filled courtyard, his eyes hopeful, but the only noise was the shuffling of feet and a low coughing. After a moment he nodded in resignation, drawing his eyes down to the two individuals standing before him.

  “Corwin, you stand before us to take the hand of Elizabeth, only child of Lord Masci, in the bonds of matrimony. Do you swear to honor her and cherish her? For as the Ephesians say, ‘Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.’ Will you treat her with gentleness and tenderness?”

  Corwin let out a snort. “I believe that same passage states, ‘Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord.’ She had best submit to me, as is required.” His eyes moved down her body, sharpening with interest. “Yes, I most definitely shall have her as my wife, and all that the bargain entails.”

  Father Godfrey pursed his lips unhappily at the response, but he nodded, turning to Elizabeth. His eyes softened.

  His voice was low, almost pitched for her ears alone. “My dear Elizabeth,” he offered, then gave a cough and increased his volume. “Elizabeth, you are here to join yourself as wife to Corwin. You will be respected by him, handled with kindness, as all good Christian wives should be. As the Proverbs say, ‘a wife of noble character is her husband’s crown’. The Proverbs also say, ‘A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.’ You will be the glory and wealth of Corwin’s life, and all around you shall see his true Christian behavior, and comment on it. On these terms, will you have him?”

  Elizabeth smiled gently at Father Godfrey’s concern, seeing all too clearly in his face how much he worried for her.

  She turned to Corwin, his eyes shining with eager anticipation. She pitched her voice to carry loud and strong across the courtyard.

  “I am sorry, but I am afraid it is completely impossible.”

  Corwin’s eyes turned to green marbles. His voice was a low hiss. “What are you doing, my wife?”

  Her voice was calm and clear. “I am afraid that I cannot marry you.”

  His hand shot out to grab her hard on the arm. “You swore a vow,” he reminded her, his voice steely.

  She turned to face out over the gathered group. “I did vow to marry today, and I have done so. This afternoon, in the jousting stables, Richard and I pledged our love to each other, in the sight of God and all of nature. We sealed our vow in the most powerful way a man and woman can.”

  Corwin’s face burned crimson with rage. “You what?”

  Her eyes flickered to Doctor Tyrian, who stood at her father’s side. “The good doctor had me certified this morning as a girl innocent of man’s touch,” she reminded him calmly. “I think he will find that I am now a married woman.” She smiled. “What I have given to Richard, no other man can ever have.”

  “You slut!” His hand lashed out, slammed into her face, and she was driven hard to her knees. She gave her head a shake, then carefully stood back to her feet, staring at him with fierce pride.

  “No, not a slut,” she informed him. “I am a lawfully married woman. I shared my wedding bed with my honorable husband. He is the only man, by law, who can touch me from this point forward.”

  Corwin rounded on Father Godfrey. “You are a priest,” he snapped. “Make her undo her vow.”

  Father Godfrey held his gaze with innocent eyes. “Marriage is a sacred institution,” he stated resolutely. “Once it is entered into, with both parties pledging themselves voluntarily to each other, then only death can part them.”

  “Death you say,” growled Corwin, skewering Elizabeth with his gaze. “That is certainly a thought.”

  Elizabeth found breath returning to her. “Your plans have failed you,” she informed Corwin, her shoulders easing, a distance forming between the chaos around her and her own soul. “Whatever machinations you have set into place here, you have failed. Richard will come to claim me as his own. My father will die, and Richard and I will rule as proper heirs to my father’s holdings.”

  She was utterly unprepared for his savage response. He swung as if the fiery hells had driven him to madness. Elizabeth was slammed face first into the dark mud, and above her Corwin’s shout carried to the far corners of the courtyard. “Put her in the dungeons!”

  It was as if her old nightmares had come to life, as if she were back at the tournament, the crowd hushed, the disrespect seen by all. To her surprise, she felt only a welling of pride within her; a sense of deep satisfaction. She stood tall as Corwin’s men dragged her to her feet; looked from her father to Corwin with fierce determination.

  “Richard is coming for me,” she told them, her voice strong. “If you try to hold his wife from him, woe be it on your heads.”

  Her father’s hoarse rasp cut through the night with fury. “You ungrateful wench! You will rot in that flea-infested prison until you bend to my will!”

  He gave a motion with his head, and the guards hauled her through the main keep doors, pushed her down the narrow staircase, and flung her into the dark cell. The door was slammed shut, and she could hear the lock turning. Then the guards moved back up the stairs, taking their torches with them. She was plunged into absolute darkness.

  She moved back into a corner of the cell, sat down with her knees hugged to her chest, and settled in to wait.

  *

  Elizabeth blinked her eyes open. The room was still pitch dark, the musty scent infiltrating every pore of her body. She had no idea how much time had passed. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and her mouth was dusty and dry.

  She looked around with sightless eyes, trying to sense a slight glimmer of light in any direction. Several pairs of footsteps grew more distinct as they came down the stairs, and a soft glow moved with them, growing as they came toward the small, barred grate high in her door. She stayed where she was, her back pressed against the slimy stone, waiting.

  Her father’s voice growled through the grate. “You in there. Are you ready to admit that your time with Richard was the meaningless act of a harlot? Corwin will take you, tainted as you are, if we demonstrate that your time with Richard was not serious.”

  Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Is that your thought?” she called out. “That I would undo my marriage with a lie?” Her voice grew in strength. “Never. I will never dishonor Richard, nor what we have together.”

  “Then you will sit in there until Judgment Day,” he snarled. The footsteps faded from earshot, leaving her again in pitch black.

  *

  The door slid open, some items were placed on the ground, and then the door was pulled shut again. She waited until the feet moved into the distance before making her way forward. It was a skin of ale, along with a bowl of gruel, and she consumed both hungrily. It seemed, at least, that she would not be starved to death in her cell. Then she moved back to the dark corner to wait.

  *

  Her eyes pulled wearily open, not that it mattered much. Perhaps four or five days had passed – it was hard to tell any more. What had pulled her from her dark dreams this time?

  There were solid footsteps coming toward the door with a bright torch. They stopped before the door, a key turned in the lock, and it was pushed wide open. She squinted against the light. Corwin stood there, his eyes drawing down her form with a sneer.

  “Not so high and mighty now,” he scoffed, wrinkling his nose against the smell. “You note that only my personally chosen l
ackeys have been delivering your food, to keep you from wriggling your way out like last time.”

  “I have no need to run,” she returned calmly. “Richard will be coming for me.”

  He took a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger. “Your Richard has fled the region, the coward that he is,” he shot out. “My men have searched every meadow and hill. He cannot be found anywhere.”

  “I am sure he cannot,” she agreed smoothly, her eyes holding his. “And yet he will come for me.”

  Corwin was at her side in a heartbeat, dragging her hard to her feet, glaring down at her. “You should have been mine,” he snarled. “The agreements were made. You had no right to do anything but obey.”

  Elizabeth held his gaze with absolute peace of heart. “I am Richard’s wife.”

  His hand flew out, and the slap threw her back against the wall. His voice shot out, harsh and cruel. “And how would Richard feel when he finds his wife has slept with another man? He would throw you out, abandon you, and then you would have no choice but to come crawling to me, begging for me to take you back.”

  Her eyes shot up to meet his, fierce heat shooting through her veins. “If you take me by force, not only could you create a bastard, but one brought about by the rape of a married woman.” Her eyes drew down him in scorn. “You know what it was to grow up as a bastard of a loving couple. How much worse do you feel it would be for your firstborn son to instead be the result of such violence? What types of slurs would follow him at every corner, would be shouted from every person he passed?”

  Corwin’s hand went up again, and she stood still, not flinching, her gaze holding his. He stared at her, his green eyes shimmering rocks, and then with an oath he turned, stalking from the room, slamming the door behind him and turning the key. In a moment, the room had faded into its silent blackness, the bottom of an eternally deep well.

  *

  Bright light flared against her closed eyelids; a pair of strong arms dragged her roughly to her feet. She struggled to force her eyes open against the salts which held them together. Her feet barely carried her up the long, spiral staircase. Candles flickered in the hall as she came up to the main floor. Apparently it was nighttime, and a cloudy one at that. No moon or stars interrupted the dark blackness of the sky. She groaned wearily. What cruel fate would have her time out of the cell be a mirror of her black captivity?