Fair, Bright, and Terrible

by Kingston, Elizabeth

  Poison, she thought. The blade. An accident. These were her options for ending Roger Mortimer, and repeating them had become as soothing as prayer. But she felt Robert’s eyes on her and was not soothed.

  “I have not offered you sympathy for his death.” He gave her a frank look, assessing but not unkind. “Should I?”

  They had never spoken of Walter. She had never said she loved him, or hated him, or felt anything at all toward him – and except for that long-ago argument they had had, Robert had never asked. He had never wanted to know. Yet now, he did.

  “I spat on his bones,” she heard herself say.

  He took a moment to consider this. “No sympathy, then,” he said blandly. Then he gave that roguish half-smile. “But I shall save a drop of it for his bones, little though they need it.”

  She looked away sharply. He had lost none of his charm at all. From the moment he had lifted her down from her horse in front of the church where they were wed, she had seen her mistake. There always was some flaw, in all her plans, born of impatience or blindness or her own arrogance. In this case, it was all three: impatient to get at Mortimer, blind to what Robert might still feel for her, arrogant enough to think her own feelings could be easily controlled. There were other men she might have made her husband, and gotten the advantages of marriage without this constant flood of feeling, these uncomfortable twinges of conscience. Other men who would not be hurt by her indifference.

  “I make no claim to be the best of wives,” she said. And then her tongue defied the iron rule of her reason once more and said, “I never was, as you have certain cause to know.”

  He opened his mouth but before he could answer, servants came to fill their cups and offer fragrant plum tarts. It did not break the atmosphere that she had conjured with her words. She thought of the little pink stone, of how often she had plucked it from her pocket and set it in the precise spot where he would look for it. How she had hugged the secret to herself until he came and pulled the clothes from her, as a starving man peels an orange. She was sure he must think of it too, so heavy did the memory of their sin hang in the air between them.

  When the servants left them, she watched him as he slowly twirled a spoon in his fingers.

  “How many others have there been since me?” He tried for a careless curiosity, but she heard the bitterness in it even before she understood his meaning. “I was the first, I think, but I wonder now how many came after me. Fourteen years, fourteen men?”

  He might have stricken her and called her whore before all the king’s court, and she would not have felt so insulted. She sat frozen in the face of it, trembling with an outrage so sudden and complete that she could not think past it. She was the lady of Ruardean, daughter of a noble line that stretched back to antiquity, mother to a warrior and a mighty Marcher baron, and she would not suffer such offense. She sucked in her breath to answer, but bit her tongue when she realized the only words she had were inadequate and overly defensive.

  His spoon was digging at a plum, reducing it to paste, his mouth in a sullen curve. She had hurt him. He had lain himself bare to her, confessed his love without reservation, and she had called it a dream. Now he believed what had been between them was so trivial to her that she would repeat it with another – with a great many others.

  Let him think it, she commanded herself. It would be easier for them both, and kinder to him. Hope had no place in her plans.

  “Eighteen years,” she corrected him, despite her intentions. “Never think I forget that number any more than do you.” Then she slowed her quickening breath and returned to a more brisk tone. “But it was fourteen years that I had the sole rule of Ruardean, because my husband did not honor his duty as its lord. If you are so fortunate as to be granted a lordship the equal of Ruardean, I will offer you what experience and knowledge I gained in that time. Then I think you will not malign me, but have cause to be glad of my many years without a man by my side.”

  He looked as if he would say many things, but kept himself from it. After a moment’s pause and another idle stir of his spoon in the wrecked tart, he said, “These Welsh places that Edward would call England and rule as his own – think you it can be done without more blood is spilled?”

  “Do you weary of fighting?”

  “Do not all men weary of fighting, in time?”

  “Edward does not,” she answered. “Nor will he stop until his dying breath, to call the whole of this island his. But he has spilt the blood of the last Welsh princes who would resist him. There is little need to spill more, so well did he break the spirit of those who followed them.”

  A grim look overcame Robert’s face. “I have heard Dafydd was tortured and torn in pieces as his punishment.”

  “You have heard it and I have seen it.” She looked away from the pulpy mess of plum tart, the blood-red wine in her cup. “I went to Shrewsbury. He was hacked, not torn.”

  She knew he watched her, but she did not turn her face to him. Instead her eyes found the girl whom Robert had flirted with so often, and she stared the copper curls. They shone in the firelight and bounced gaily about her fresh young face. It was a lovely sight. Truly it was.

  “Eluned,” he said, and his voice was full of feeling.

  She wanted nothing more than to lay her head against him and rest. It was not her lust and longing that threatened to undo her, but the warmth that came from him in these small moments. With just one word, he could reach inside her and speak to her innermost sorrows. No one else even guessed that she felt such things.

  But he thought she had many lovers. She had hurt him. And she had other work to do. Poison, the blade, an accident. It was better this way. If she succeeded and was found out, she could not say what punishment there might be for a murderess, even one as highborn as she was. Until recently she would have assumed she would be imprisoned for the rest of her life, or banished to exile. But after the torture and execution of Dafydd, none could say what punishment might be called reasonable. Every day the rules were made anew for Edward’s kingdom.

  She blinked, swallowed hard, and spoke before Robert did.

  “You need not fear that any grand battles must be fought to hold what land the king may give you,” she assured him. It was easier, and soothing, to talk of these more commonplace worries. “There is no troublesome viscount who will lay claim to it, such as you dealt with in Gascony.”

  “Nor a Castilian king to ally with such a rival. But if the Welsh wish to resist, there are as many mountains for them to hide in.”

  “Let them hide there, and they will starve with only their pride to fill their bellies.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Would they not steal out in the night to help themselves to my cattle and crops?”

  “Some may try, but only if they are not treated fairly under English law. Any resistance will die quickly if they are assured they can prosper without a fight.” She allowed herself a small smile, but made sure she did not look directly into the warmth of his eyes as she did so. “Your French vassals gave you no such resistance, I think, or your wine would not taste half so sweet.”

  Even if she had never known him well, there would be no mistaking the pride in him. She was glad to see it, in spite of herself. He had built something to be proud of, in spite of his claims that he had no ambition.

  “Gascons may quarrel among themselves, but put all quarrels aside in the face of outside threat,” he said.

  “Certes you were an outsider when you came to them, and they had known only the rule of a steward since your father was a boy. Yet you won their love, and defended Edward’s lands too, and all the while your land increases its yield. Few estates are so esteemed for their wines.” She thought of how different from Wales was that fertile, sunny place he had lived so long. “By whatever means you achieved it there, you may do so here as well.”

  “It only wanted patience,” he shrugged with a modesty that she could not imagine any other man would show, “and common cause in peace tim
e as well as in strife. And in France I had me no clever wife to smooth the way.”

  She wanted to ask why he had not married in all these years. She wanted to ask about Kenilworth, and why he had stayed so long from England, and if he had never made peace with his father. Instead, she said, “Wife or no, the lessons you learned there will serve you well here.”

  He was looking intently at her, so she reached for her cup and drank to prevent herself from saying more. The girl with the copper hair laughed again, throwing back her head, glancing toward the high board to see if Robert noticed.

  “Patience and common cause,” he said, still studying Eluned. “A clever wife indeed.”

  Probably he thought they had common cause as man and wife. There was a great prize to be had from Edward in the form of lands and power, and she should care about that. Probably he thought it only wanted patience, and they would grow together again, build a life in common. Probably he thought she cared about his friend’s son, and would work to see him brought safe out of the arms of the Mortimers.

  But she did not care. She did not want to build anything, not a fortune or a dynasty or a marriage. She had no care for Manton’s boy, but was glad to know another detail about her enemy that might prove useful one day. She had only one cause, and it had naught in common with her husband’s aims.

  “You would do well to rely on virtues more constant than my cleverness,” she warned him. It was spoken with a tartness, but meant as an honest bit of counsel.

  “And what else about you can I rely upon, Eluned?” He sat back in his chair and looked her over. The ironic twist was back in his words. “It seems you offer me little more than your wits and your wealth.”

  An ache was forming between her shoulder blades, so stiff and straight did she hold herself. In truth, what had she to offer him? Only bitterness, and a hatred that ate at her. A few tables away, the copper-headed girl fended off the attentions of a knight.

  “I will not deny my lord his right to our marriage bed,” she said.

  She thought of the cold stars, of quick poisons and sharp blades, while she awaited his reply. Finally he let loose a scornful breath, a sound that scoffed at her as he stood up from the table with cup in hand.

  “Is no wonder your last husband wandered in the desert for half your marriage.” He gave her an elegant bow. “We all thought him mad, but I think he was only seeking some warmth.”

  Chapter 6

  The Longing

  Amid a small crowd of advisors and bosom friends, King Edward was describing the effort over the years to hold his duchy in France. It was a tale in which Robert featured prominently, and by the end of it he was so covered over in royal appreciation that he could almost believe the last two decades of his life were not wasted.

  “By the saints,” he said to the king with a smile, “I think I have pleased my king almost as much as I have pleased my father. It is he who should be heaping thanks upon you, for he will tell you that my desire to serve you well is all that commends me.”

  This effectively turned the conversation, with amusement, toward Robert’s father. Happily, his brother Simon was present and prevented Robert from being too dismissive of his own accomplishments, which might convince the king he was not worth elevating. Simon was right hand to Edward’s most trusted advisor Burnell, who assured him the king looked to reward Robert in some significant way. It seemed all that was required at this point was a show of desire on Robert’s part – and he must avoid displeasing the king, of course.

  Surprisingly, it was hinted that Eluned, of all people, caused the king to hesitate. “Your cause is strengthened by your marriage,” Simon had said to him when they had arrived at court, “but there is something in your wife that gives Edward and Burnell pause. I cannot imagine what it may be, nor do they ever say it outright. Yet do I feel certain she is under scrutiny.”

  His wife would soon be joining them here in these lavish royal apartments, for a not quite private audience with the king. Simon had urged Robert to speak with Eluned first, to warn her of these vague suspicions and tell her that all their hopes hung on her performance. He had not done it, because he was sure she would need no reminder to step carefully with a king. That anyone would think she could need counsel on her conduct was laughable. She would scoff at him, or be insulted. He found he did not wish either of those things, and so he stayed silent as she had gone to closet herself with the queen.

  Yet when she entered the room and faced the king, Robert tensed in fear of what she might do. Perhaps she would misstep. She did not love him, nor seem to have any great care for his ambitions. To his own astonishment he found that he suddenly did care. Lands, a title, a fair amount of power – he had not cared even a week ago, yet now he inexplicably hoped for all of it.

  “My dread lord,” she said to the king, and sank so low in a courtesy that she might be kneeling. She stayed there, waiting for Edward to bid her rise.

  It was only a moment of calculated silence, three slow heartbeats at most. In it, Robert saw that his brother had been right. The king’s advisors watched her closely, and her bowed head had all Edward’s considerable attention.

  “How glad we are to see you again, lady.” Edward gestured and she rose. He waited until she looked at him before continuing. “It is how long since you have visited at court? Three years, I think.”

  “At Windsor, my lord,” she replied with a nod. Robert saw now that she did not look directly at the king, but kept her eyes slightly lowered.

  “On that occasion, you came too late to see your daughter wed. Now you too are freshly married, yet how different is your greeting. You are a full minute in our presence without questioning our royal authority.”

  Robert felt his brother’s startled look of question, but he would not meet it. He was too transfixed by Eluned. He did not know what he expected – for her chin to come up in defiance of Edward’s stern tone or a challenging flash in her eyes, perhaps – but what he saw defied everything he had known of her. Never would he think to see her sink slowly to her knees, her eyes never rising, her color unchanged as she spoke into the hush.

  “I pray so great and merciful a king may find it in his heart to forgive the foolish words of a foolish woman. A mother’s love oft overwhelms her reason, and in such times she may speak rashly. In faith, I do sorely regret it. There can be no one better than the king to choose a husband for my daughter. It has been well proven in the years since they were wed, and I have thanked God every day that my own will could not prevail over your good wisdom.”

  This little speech seemed far more than a mere apology for words spoken years ago. Edward observed her in an uncomfortable silence while a tension gathered in the room. Robert held his breath, wondering if the king’s famous temper would burst over them. After a moment of studying the king’s inscrutable countenance, though, he rather thought it was surprise and not anger that silenced Edward.

  In the end, whatever the king saw in Eluned pleased him. The mere ghost of a satisfied smile curled his lips before it disappeared as completely as though it had never been.

  “Come, there is no need for this humility,” said Edward with a frown of kindly concern. He stepped forward to take her arm and pull her up to her feet. She was no taller than his shoulder. “Had we taken insult, we would not have granted consent for your marriage to a subject we love so well.”

  Robert came forward to stand beside Eluned, not in answer to the king’s mention of him, but because Eluned seemed almost to shrink in the face of Edward’s solicitude. In the moment he reached her side, he thought he must have dreamt it. There was no fear in her. She appeared empty of all feeling.

  “As my king has loved him,” she murmured, “so shall I love him.”

  She put her hand on Robert’s arm and when he laid his hand atop hers, he nearly flinched at the feel of her icy fingers. The king looked to Robert with an approving smile.

  “Married less than a fortnight and you have wrought such a change that I wou
ld not know her.” He clapped Robert on the shoulder. “It is a lesson I shall remember, that a good and proper husband will constrain unseemly pride. If I could have married you to that Castilian upstart we might have secured my duchy a decade sooner.”

  The other men laughed. Eluned wore a wooden smile. Robert tried to think beyond the way her fingers curled around his wrist, and how she seemed to drift closer to him even though he could plainly see she did not move at all. There was no time to puzzle over it. Now was the moment that he must, as his brother had forewarned him, make his ambitions known to the king.

  It was easy enough. Everyone in the room naturally expected that he would want as large a slice of Wales as he could get, so he merely agreed with the general mood. His brother was more than happy to suggest exact boundaries, and most of the hour was spent listening to them speak of places that were unpronounceable to him. The only place he was careful to single out by name was Dinwen, not trusting Simon to remember it. Even at the mention of her ancestral home, Eluned showed no great interest in the proceedings. She only nodded when it was said that the keep had suffered no great injury, and its new lord’s first task must be to strengthen the fortifications.

  There were no promises made, of course. There were only subtle insinuations and careful hints among all the very general talk of what to do with all these conquered lands. “We will consider and make our mind known soon after the Epiphany,” said Edward, but it was obvious he would not have allowed this discussion among his favorites if he did not plan a handsome reward for Robert.

  He waited until the king had praised the wine in his cup, which was from the de Lascaux vineyards, and then he said there were eighty barrels brought as gift to the king and his court. There was a very fine little book, shining with gold leaf and tiny gems on its cover, containing a history of King Arthur. This was Eluned’s gift, and it pleased Edward even more than did the wine.