by Jill Hughey
David raised his brow at her rather obtuse explanation of his role in the upcoming event. Marian gave him a slight warning shake of her head. Well, if the woman hadn’t the courage to tell this girl the truth of the matter, he certainly did. He didn’t know much about getting along with women, but he guessed that starting his marriage with deception – and necessarily short-lived deception at that – could not be wise.
As he opened his mouth to explain exactly who he was, Rochelle spoke, “I do not see why I need an escort. I found the palace yesterday.” She lowered herself off the last step and strode toward him with a confident swing of her arms. “But if Theophilus wants to share his guard, so be it.”
Marian bobbed her head. “It was quite thoughtful of him.”
David held up a hand. “I am not Theo’s guard. And did you just suggest you were wandering about the city yesterday, alone?”
Rochelle studied him assessingly. Yes, assessingly was the only word for it and, God help him, she was lovely up close. Her not brown, not red brows arched over green eyes flecked with hazel. A dusting of freckles decorated a thin nose that flared pertly at the nostrils. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted exposing straight teeth.
“Not alone. Our servant, Gilbert, was with me.”
“Gilbert, the bag of bones who opened the door?” David scoffed. “He could not keep a street rat away much less a pack of thieves. From this day forth, you will not leave here without an able-bodied man at your side.” She smelled nice.
Rochelle placed her hands on her hips, pleasantly outlining a slim waist beneath her clothing. “What has given you the idea you can make pronouncements such as that to me? I will go where I wish, when I wish, escorted or not, as I wish!” Her chest heaved a bit and there were breasts under that tunic, he could tell, and damn it when was the last time he’d lain with a woman? He mentally bridled himself. First, betrothal. Betrothal was the task set before him today. It was time to attend to that task.
He stepped forward, purposely crowding her and letting his hard gaze bore into her fiery eyes, daring her to challenge him. “I will tell you what gives me the right –“
Marian made a strangled sound before finding her words. “Ye should be going! It will not do to be late to the palace.”
Rochelle eyed first him, then Marian, before backing away to grasp her mother’s hands. “Mother, I do wish you would reconsider. Certainly the nobles have forgotten your circumstances by now. Father would want you to have the honor of meeting Charlemagne’s son.”
Marian laughed a bit shrilly. “No, that is no place for me. Ye shall have the glory today, daughter. Here is your cloak.” She kept babbling as she closed the gold and aquamarine clasp at the neckline of the pale blue garment. “David will keep you safe. Do as he says, my dear. He is in charge of you today. And possibly tomorrow.”
Rochelle chortled. “Mother, do not be ridiculous. This will be over in an hour or two and then we are going home! Home, where I also do not require an escort!” She fixed David with a significant look before she walked to the door, wrenched it open with relative ease, and stepped onto the street without him.
Escort, indeed!
Rochelle turned quickly to the right as she left the house, then nearly toppled backward when that man — that Bavarian! — grasped her elbow and tried to force her in the wrong direction. “Unhand me,” she barked.
“You are going the wrong way,” he answered calmly, his fingers slipping away nonetheless.
“I am most certainly not. I determined this path just yesterday. Five streets up, then two across, then ten in the other direction.”
“Or five back this way.” He jerked his thumb over a shoulder.
Her role on the estate gave her vast experience in appraising men. This one was entirely unnerving, and nothing like the other men Theo had sent to escort them from Alda to Aix. This Bavarian’s brown eyes had locked on her earlier with an intent curiosity, the source of which she did not recognize, followed by a direct challenge in his stare, and now he observed her with amusement, the arrogant sod. Each unsettling look implied an interest in her that extended beyond this afternoon’s brief visit to the palace. Why else would he even be half as interested?
He exuded confidence, self-control, and power. His clothing differed from what she’d seen in the city thus far. No silly hats to cover his wavy brown hair. No vivid colors or flashing gems. A thick gold clasp held his simple brown cloak of fine wool. A cream linen tunic hung to his thighs, cinched at the waist with a hide belt carrying two worn leather scabbards that contained blades, one at least double the size of her little eating dagger and the other ten times the size! His legs were covered with brown wool braies and soft leather boots that rose over his ankles. All well made and of the finest materials, but simple. It forced one to examine the man instead of the wrappings. And such a man. Even though she’d already decided not to like him, she had to admire the way God had put him together.
He spoke. “Can we begin walking? We are in danger of being late.”
She sniffed, unembarrassed at being caught in the midst of evaluating him. She’d learned to take her time when faced with a new person or situation. “Of course. Perhaps I have gotten a bit turned around,” she said. She let him take her elbow again to guide her through the crowded streets and was not too proud to admit her relief, at least to herself. She knew her own estate backwards and forwards but found Aix-la-Chapelle completely overwhelming. She’d never dreamed there were so many people on the whole earth, much less in one city. Streets seemed to converge every few steps, and there were obstacles everywhere, everything with it’s own disgusting stench and cacophony of noise. Garbage and carts and street vendors and gutters of liquid in which she wouldn’t let her pigs wallow. Alda was a sweet-smelling paradise compared to Aix.
She glanced uncertainly at this David from Bavaria. He seemed completely at ease as he carefully negotiated around a particularly noisome pile of rubbish. His profile was actually rather handsome, with a prominent brow, straight nose, and a strong jaw. His light brown hair fell over his forehead and curled at his ears and neck, which was ruddy from the sun and thick like an ox’s. And he walked uncommonly fast, being tall and long-legged. He was big too, like a good ploughman but obviously ….not. Oh, why were her thoughts so inane today? If she could only get through this interview she’d be free to go home, away from all this confusion. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so harebrained if she knew what the interview was about.
He walked at a pace that normally would suit her perfectly, but she could see the palace walls looming ahead, much sooner than she had hoped. He glanced at her. Now his eyes had gone softly friendly, which she found even more unnerving. His mouth opened a few times as though he wished to speak, then clamped shut again.
As they passed through the south gate of the palace wall, she saw a great square bounded by the four buildings of the palace. She stopped. “Oh my,” she breathed as she turned slowly to take it all in. The complex sat on at least 20 hectares. “I came only to the wall yesterday. I did not even look in the gate.” She’d been afraid to leave the street for fear of getting disoriented and lost, though she’d never admit it.
David nodded. “I am almost as new to Aix-la-Chapelle as you, but Theo has told me a little about the palace.” He pointed to their left at a stone octagonal building with several wings jutting off of it. “This is the palatine chapel. That building next to it along the west side houses some barracks and the judgment hall. Directly ahead of us is the aula palatina. That is where we are going. And to the east is the emperor’s residence. Do you see how the gallery connects everything together? Nobles do so hate to venture under the sky in bad weather.”
She smiled politely as she stared at the aula palatina.
“Your mother has not told you the purpose of our meeting?” David asked. His voice was low and gentle, for her ears only, and a little shiver skittered down her spine.
“No, she has been quite vague. Do you know?” She look
ed at him intently now, his use of the word ‘our’ not lost on her.
He nodded, his countenance serious. Her heart plummeted. If this stranger was going to tell her what her mother had refused to share, it must be very bad news. “Is Louis displeased with us for some reason? Is it my mother? Is that why she is afraid to come to the palace?”
David shook his head at her wild guesses. “The emperor is not unhappy, nor is he interested in your mother. He is interested in you. He wishes you to marry.”
All the blood drained from her head to trickle down through her neck like icy water. “What?” she croaked.
“He wishes you to marry, to solidify his defenses of Alamannia so he can give it to his youngest son, Charles.”
She shook her head as though trying to clear it from a hard blow. “Alamannia? Charles? What has that got to do with me? I live in Francia.”
“Your estate is in a strategic position for the defense of Alamannia.”
“Defense from whom?”
“Charles’s half-brothers.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Civil war.”
She couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open. She gaped, completely flummoxed. “What are you talking about?” she heard herself repeat. “Are you suggesting there will be a civil war fought at Alda?”
He sighed. “I have no time to explain it now, but I did not want you to walk in there completely unaware of his plans for —”
“My life,” she finished his sentence with a devastated whisper. Her thoughts whirled as David again gripped her elbow to guide her across the square. Had he just said civil war? And marriage! She had never seriously considered marriage. Now it was worthy of discussion at Louis’s court? Surely this stranger was mistaken. She was not interested in marriage, which by definition would include a husband with expectations of controlling her and her holdings. Surely the emperor had meant to summon some other girl.
They crossed a cavernous portico leading into the building. Noblemen jammed the room. She balked at the sheer number. Aristocrats of all shapes and sizes packed the aula palatina, dressed like peacocks in bright colors. “I cannot go in there,” she stated flatly.
The Bavarian leaned down slightly. “Courage,” he said as he urged her forward. Claustrophobia threatened as the horde parted and closed around her like a flock of multicolored, human-sized birds. David expertly cut a course to a destination she could not see.
“There you are,” a voice called to them. Rochelle blinked at the blinding green and gold swathed man before recognizing him as her father’s young friend.
“Theophilus,” she cried, relief coursing through her body. She pushed past David to get to him, gripping his ringed fingers in her own. Of course. The Emperor wanted her to marry Theo. She had no intention of doing so, even if she had admired him when she was ten years old. Still, he had always been kind to her mother and brought laughter to her father. He would help her explain to Louis the Pious why matrimony was simply out of the question. Confidence filled her as the solution to her problem became obvious. Theo would help her. “I am so relieved you are here. I need your help.”
David took hold of her elbow yet again. She glared up at him, finding his expression unaccountably thunderous.
“I thought you had not seen him in years,” he commented.
“I have not, but of course I would remember such a good friend of my father.” She smiled up at Theo again, beginning her campaign for assistance.
“A very learned man,” Theo complimented her father as he gently removed his hands from her grasp. He turned to David. “Did you explain what will happen here today?”
“I told her the emperor wishes to see her married. We did not have time for any details. Her mother had told her nothing.”
Theo opened his mouth to speak when a nearby clerk shouted to be heard above the general din of voices in the room.
“The emperor wishes to interview Lady Rochelle of Alda. Immediately!”
“Here we go,” Theo said encouragingly.
“No, wait!” Rochelle cried as Theo turned his back on her and swept away, leaving her with David still attached to her elbow. She wanted to wrench free, she needed to talk to Theo. Every man in the room strained to watch her progress through the room, making the constant pressure of David’s grip almost comforting. She hazarded another glance at his face. He looked deadly serious, using both the stature of his body and hard, direct stares to force curious noblemen out of their path.
Then Louis loomed before her, notable in the crowd because he had space around him to breathe and a stout chair he stood beside. He was tall and thin, with the fine features she imagined his father, Charlemagne, would have had. He wore red, and his fingers gleamed with golden rings, but she could not absorb much more because he glared down his aquiline nose at her, then raised full eyebrows expectantly. Belatedly remembering her mother’s instructions, she knelt on the floor, folded her hands on her legs, and dropped her head in obeisance. Perhaps she imagined David’s fingers lightly squeezing her shoulder before he moved across the stone floor. She watched his brown boots stop next to Theo’s rather garish green shoes. And she felt very alone.
“You are Rochelle of Alda?” Louis the Pious boomed.
“I am, sire,” she answered meekly, just as her mother had told her.
“Have you noticed you are the only woman in this hall?”
Yes, she was alone and vulnerable. A quiet murmur passed through the room, sending a chill down her spine. She stared at David’s boots. She did not know why, except that, to her, they were the only normal things in this crazy room, with their simple color and light scuff marks.
“Answer me.”
“I did not notice, sire.” Of course I noticed I am the only young woman amidst hundreds of the most powerful men in the Carolingian Empire! she wanted to shout.
“Well you are. It is a great honor I bestow upon you.”
She bobbed her head to acknowledge his statement, though she did not feel particularly honored, kneeling like a supplicant on this hard, damp stone.
His voice rose louder. “A great honor to you, your family, and your estate. Your home shall become my stronghold for Alamannia, which in turn shall be part of the inheritance for my youngest son. You must help me protect the land for him. It is rightfully his, because I wish it to be so!”
She hoped he did not expect a response this time, and was relieved when he continued talking.
Rochelle tried to pay attention, but she was not informed about politics, nor could she determine how anything in his speech related to Alda. She wondered inanely if he had taken special lessons on projecting his voice to fill this room. He lectured about the greed of his older sons, the fickleness of his subjects, the importance of defending the land in his name. She startled when she heard her name. “I have been wronged, Lady Rochelle. Gravely wronged! Now that I have reclaimed my throne,” he shouted, “I will not be removed from it again! Never again.”
The stone of the floor dug into her knees. Her feet were going to sleep. She glanced at him from under her lashes. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching the crowd, testing their reaction to his speech. This wasn’t about her at all. He was using her interview – if it could be called that – to announce his strategy for holding a region of his empire for his fourth son.
Rochelle dropped her eyes again as he addressed her directly. “You know why I called you here. You will form a union with a warrior I have already chosen. He will train local men, protect and control your estate, and God willing, give you offspring more submissive to his wishes than my own are to mine. You will report to the chapel immediately to sign the betrothal documents.” The thrum of chatter filled the room. And just like that, he dismissed her. Betrothal documents? Protect? Control? Offspring? This is my life, she thought.
As if of its own volition, her head began shaking in the negative. Her body shivered with a sudden chill, yet her underarms and p
alms were wet. She wiped her sweaty hands on her thighs. A most unladylike action but there was no help for it. After all, Louis the Pious was just a man. Perhaps he should be handled like any other man.
“Is there something you wish to say?” the emperor asked with a teeth-clenched softness, more than a little warning in his voice.
“I do not wish to marry,” she said, her voice cracking on the word marry. A hiss of indrawn breath came from her right, though she wasn’t sure if it was Theo or David. A slight buzz filled the room as the repetition of her words passed to its furthest corners. She lifted her chin to stare at him. “And I do not want a war fought on my estate.”
“I do not care what you wish,” he said quietly, his narrow face beginning to mottle with red. Then he shouted, “I do not care what you wish!”
“I am doing just fine on my own,” she hazarded. Good judgment made her drop her gaze again to his feet, feet that began to pace a circle around her, prowling in a way that could only be meant to intimidate. She bristled at the thought, trying to remember that he was her emperor.
“You live on your land by my grace, and if you do not like my plans for it then I will take it!” Louis circled her. Watching his moving feet made her nauseous so she focused instead on the soft brown leather to her right, even if one of those feet tapped an impatient beat. The emperor spoke again. “Your father served mine well, yet loyalty does not necessarily follow generation to generation. You make me wonder where your loyalties lie.”
She was loyal to Alda. She’d never thought much about her loyalties beyond that. The sun rose every morning, she ran Alda, and Louis ran the Empire. It was not something to think about, it just was. Yet the emperor did not want to hear about loyalty to her home. “I am loyal to you,” she said quietly, not knowing what else to say.
“Good. Any more disagreement and I will take your land and throw you in a convent. Insolent chit,” he muttered.