A Sense of Duty - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 4)

by Shea,Lisa

  Dinner passed slowly for Constance. She tried not to watch, tried not to see every glance between Gabriel and Gaynor. Gaynor had the bright beauty of youth, her red hair tumbling down around her shoulders, her lips full and lush. Gabriel was as handsome as always, the rugged set of his jaw, his short blond hair just perfect for running one’s fingers through. Constance could remember doing that, could remember the feeling of his arms around her, could remember the look in his eyes when he gazed down into hers. Now he was gone; he was right there in front of her, but he was gone.

  Gaynor’s voice burst from the far end of the table. “Surely you must settle down and get married, Gabriel!” she challenged, her voice high and light. “Just see how happy Charles and Alison are together, and how many children flock at their feet. We girls of Preston are fine breeders. There are four more brothers at home yet, all younger than us.”

  Gabriel smiled. “It does sound like a wonderful idea,” he agreed. “I had always hoped to marry a woman of this region, someone who appreciated the lands.”

  Constance blushed at this, keeping her face down, her focus away from his eyes.

  Gaynor laughed out loud. “Well, that is me!” she cried out with pleasure. “I adore the streams and valleys around here. I have ridden the length and breadth of the region, and I know every hill and dale.”

  Gabriel drew his eyes down the form of the woman by his side. “Surely now that you are a grown lady your father has plans for you,” he jested with a twinkle in his eye.

  Gaynor drew herself up proudly. “We northern women are no chattel!” she boasted. “My sister was truly fond of Charles, you can see that in her eyes. I myself will marry where I find love. My father would never dream of pressing me into a marriage I did not wish – and I would refuse it if he did! I mean, if he had tried to get me to marry that lecher Barnard …”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth with impish embarrassment, then took down another long swallow of mead. Her voice was slightly less loud when she continued, “Oh, but I forgot, his wife is here! She is so quiet, did she overhear me?”

  Constance kept her eyes lowered, focused on the roast goose before her. She heard the clink of a toast, and glanced up enough to see Gabriel raising his glass to Gaynor.

  “I salute your independence,” he offered softly. “You stand up for what you believe in.”

  “That I do!” called out Gaynor with pleasure, finishing off the rest of her mead in one long swallow. She called out to the musicians sitting to one side. “Let us have some song! A dance!”

  In a moment the room was filled by a merry tune, and the two couples moved to do a set on the floor, joined by others as the music continued. Constance found she could not watch the swirl of people, not watch as Gabriel’s long, lean form moved surely across the room, took Gaynor’s hands in his own, touched her on the shoulder … it was too much. She stood hastily and moved toward the stairs, heading to her room.

  There was a voice at her shoulder. “My Lady, you are not ill?”

  She did not turn. There was no need to. She paused for a moment, willing herself not to meet those eyes, not to see the pity or mockery or dismissal which waited there for her.

  “I am merely tired, My Lord. Good night.”

  “Good night,” came the quiet reply, and he was gone.

  She reached her room in what seemed the flight of a swallow, but sleep did not come to her for many hours.

  Chapter 7

  Constance woke late the next morning and lay in bed for a long while, watching as the streaming sunshine moved slowly across the room. She could hear the keep hum with activity around her, but she felt no draw to join it. Finally, she forced herself to rise, to pull on a pale yellow tunic and make her way downstairs.

  The rest of the household had apparently eaten already and was out and about their business. She scavenged a wedge of cheese and an apple from the panty, then made her way out the back door into the herb gardens. She spotted the children with their nanny by the duck pond, and with a smile moved over to join them.

  Lucia cried out with a smile, “Look at the ducklings, Auntie!” Her dirty blonde curls bobbed in the sunlight. Constance dropped easily to a knee besides her niece, giving her a warm hug and looking where she was bidden. A white duck was nestled into one side of the pond, with four little yellow ducklings pressed up against her, remaining close.

  “How darling!” agreed Constance with a smile. “There are four of them, just as there are four of you!”

  “Which one am I?” asked Alond with keen interest. His gaze landed on a bright-eyed duckling with a white spot on its beak. “That one?”

  “I should think so!” chuckled Constance, reaching out to brush a dab of dust onto the boy’s nose. “For now you match perfectly!”

  She sat on a nearby fallen log, and felt at the wood for a moment. “Here, this is a soft tree,” she called out to the children. “Shall we make some boats, and sail on our ocean?”

  A chorus of agreement echoed in her ears, and she smiled with pleasure. In a moment, the portly nurse had trundled inside to fetch a few scraps of fabric for sails, and the twins were busy seeking out sticks to serve as masts. Lucia helped pry off a few pieces of wood, and Constance pulled the dagger from her belt to begin whittling out the shapes.

  It had been years since she had done this, but her fingers remembered the motions, her eyes recalled the shapes from when she and Gabriel had made their own boats during their trips to the ocean. Her movements faltered for a moment, but she pressed herself onward. That was long ago. The children would benefit from her knowledge; she would pass along the skills.

  Still, it should have been her own children she taught this to … hers and Gabriel’s …

  “I see you have not forgotten,” came a quiet voice beside her.

  She started in surprise, her knife sliding down the length of the wood and nicking the side of her hand. The gash was shallow, but began bleeding at once.

  Ava’s cry was sharp. “A boo-boo!” Her blue eyes went bright with wonder.

  Gabriel dropped to a knee at Constance’s side, pressing his hand down on the injury. “I did not mean to startle you,” he murmured, his voice contrite.

  “It is nothing,” assured Constance, looking up to see the nanny coming toward them at a trot. “Here, Joy has some fabric with her, for sails. One of those will do fine to bind me up.”

  Gabriel took one of the proffered squares from the nanny and folded it over several times before pressing it against the wound. He used a second square to seal the bandage to her hand. She felt the throbbing lessen, and the blood seemed to stop flowing.

  Constance smiled at the children. “There, all better,” she soothed them. “The boo-boo is all gone. Unfortunately, I am afraid I cannot finish the boats now …”

  Gabriel immediately spoke. “Let me.” He sat down on the log next to Constance, picking up the hull she had been working on. He expertly finished off the boat in a few minutes, moving on to work on the next one.

  Alain whistled, his eyes bright with surprise. “Wow, did Aunt Connie teach you that?”

  Gabriel’s eyes glinted with amusement. “No, I learned this skill when I was only a child,” he responded to the tyke. It was only a few minutes later that four seaworthy little boats were lined up and ready for floating.

  “There you are!” called out a high voice. Gaynor danced up along the pond walk to join the group, and smiled brightly when she saw what Gabriel had done. “You are so talented!” she enthused. “Look at how you have entertained the children! Come, I must tell my sister about this.” She took his hands in hers, tugging at him to follow her.

  He stood, looking down at Constance for a moment. “Fare well,” he offered quietly, turning away. “Look after that cut.”

  Constance’s throat was tight. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, and then he was gone, leaving her to the children and the flotilla. She knelt down in the mud, forcing herself to focus on the laughter around her, o
n the small boats wending their way across the waters of the pond.

  By dinner time, Constance was soaking wet and covered with mud, but her heart had calmed. The children were a source of renewal for her, their simple laughter and joy a balm for her sorrows. She felt almost ready to face Gabriel and Gaynor’s flirtations.

  She was not prepared for the man who waited for her in the hall as she walked in with the children. He turned sharply as she entered, and his eyes were coldly dismissive as they ran down her bedraggled hair, her mud-stained dress.

  Barnard’s voice was icy disdain. “Good God, what have you been doing,” he asked, sniffing haughtily.

  Constance felt as if the entire room had stopped to watch the exchange. She walked to stand before him and drop a curtsy, her eyes lowered. “My Lord, I was spending time with my nieces and nephews,” she offered quietly.

  “Hmmm, well, yes,” Barnard cut out, his tone dismissive. “It has been five days since your release, and I am surprised to still find you here.”

  Charles stepped forward, his voice smooth. “My sister is still not yet well enough to travel,” he interjected calmly. “Our physicians insist it will be another week or two before she can make that trip. Rest assured that we are taking very good care of her.”

  Barnard’s eyes roamed to the brood of children now peering nervously from around the nanny’s wide skirts, and his eyes narrowed consideringly. “Maybe, indeed, a short stay here will help to undo the curse,” he mused to himself. He glanced up again at Constance. “Well then, come along. It is time for dinner, and your place is at my side.”

  The couples arranged themselves down the length of the table, and soon the servants were ferrying in mugs of ale and servings of roast partridge. Constance’s entire body shimmered with nervousness. Barnard had placed her at the end of the table, his own body between her and the rest of her family. She took in a deep breath, willing herself to relax, and reached out for a roll from one of the large baskets on the table.

  Barnard’s eyes shot to the bandage tied around her hand, and she flinched at the heat in his gaze. He grabbed her hand forcefully, twisting it in his grasp. Constance winced at the pain, biting down on a sharp cry.

  She felt all eyes go to her immediately. She looked down so that she would not see the pity or amusement she was sure lurked there. Barnard’s voice came in biting scorn.

  “I was told you had been untouched. What is this then? Were you indeed abused? Were you tainted by them? Defiled?”

  Constance blushed crimson, but she forced herself to speak in an even voice. “No, My Lord,” she vowed softly. “I was hit, but they did not … touch me. I was very lucky. I was rescued barely in time. I thank God that the Angelus found me when they did.”

  She heard the sharp intake of breath from the two women, the rumbling growl from her brother. She found herself looking up despite her best intentions to seek Gabriel’s eyes. His eyes were masked, as if he were holding back some emotion within. Confused, she turned away, shaken.

  Barnard’s voice was a bark. “What happened to your hand?”

  “A minor injury from today, nothing more,” she quickly explained. “It will heal soon.”

  “As well it better,” pursued Barnard. “It would not do for you to be scarred. See that it does not mar you.”

  She bowed her head. “Of course, my Lord.”

  “So, Gabriel, do you hunt?” he asked, turning away and apparently putting Constance immediately out of his mind.

  Gabriel shook himself, bringing himself back from a distant musing. “I do, sir, whenever I have the opportunity,” he agreed with a nod.

  “Well then, we shall all have to go hunting tomorrow,” decided Barnard. “Charles has some of the best deer park in the region. With your permission, of course,” he added, looking over to Charles.

  Charles’ voice was cordial. “I would not refuse an honored guest,” he agreed. “We shall make a threesome of it, then.”

  Barnard drank down a long gulp of his ale, then leant toward the two men. “Did I ever tell you about the time I …” He was soon immersed in regaling the men with stories of his many hunts, of slaying fierce wolves in Germany and fleet stags in France. Constance gladly cloaked herself in silence, finishing her meal as quickly as she could.

  As soon as she was done she stood, nodding her apologies to the group. “I am afraid I am still a little weak, and will be heading to my room now.”

  Barnard rose at her side, downing the rest of his tankard in one long draw. “Well then, why not show me where our room is,” he rasped, drawing his eyes in a long look down her body.

  Constance’s eyes flew wide in surprise. He had not shared her bed in five years. He was going to start now? Here? With Gabriel under the same roof?

  She found herself gasping incredulously, “You wish to share my room?”

  “It is my right,” he responded, his voice gaining an edge, “to be in your bed any time I wish.” His hand snaked out toward her arm to grab a hold of her, and panic flowed up her spine. She could refuse, admit the truth – but the consequences …

  To her relief, Charles’ voice cut in smoothly. “I think what my sister is saying is that the doctors have forbid any activity or travel until she heals up from her ordeal. They were very strict on this measure. Surely you respect their wishes.”

  Barnard’s grip tightened on her arm for a moment, then he released her. “Of course,” he cut out shortly. “I am sure you have another room available for me to sleep in, until I am back in her bed.”

  Constance heard a snap to his voice, and glanced up in surprise. She found he was looking not at her, but at Charles and Gabriel. Both men were staring at Barnard with directed focus, holding his gaze in an almost challenging manner. She wondered just what she had missed, but she did not want to prolong the situation any further.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, dropping a curtsy, then moving as quickly as she could up to her room. To her relief, Audrey was there to help her out of her clothes, to get her into bed. Despite her weariness, the events of the day swirled in her head long after she lay her head on the pillow.

  Chapter 8

  Constance woke early the following morning, feeling more like her old self than she had in weeks. She dressed quickly and headed down to the main hall. None of the men were in sight – only Alison and Gaynor sat together at the head table, laughing merrily together as they ate their sausages and eggs.

  Gaynor waved. “You are awake! Come join us!” she called out with a smile. “It will be nice to have some time alone, just the three of us.”

  Constance’s heart lifted at the welcome – it had been a long time since she had felt a part of any community. She moved over to sit alongside the two women, and in a moment a maid had brought a trencher and mug for her.

  Gaynor spoke through a mouthful of fresh bread. “I was just telling my sister how different you were than I had expected,” admitted Gaynor with carefree glee. “It is really quite amazing!”

  “Oh? What do you mean?” asked Constance, intrigued.

  Alison tried to hush her sister, but Gaynor pressed on, blissfully ignoring her.

  “Well, Barnard has visited us several times over the years, and he always struck us as the last person on earth we would want to marry. He was cold, selfish, and … well, inactive. I am surprised he wanted to go spend time with the other men today!”

  She glanced at her sister, seeing the frown, but plowed ahead anyway. “When we heard that you had voluntarily agreed to become betrothed to him, we were jubilant that we were safe – and also convinced you must be just like him! Why else would you agree to such a match?”

  Alison spoke up, apparently more willing to join in the discussion now that the ground had been broken. “Over these past few days, you have been so different than what I had thought. I am sorry I did not have you visit before now.”

  Gaynor nudged her sister in the ribs. “If she had visited, then she would have to bring him!”

  Co
nstance felt that she should defend Barnard from this ribbing, but she could not muster up the strength to do it. They were right, of course. He was all of those things, and much more. Still, she felt it her duty to say … something …

  “I would be cautious speaking that way in his presence,” she warned slowly, taking in a long drink of mead.

  Alison nodded her head brightly, sending her blonde hair shimmering in waves. “Oh yes, I see the way he treats you! Charles would never behave in that manner to me. Even Gabriel was upset by it!”

  Constance’s breath caught. She tried to keep her voice even. “He was?”

  Gaynor bobbed her head, her eyes shining. “Oh yes! Barnard left the table shortly after you did, and the rest of us were free to talk. You should have heard Gabriel questioning Charles, asking how long this behavior had been going on, and how your relations were with Barnard. Charles had to say he did not know; your paths have rarely crossed since you went off to be married.”

  Alison winked at her sister. “That Gabriel is quite the tender hearted one,” she teased. “The way he cares for the children, how he dotes after you, you could do far worse, Gay.”

  Gaynor giggled with glee. “That I could!” She turned to Constance, her eyes bright. “Do you think he likes me? You knew him back when you were young, after all, right?”

  Constance was at a loss for words. Back when she was young … for she was old now, old and used up, and Gabriel would need someone to talk with, to go for walks with, to take by the hand…

  The children bustled in as one noisy, excited mob, and she was spared the need to respond. She allowed herself to be led off into the far corner by the twins, waving her farewells to the two sisters. The children settled on a pair of stone benches at the far end of the hall, and Constance immersed herself in a world of blocks and stories. Anything to keep her mind off Gabriel.

  It was after noon when the men came tromping into the room, dogs in tow. Constance looked up from the corner where she had been telling tales to the foursome of youngsters, and was surprised to see the men looked somber. She wondered just what kind of discussion they had shared while out in the woods.