Rose of Hope

by Mairi Norris

  He chuckled. “’Twould add a most interesting perspective to life, should you succeed. Mayhap, I will offer you many such lessons and give you leave to practice them as oft as you will.” He abruptly changed the subject. “What saw you from the window that had you smiling?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips made a little moue. “A family scene.”

  This time, ’twas his brows that raised. He bent to rub noses and then kissed her again. Between nips and pecks he said, “What kind of a family scene?”

  “Oh, the kind one oft sees at this time of the twelvemonth.” Excitement edged the words with gilt.

  He considered this for a while. Finally, he said, “Wolf?”

  “Nay.”

  “Fox?”

  “Nay.”

  “Badger?”

  “Nay.”

  “Hares? Squirrels? Ducks? Swans?”

  “Fallard!”

  “Ah! It must be deer.”

  She grinned. “A hind and two fawns. They were headed to the river, methinks.”

  “Two fawns.”

  “Aye.”

  “Twins.”

  “Of course.”

  “Did ever I mention multiple births run in my family?” He whispered nigh her ear as he caught both of her hands in one of his own and tickled her with the other.

  Her answer was a squeal that turned into uncontrolled laughter as she squirmed and thrashed in an unsuccessful attempt to make him cease.

  “Stop! Fallard, please, cease! I can bear no more! Stop!”

  “Ask me again, more nicely this time.”

  “Fiend!” She yelled in between peals of mirth. “A horrible man you are, Fallard D’Auvrecher. If you stop not, I will, I will…well, I swear I will think of something awful to do to you, and when you least expect it.”

  “Hmmm, methinks that is no proper way for an obedient wife to speak to her husband.”

  “’Tis good enough for you.”

  He chuckled, but ceased his torture and pulled her outstretched arms around his neck as he rolled again, bringing her atop him, tangling them both in the bedcover and in her glorious hair. He ran his hands into the soft mass and gently tugged her down to kiss her again, then wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

  She sought without success to loosen his grip. “Faith! I might as well try to move the tower.” Her voice rose to a squeak on the last word as he squeezed again. “You, my lord, are a tyrant.”

  “Indeed? ’Twould seem instead I have been too lenient. A wife should respect her husband. Methinks mayhap, this calls for more stringent discipline.”

  He made a threatening face and his hands moved to cup her bottom.

  “Fallard, wait! There is somewhat I wish to tell you, lest we forget all in the moment.” She was full of an expectant excitement.

  He waited.

  She stared down at him, grinning like a child with a hand full of honeyed nuts. She licked dry lips and he closed his eyes, the sight doing things to his insides that must, perforce, wait upon her news.

  “Well?” His voice had gone hoarse.

  “Methinks I am increasing.” She blurted it out, grimaced and gave a groan. “Faith! To think I have practiced for days the words I wished to use to tell you, and now, I have forgotten them.”

  He watched her face. “Certain of this, you are?”

  “Methinks so, aye. I have missed two of my courses, and this month is late.” She blushed at the words and hid her face against his arm despite the intimacy they shared.

  “So I had thought, and I am glad. Look at me,” he said, and allowed a grin the size of a farmer’s sickle to plaster itself all over his face. He sat up and scooted so he rested against the backboard, arranging her so her knees straddled his hips. He pulled her against his chest, caught her face between his hands and kissed her lovingly, slowly, thoroughly.

  Between kisses, she pouted. “You…knew?”

  “When a man is oft intimate with his wife, ’tis hard not to notice the absence of a certain bodily function.”

  She grew quiet and dropped her eyes, then ran a fingertip along his breastbone. “I knew not if I could give you children Fallard, at the least, not sons. Much of Renouf’s anger was due to my lack in producing a male child. It enraged him it took so long to get me with child. He accused me of barrenness, and methinks ’twas his thought to seek an annulment. When I finally conceived but the babe I bore was not the son he craved, his rage was very great. He despised Angelet. To his mind, a female held no value at all, worth less, he said, than the livestock in the burh. He said at least one could eat the cows and the pigs.”

  “By the wolf’s head! That man was a wholly despicable lout. ’Tis a better world without him.” He ran his forefinger down her cheek. “Ah, wife. Need I speak the words? This news pleases me greatly, Ysane, and that holds true whether you bear me son or daughter. I will love either, or both.” He grinned. “Aye, and ’tis my thought this calls for a celebration. How would you fancy a trip to the faire at Fallewydde?”

  “Oh, Fallard, ’twould be lovely, my deorling! It has been twelvemonths since I’ve been to the faire, and ’twas one of my favorite activities each summer. They offer the most delicious foods and the happiest music, and troupes that dance and do the most amazing balancing acts. There are beautiful fabrics and wonderfully curious things from far away and Fallard, there is a man who comes there to sell books or at least, he used to come. Books! Terribly expensive they were, but even to look upon them was a joy. He would bring them out to show to me, and let me touch and admire them. Father would sometimes buy the small ones, and then allow me to read them. Oh, I loved the books most of all!”

  He chuckled his indulgence. “’Twould seem my words have unleashed a greedy child. Well and good, we shall leave this very day. But if we are to attend this magnificent event, mayhap, we should leave this bed and quickly, for if you keep looking at me in that way, my sweet rose, I swear we will leave not this bower for a seven-day!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  They made it to the fair, but not in the manner expected. Lynnet knocked and peeped inside the door, but Fallard sent her away. They washed and dressed together, and laughed in shared enjoyment. He pulled Ysane’s thin linen syrce over her even thinner cyrtel, but declined to tighten the girdle, then combed out her hair at her insistence.

  “’Twas you, deorling,” she said, “who mussed it so badly, so ’tis only fair you tidy it.”

  “Ah, so I am a tyrant, but you, my rose, are a taskmaster.”

  When he began to plait the strands, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You are a knight of unexpected talents, my lord. Do I assume you have performed this service for your…sisters?”

  He gave her a playful shake. “Play not the jealous wife, Ysane, and aye, when we were very young, I had occasion to help my sisters. Melisent, in particular, loved to sit while others combed her hair. Nay, leave the braid to hang,” he said, when she made to pin it up, and when she held up the headrail, he shook his head. He refused to allow her to wear the hot, confining wrap in the privacy of the hall. “’Tis a wife’s place to wear the thing, but ’tis a great discomfort when the weather is so warm.”

  “I have a husband of much gentle consideration.”

  She started down the stairs in front of him, but came to an abrupt halt as he caught the length of the dangling flaxen plait and wrapped it round them both, tucking the end into the sash that secured his braies. “I am considerate in other ways, am I not, little rose?”

  “You are.”

  “And you are grateful, aye?”

  “Oh, of a certainty.”

  “Show me,” he said, his growl husky. Their arrival in the hall was delayed by several minutes longer than they intended.

  “Your fair face is still delightfully pink, my rose,” Fallard whispered later in her ear as they broke their fast with crisp bacon, cheese and bread slathered with honey.

  He glanced at her trencher, piled high with the food Roul brought, t
hen teased, “If you take not care, you will grow fat.”

  She grinned. Her pregnancy had gifted her with an embarrassingly increased appetite and naught of the stomach distress she had experienced while carrying Angelet. “Will I still please my lord do I grow overly large?”

  He slid his arm around her waist and gently squeezed. “You will please me do you grow larger than the moon and all your teeth fall out.”

  She burst out laughing.

  He leaned to nibble on her earlobe. “You taste better than the bacon. Shall we tell them, my rose?”

  “About the babe? Aye, my deorling. ’Tis good news for them too, methinks. Besides, ’twill be exciting to learn who won the wager.”

  “What wager?”

  “The wager over who first got with child, myself or Roana.” Her grin, offered between bites, was pure mischief. “A smaller wager was placed for whoever guessed the correct month whichever one of us announced it.”

  He stared at her.

  “Close your mouth, deorling. Is it truly such a shock?”

  He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. “I know not why I am surprised,” he said when his mirth had finally stilled. “But you must know while ’tis commonplace for men to wager on everything, ’tis most unusual for the womenfolk.”

  She gave him a sidewise glance but said naught. She was too busy chewing.

  He chuckled again. “Very well, let us give forth the good news.”

  He stood, barely waiting until she put down her hadseax before pulling her up beside him.

  “I would have your attention, one and all!” The sound of voices stilled. Roul hurried to stand behind him. Expectant faces, many sporting curious grins, looked up at him. “I have news my wife and I would share. My friends, in seven months….” Ysane elbowed him and he stopped. She lifted on her toes to whisper something in his ear. He inclined his head at her words, then nodded. “My pardon. In six months, a new babe will be born to the hall of Wulfsinraed. My lady wife is with child!”

  A clamor broke out, filling the hall. Roul whooped and ran to Fauques. The two hammered each other on the back and then sped out the hall’s doors with a handful of others to spread this wonderful new gossip.

  Fallard grinned. With the squires squeaking like overlarge mice, the news would spread like spilled wine.

  Congratulations poured from those present. One of his knights began banging his tankard on the table. “Fallard!”

  With each metallic bang, the rest of the men, knights and hearth companions alike, took up the refrain until the hall fairly rocked with the noise. “Fallard! Fallard! Fallard! Fallard!”

  Ere long, a minor celebration was taking place in the hall, with laughter and new rounds of ale and impromptu dancing and shouts of good wishes to the happy couple. Fallard kept Ysane close to his side, but she, with an eye to the long hours ere sup, continued to eat with dainty greed.

  Into the midst of the revelry strode Domnall, an unknown soldier at his side. Fallard sat straight, all gaiety stilled. The stranger’s tunic bore William’s crest. A frisson raced down Fallard’s spine as he eyed the man. Missives from the king were rarely good news.

  Domnall made his way to Ysane. Fallard leaned out of the way as the first marshal caught her up in a hug that left her breathless, kissed her forehead and then said something in her ear that brought fresh blood to her cheeks and startled laughter to her lips.

  Then he turned to Fallard, grasping his wrist in a hard clasp. “My lord D’Auvrecher! ’Tis happy news we hear this day.” His hazel eyes laughed and he leaned close. “Proud of yourself, are you then, man?”

  He clapped Fallard on the back so hard ale flew out of his tankard to splash on the table.

  Fallard scowled at his overly presumptuous first marshal. “Aye, Domnall, proud I am, and pleased with my lady wife. But who is this you bring into my hall?”

  “Oh, aye. Almost forgot, I did, what with all the merriment.” He turned to the stranger and handed him a newly filled tankard. “Drink to the lord and his lady first, then speak your tidings.”

  The man smiled and upended his ale, downing it in one long pull, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Lord D’Auvrecher? I am Geoffroi. Good wishes to you, my lord, from myself for your good news, and also from the king, and to you, my lady.”

  He offered a bow to Ysane.

  “Our thanks,” Fallard said. “But I bid you speak.”

  “I bear orders from the king, my lord,” Geoffroi said. “But they are to be given to you alone, in private.”

  ***

  Fallard led the way to the hoarding room and waited while tankards were refreshed and a meal was brought for Geoffroi. When they were alone, the messenger brought out the roll of parchment from inside his tunic and handed it over.

  Fallard read it while the man ate, his annoyance growing with every word. William, it seemed, held him responsible for the plundering by the rebels around London, since he had merely chased them away from Wulfsinraed, rather than destroying them. Thus, the letter informed him, ’twas the king’s charge that he hie immediately and with all haste to London with a full contingent of his knights and hearth companions. There, he was to take command of the effort to rout the blackguards and eliminate the threat permanently. The tenor of the letter left no doubt that while the words were somewhat facetious, William’s intent was in deadly earnest.

  But when Fallard read the next portion of William’s commands, he came out of his seat with a roar. The messenger dropped his food, lunged to his feet and half-drew his sword, his eyes seeking for the enemy his host clearly prepared to face.

  Fallard ignored him and strode to the door, his anger fear-fed and escalating. He yanked it open so hard it crashed against the wall and bounced back, nearly knocking him off his feet. He stepped out onto the landing and yelled in blistering terms for Domnall and Trifine to be brought to him at once.

  Domnall, who had been enjoying a second meal, but had leapt to his feet at his lord’s cry, was already at the base of the stairs. He took the steps two at time to halt in front of Fallard, his eyes searching for the danger. “My lord, what is amiss?”

  “Come!” Fallard turned back into the hoarding room and dismissed Geoffroi, whose face expressed his gratitude to be allowed out of harm’s way.

  Fallard paced the chamber, his rage lashing in silent futility. Domnall said not a word, but sheathed his sword, seated himself and waited.

  The half-open door pushed wide and Trifine sauntered in. Fallard took in his First’s easy stance and grunted. Trifine knew him too well, was prepared from long experience to let the blast flow over and around him. He too, took a seat and waited without a word.

  Fallard continued to pace, so angry he could not yet speak.

  “Fallard?”

  The small, uncertain voice stopped him in his tracks. “Ysane! My rose, what do you here? ’Tis no place for a woman.”

  She drew herself to her full, unimpressive stature. “I was concerned for you, my lord. Your…vocal response to the missive was quite…eloquent. But I see you are undamaged and in no danger. I will thus remove myself from this place where a mere woman should not be.”

  “Ysane!”

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

  Fallard sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then crossed to her. His gaze bored into hers. “Forgive me, wife. ’Tis …difficult. I will apprise you of that which you should know but for now, I must needs speak with my captains. Will you wait?”

  Her expression softened. She nodded and returned to the hall.

  He watched the sweet sway of her hips until she was out of sight, closed and barred the door and then faced his captains. He let fly with a round of creative expressions, none of which were curses but which eloquently expressed his frustration. Trifine’s left eyebrow rose while Domnall leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “William holds me to blame for the carnage the rebels unleash around London,” he finally said. “I am to hi
e there, posthaste, with a full contingent of troops and take command of the mission to rout them.” He started to pace again. “’Tis almost as if, after the treachery of Kenrick Wulfsingas and Renouf of Sebfeld, William doubts even my loyalty!”

  “Nay, my lord,” Domnall said. “The word among the troops of Witham is that you obeyed the king’s command and forced the rebels to scatter. Does he believe you at fault they chose to re-gather elsewhere?”

  Fallard’s frown became a grimace. “’Twould seem he does, though that part of his original orders were somewhat ambiguous.” His pacing finally came to a halt. “There is worse.” He swallowed. “One part of my instructions was quite clear. Upon arrival at Wulfsinraed, were I to discover Ysane was involved with the rebellion, I was to sever that involvement by whatever means necessary, even did it mean her interment in whatever prison facilities were available here. William seems to believe I have failed in the execution of that duty.

  “Despite all my assurances, he still believes Ysane involved with the rebels. He says a Saxon soldier was captured, admitted to being a rebel and identified Ysane, by name, as the link between Wulfsinraed and the rebel leadership. I am to bring her with me to London where she is to stand trial. Do they find her guilty, the court will seek to what extent. Do they decide she was coerced into helping the rebels, she will be incarcerated for life at Kensington Abbey. If ’tis found she willingly aided them, she is to be wedded to de Pardieu. Either way, our marriage is to be dissolved.”

  “de Pardieu!” Trifine jerked to his feet, his nonchalance disappearing in a spate of words almost as virulent as his captain’s. “What infamy is this? That man is a perverted beast, worse even than Renouf of Sebfeld. He has already put aside one rich wife and buried three others, and while few would say it to his face, all believe he killed them. Ysane would last not a seven-day in his vile hands. ’Twould have been kinder to let her throat be slit the day we took this burh.”

  “Think you I know that not? Deterrence is the purpose of public executions, but William is unwilling to have the beautiful daughter of a former high-ranking, wealthy Saxon nobleman put to death in a public venue. He has enough trouble with what’s left of the Saxon leadership and to execute Ysane would cause only more. But I know his mind. He believes marriage to de Pardieu a death sentence, and with Ysane, he would be correct.”