Fair, Bright, and Terrible

by Kingston, Elizabeth

  “Why would Bohun have contempt for your sister?”

  William shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it is a personal mislike and not animosity for Ruardean.”

  Robert turned from the view of the hall, resting his back to the wall as he looked at William. “Your sister comes so regularly to court, then, that she has developed a distaste for the man?”

  There was a little silence, and Robert had to resist a smile when he saw William’s mouth go tight. Just like his mother.

  “Gwenllian lived much removed at Ruardean until her marriage. She has only ever come to court once, in those few weeks when she was wed.”

  “And when she learned not to trust de Vere?” Robert asked. “And ran afoul of Bohun. A very busy few weeks.”

  William took a few moments before speaking, his eyes trained on the men below. He seemed to choose his words carefully.

  “It was where she learned not to trust de Vere, because he did not warn her of the king’s intent to arrange her marriage. Nor do I think she ran afoul of Bohun, whether at court or anywhere else.” He looked up, his expression of uncertainty reminding Robert how young the boy was. “What has my mother told you of Gwenllian?”

  “That she is married to Ranulf of Morency and has one son by him, another child to be born any minute.” He shrugged. “That she loves her dearly.”

  “She has said that to you, that she loved Gwenllian dearly? Now, or long ago?”

  It took every ounce of Robert’s will not to widen his eyes in shock. “Long ago?”

  “At Torver. In the year Montfort died at Evesham. Were you not there?” William was watching him closely. “My mother was there, and my sister. And you.”

  Robert nodded carefully. “Your mother told you we met there?”

  The little tension dissolved with William’s easy smile.

  “Nay, I had it from one of Lancaster’s men that you were there that summer. She has never spoken of you to me.” His smile dimmed. “She does not speak of much to me at all. It is Gwenllian whom she held close to her heart, because my sister was kept at Ruardean to be reared while I have been in Lancaster’s care almost as long as I can remember.”

  Robert was still recovering from the shock of hearing Torver mentioned, so he was less observant than he should have been. But he did not think there was envy in William’s voice. Some disappointment, perhaps, and resignation. He wondered if the boy sensed what he did – that Eluned purposely held herself apart from him.

  “Yet you seem to know your sister well, for all that you did not dwell at Ruardean,” he remarked.

  “She was faithful in sending word to me all the years I was with Lancaster, and when I would visit Ruardean she taught me…” Here his voice faltered, and he glanced back down to where Edward’s counselors gestured over the map. “She understood better than I what it would mean to rule there, and she wished me to learn all I could of it. It is because of her I speak a ragged Welsh, and know all the men of the garrison, what skill in fighting each one has.”

  There was something he was not saying, and Robert could not guess at it. But as long as William was in a mood to speak of his sister, he could try to satisfy his curiosity on one point.

  “When we arrived here and met with the king, your mother spoke an apology to him as greeting. Why?”

  “She has a sharp tongue,” said William with the ghost of a grin. “Or so I have heard. Nor was I there when she came to court to protest the betrothal and found Gwenllian already married, but they say she was in a temper that matched Edward’s in his worst moments. I cannot imagine it.”

  “Can you not?” asked Robert in mild surprise. It was no strain on his imagination at all to picture it. It was almost a delight.

  “I have ever seen her composed and controlled. But then, that is all she has ever shown me.” William looked at him closely again, the assessing look that was uncomfortably reminiscent of his mother. “And now my sister tells me this composure is all she is shown as well, lately. It strikes a fear into Gwenllian, and hear me well: fear does not easily find a home in Gwenllian’s breast. Dread is not in her nature, and it is a terrible wonder to me that she has admitted to it.”

  Robert thought of what Kit had said, that so much had changed for Eluned in the last twelvemonth. Three years ago she had stood before the king and railed at him, yet three weeks ago she had abased herself before him, not a flicker of spirit in her. Hers were the movements and words of one who accepted an absolute defeat. He had seen it in men before, when they suffered definitive loss in battle. It was rare enough in his experience, and he had never seen it in a woman. But then, he had never known a woman who had had such fire as Eluned.

  William’s eyes were on him, and uneasiness came off the boy in waves. Robert thought of telling him that Eluned was not always so composed, that there were moments when she smiled even though he knew she did not intend to, moments where he saw her breath catch. Most often it was when he came to their rooms in the evenings. For weeks now, he would enter to find her sitting among the velvet-covered cushions where she would stay all night. There was no cool composure in the way her breath sped up when he stood near her, in the way she studiously avoided his eyes. It was the same ebb and flow of attraction and resistance between them as it had been at Torver, the same delicate dance but without the playfulness.

  Every night he lay in bed, wondering if she would come to him, and wondering why she did not. My favorite sin, she had said, when she thought him asleep. And then she told him to let her go.

  He looked at her son and knew he was not alone in thinking it was more than an icy self-control. There was something she hid, something that even her son could not uncover.

  “There was more to her anger than a marriage contract,” he said to William, whose mind was so like his mother’s, yet whose openness was anything but. “You think there is more that happened between my wife, her daughter, and the king. That is what you hint at?”

  “Aye, I think there is more. If it will affect Ruardean and my rule there, then I would know it.”

  “If it would affect your rule and Ruardean, your mother would tell you.” There was no question in Robert’s mind. Even if she did not adore William in the way she had Gwenllian, she would never let harm come to her son. He believed in that more than he believed in her long-dead love for him, more than he believed in his own ill-advised love for her. “She is loyal to you, William. She married me only because you asked it of her.”

  “You think she married you for me?” William looked at him for a long moment, his brows raised in a gentle incredulity. The idea seemed to amuse him, but he did not dispute it. Instead he turned back to look at the assembly of men below, directing his attention there. “Anyone can conceal their true feelings when they feel they must. It would amaze you, the enormity of the secrets that can be hidden at this court. It is too easy to trust a man who plots in secret against you.”

  Robert looked down to see who William was watching now. It was Mortimer, moving a block of wood that was meant to represent a fortress, pushing it further westward on the map.

  “Mortimer does not have my trust, I assure you,” he told William, who shook his head in reply.

  “Roger Mortimer should not be your concern. This hostage he holds – is the boy so dear to you?”

  Robert nodded warily. Though it was no secret, he had never spoken to William of his concern for Kit’s son and did not know where he could have learned of it. Court gossips had better things to whisper about, surely. “He is as close to a son as I have ever had.”

  “As am I, through your marriage, though I cannot call you father.” William gave him a happy smile again. He looked back down at Mortimer and said, “Have you never wondered why the Mortimers came to mistrust your friend Manton?”

  There was a suggestion under his words that Robert did not like. “If you think to set a suspicion in me against Kit–”

  “Not him. That is not my intent, I am clumsy in my words.” His grimace of embar
rassment reminded Robert that he was still a boy, if only just barely. “I mean only that there was no reason for them to demand a hostage, nor less to keep him. If a neighboring lord, a man whose holdings and strength were not one tenth of mine, came armed and unannounced onto my lands I would not do as Mortimer did. Very well, you will say, I am not like a Mortimer. But I have known a great many of the most powerful barons and have been taught the ways of a great many more, and I tell you that none would ask for an heir as surety unless there was reason to fear the worst.”

  “They have said they act out of caution. Too much of it, to be sure–”

  “They are guided by reason, and I ask myself who would tell them they have reason to suspect Christopher Manton.”

  Though his immediate reaction was skepticism, Robert did not say that it seemed unlikely. In William’s face was a seriousness and intelligence that told him he would be a fool to dismiss this. And after all, the boy knew more than he about the people surrounding Mortimer, and their likeliest schemes.

  “Why do you tell me this?” Robert asked him, curious. “I think you do not often share such private suspicions, and it can mean little to you what Mortimer thinks of Kit Manton.”

  William gave a slight shrug. “I am a Marcher lord and you will become one. The others, these men,” he gestured to the tableau of lords gathered around the king, “They are a pack of starving dogs, loyal to their own hunger above all else. But your marriage to my mother unites our lands, our fortunes, our strength. And so I mean to help you as I would expect you to aid me if ever I am in need. I will rely on it.” He looked at Robert, serious. “Look you to learn who would warn Mortimer against your friend, and why. Someone has whispered poison in his ear.”

  “To what end?”

  “That is for you to discover.” William turned to leave, then paused after a step. “Your brother is the kind of man who might know such a thing.”

  Two days later, they watched as William made his oath to the king after the Christmas mass. Robert said a prayer they could soon leave this court. He was not made for the whispers and the shadows, as Simon was. Even William, young as he was, managed to strike a perfect balance between artful and guileless. It was a skill that Robert had no interest in mastering.

  But he did want the reward Edward would give him. And he could see this was the best place to learn why the Mortimers kept Kit’s son as surety. He had not told Kit of his conversation with William, preferring to keep his own counsel until he discovered something more concrete than suspicions. The days passed and he watched as Kit became more friendly with Roger Mortimer, the two of them comparing the charms of every passing serving girl while Robert crawled into his bed alone.

  He missed France. He missed days long gone, when he would spend his time laughing with Kit and his son, riding out into the vineyard where he knew every inch of the land, and telling himself that somewhere Eluned was thinking of him. What a flattering illusion he had created for himself. He felt the loss of it keenly.

  “Isabella has said her brother reconsiders the conditions under which they took the hostage,” Eluned told him the day after Christmas. “Is clear to me they begin to feel shame for it, now they see Kit Manton means them no ill.”

  “Have you wondered why they ever thought him an enemy?”

  He was careful to ask it in an offhanded way. He had not confided in her about this yet, for reasons he could not name. It was partly that she did not confide in him, over anything, and partly that he did not wish to tell her all the things her son had said. Mostly it was that he was afraid his eagerness to be close to her would push her further away again. In some moments, they were almost like old friends. But she seemed to him as a wild and wary animal – one step wrong, one noise too loud, and she would retreat to a place he could not follow.

  “I have asked her,” she said, folding a square of golden cloth carefully and handing it to one of her ladies with instructions to take it to the queen. “But she says only that they knew little of him when he brought an armed party onto their land, so it was natural to call him enemy.”

  “And they did not think it out of proportion to demand a hostage.”

  Her mouth grew tight and he heard contempt in her words. “They are capable of such malice and deceit that they expect it of others in kind.”

  That was all. It might be enlightening to see her speak to her son on the subject. If ever he found the two of them together for more than a bare instant, perhaps he would steer the conversation that way. Maybe even tonight, when Eluned would join in the holiday celebration and William was sure to be there too.

  But when they arrived in the hall, the wine was already flowing and William was dancing with the king’s daughter. Robert heard his name called, bellowing and boisterous, and saw it was Kit.

  “Is a joyous start to this Twelvetide season,” Kit proclaimed as he thrust his cup into Robert’s hand and swept Eluned into his embrace.

  He watched as his friend swung her around, laughing, and dropped her to her feet before him. She stepped back, flustered, her mouth open in surprise at this extravagant gesture, her eyes flicking to Robert in alarm. Kit’s face was flushed but he seemed steady on his feet as he put his hands to Eluned’s shoulders and said, “I shall have my son home, and it is all your doing, lady. I would kiss you, were your husband not a jealous man.”

  “They have sent him home?” she asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  “They will. Roger Mortimer has told me only minutes ago, that his brother will see Robin home to my wife in time to celebrate the Epiphany. I will go myself tomorrow so that I may see him safe delivered with my own eyes.” He smiled broadly at Robert, who saw the relief in him at this news. “Praise God I believed you when you said we must listen to your wife.”

  “Nay, it is none of my doing,” said Eluned, a warm smile spreading across her face. “Anyone may give advice, but few could turn an enemy to friend so quickly.”

  Robert found himself laughing, his heart light for the first time since he had left France. They sat at a table laden with food, music in the air, the wine from his own estate in every cup, and joined in the celebration. To prove Kit wrong about his jealous nature, he urged his friend and his wife to dance together while he sat and watched and was mad with jealousy. Tonight she wore her hair in the fashion popular at court, abandoning the veil for a simple barbette and fillet with her braid pinned in a coil at her nape. The dance was lively, though, and the braid came half-free to trail down her back and swing with her movements.

  He prepared to abandon his drink and his place at the table so that he could go to them, cut in and take her hand, touch her and laugh with her as easily as his friend did. But he turned to find Roger Mortimer there, waylaying him with praise for the wine. They sat together, and were joined by Kit and Eluned in time.

  “This one,” said Mortimer, nodding at Kit, “tells me he will send his son to squire with you in another year or two. But I have told him the boy has a rare talent with the sword, enough that he may be better served at Morency.”

  All eyes fell to Eluned, who wore a pleasant but guarded smile.

  “Gladly will I ask my daughter if her husband would take the boy as squire.” She looked to Kit. “I cannot say if there will be a place for him there, though, as I am sure there will ever be in my husband’s household.” At these last words she put her hand to Robert’s arm, and he was reminded of how her fingers had curled around his wrist when she stood before the king.

  “I had not thought to send him so far,” began Kit thoughtfully.

  “You know little of Morency if you think the distance should be your only concern,” said Mortimer, who smiled into his cup. He flicked a glance at Eluned before saying. “Your boy is like to come back with all the skill you could want and more arrogance than you can stomach, with Ranulf of Morency to teach him.”

  Eluned raised a hand lightly to her mouth, turning her head aside, hiding her smile. After a moment, though, she nodded her head as her s
houlders shook with laughter.

  Roger Mortimer gave a booming laugh when he saw her agreement. “I like the man well enough, but his head is so swelled it is a wonder he can find a helm to cover it.”

  While the men laughed, Robert looked to see she had grown suddenly sober. All her mirth was gone, replaced with unease. He put his hand over hers where it rested on his arm, felt her fingers flex in reaction, and wished he knew even one thing that was in her mind.

  The night went on with her quiet reserve back in place while the rest of them laughed and sang and danced. She was too obviously troubled, and he was not surprised when she excused herself from the revels.

  He made his excuses and followed her within the hour. It seemed likely the merriment in the hall would go on long through the night, and though he shared Kit’s happiness at the good news, he did not share his friend’s growing fondness for Roger Mortimer. Loud and brash and boastful, it was rich indeed that Mortimer dared to call another man too arrogant.

  Robert had come to anticipate with pleasure the first moment of entering their rooms at night. It was always quiet, with a tension that was not anger, and he could pretend to himself for a moment that this was the night she would be waiting for him in the bed. She never was, though. Tonight, like all the other nights, she sat among the pillows in her heavy night robe. She had pulled the tapestry aside a little, so that she could see a sliver of night sky through the window.

  This time, for the first time, she looked up at him as he entered. There was not an invitation in her face as she gazed at him. He did not know what it was, but he thought she did not want him to leave her alone as he usually did. Careful of the lamp on the nearby table, he came to where she sat and eased himself down on the seat next to her. She moved herself slightly to make room for him, her hand on the psalter she held open on her lap.