Castle of Dreams

by Speer, Flora

  “I don’t need your advice,” Lionel shouted at her. “Stupid woman!” And he stormed out of the room.

  “Surely,” Guy said to Isabel, “You do not approve of the…the … ah … friendship, between Lionel and King William?”

  “No, of course not.” Isabel met Guy’s blue eyes, so like Lionel’s yet so innocent and troubled in their expression. “I don’t like it at all, Guy, but what can I do? Lionel behaves as he pleases.” To her mortified astonishment, large tears began to run down her cheeks. She was so accustomed to hiding her emotions that she did not know what to do at first, but her confusion lasted only a moment or two. She had learned during her months at court to think quickly and to take advantage of every opportunity, and she could not help noticing Guy’s distressed reaction to her tears.

  “Please don’t cry,” he begged. “I didn’t mean to pain you. Is there anything I can do to help you, Isabel?”

  “There is nothing anyone can do. He is angry at the king for not paying more attention to him, but he cannot express his rage to William so he spends it on me. Any day now I will say or do something to make him so furious he will banish me to Adderbury to make himself feel better. Then what will become of me?” Pleased at the effect her tears were having on the young man, Isabel blinked, letting a few more spill over her lids and down her face while she tried to look suitably mournful.

  “Adderbury is not so bad,” Guy said. “I rather liked growing up there.”

  “It is not the royal court,” Isabel sniffed. She finally wiped away the remaining tears. As she looked at Guy, it occurred to her that there was something he could do for her, but if she told him what it was, he would run from her in horror, and if Lionel ever found out it would not mean just banishment from court but her death.

  “Whatever needs to be done,” Isabel said, “I will have to do alone.”

  Chapter 6

  Lionel was very drunk. He had been working at it since noon and Guy was worried about him. Lionel in his cups tended toward indiscreet speech. Near midnight Guy half-dragged, half-carried his brother to Isabel’s room.

  “He was saying the most awful things.” Guy dumped the nearly unconscious man onto Isabel’s bed and began pulling off his shoes. “Lionel has made a powerful enemy tonight. He called Ralph Flambard a mincing caitiff. He would have insulted the king next, so I got him away from the banquet hall and brought him here. I thought if he were in your bedroom, even if he did keep talking that way, only you would hear him.”

  “That was wise of you, Guy.” Isabel stared at him, her deep blue eyes wide. “I think it would be a good idea for you to sleep in the anteroom tonight. I’ll send the other servants away, and then we can be absolutely certain no one else will hear any raving he may do. You and I are trustworthy.”

  “I suppose you are right. I am free of my duties to the king until morning.” Guy looked down at the inert mass that was Lionel. “I wish he wouldn’t drink so much. Is there anything else I can do for him?”

  “Yes, help me to take his clothes off.”

  “All of them?”

  “Every stitch. Then we’ll put him between the covers. He’ll be more comfortable that way.”

  They got Lionel undressed and into the bed. Agnes fussed around them, wringing her hands and getting in the way.

  “Go down to the women’s quarters and stay there, Isabel ordered. “I won’t need you until morning.”

  “But, my lady, I can’t leave you alone.”

  “I will be with my husband,” Isabel said. “And Guy will be here to keep watch for us.”

  After Lionel was settled, Isabel brought Guy a blanket and a pillow.

  “You should be comfortable here by the fire,” she told him.

  “It will be strange, sleeping by myself. I’m usually with all the other pages,” Guy said.

  “Good night. And thank you.” Isabel kissed him lightly on the cheek and went into her bedroom.

  Guy stretched out before the fire. The embers were glowing red, the only light in the room. He was glad to be alone. He was much troubled of late, not only by his older brother’s irrational behavior but by the strange dreams that tormented him,

  For the first time in his life, Guy had fallen madly into love, with Kate, one of the kitchen wenches, a buxom, red-haired lass of eighteen. To make matters worse, he had accidentally seen her in the bathhouse one day, catching a glimpse of smooth, well-rounded white thighs and haunches and of a tantalizing triangle of red hair, and he could not get: her out of his mind. He knew it was sinful but he could not stop thinking of her. Every night he dreamed of her, of her creamy flesh and that alluring patch of hair. Guy had never had a woman, and sometimes he doubted that he ever would. He had tried desperately to forget Kate, knowing the attachment was unsuitable. Perhaps tonight, alone in a strange place, with his brother and sister-in-law just a few steps away, the spell would be broken and he at last would sleep soundly and awaken refreshed and unashamed.

  His mind wandered as he stared at the dying embers in the fireplace. His eyelids drooped, and he drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.

  She came to him in the darkest part of the night. The fire had gone out completely and he could see nothing, but he knew it was Kate because her skin was as smooth and soft to the touch as he had imagined it would be. He had been awakened by someone pulling at his hose, unfastening them to lay his masculinity bare, and when he put up protesting hands he felt smooth female flesh. At the same moment a mouth had fastened itself on his, stifling his astonished outcry. His youthful body responded instantaneously, coming alive with a great, manly surge under her searching fingers. He felt a hesitation, as though she was surprised at what she had done to him.

  He wanted to show her he was not unskilled in such matters, so he thrust his tongue into her mouth, a trick one of his friends had told him about, and Kate’s reaction was all his friend had promised it would be. She gasped aloud, then squirmed closer to him, opening her own mouth wider and touching his tongue with hers, while all the time her fingers were stroking his manhood until he thought he would burst. He knew he could not wait. It must be now, this very instant. He rolled over, taking her with him, and her fingers guided him to the place where he wanted to go. Blinding lights flashed before his eyes as the world exploded. He would have cried out but she held his mouth to hers, her hands now at his head, and so, except for a few muffled groans, they made no sound.

  He could not believe it was done so quickly. His hand brushed a small, rounded breast, and stayed there, feeling a point rising from its center in response to his touch. He wished the fire were not out. He wanted to see her face, with the grey eyes and the freckles, and her funny pointed chin.

  “Dear Kate,” he whispered, and heard a chuckle. “Do you love me too? I thought you did, though you would not say it.”

  For answer, she groaned and kissed him again and put her tongue in his mouth, and he realized he had been rubbing her breast, on and on, and that she was writhing beneath his touch. Odd, how small her breasts felt in the dark. She grabbed at him with both hands. He had not imagined it was possible to do it again so soon after the first time, but there was no question he could, and this time it was different, for she was twisting and pushing against him and crying out softly as if she no longer cared if they awakened Lionel and Isabel, and he sensed that this time the explosion was happening to her, too. It was taking him longer than before and it felt wonderful. It went on and on … Never in his life known such hot, sweet bliss.

  He awakened in the grey dawn and thought it had been a dream until he pushed aside the blanket and saw himself exposed, his hose all undone. For a ghastly moment Guy thought he had done this to himself while he slept, before he remembered Kate and realized what must have happened. Kate had seen him taking Lionel from the banquet hall, that was it, and she had followed them. She must have seen Agnes depart from Isabel’s chambers and guessed that he would be alone, guarding his brother’s door, and she, dear, beloved Kate, had waited until
everyone was asleep and then had come to him to give him the marvelous gift of her love for one night.

  He could not understand why, when he found her bending over the kitchen fire later that morning and went up to her and put his arms around her, she pushed him away and slapped him and called him a silly boy. Perhaps, he mused afterward, she wanted to be discreet, to save her reputation. He did not think she regretted the episode, for he believed she had enjoyed it as much as he had. He whistled happily as he went about his page’s duties that day, for here he was, Guy fitz Lionel of Adderbury, almost fifteen years old, and a man at last.

  Chapter 7

  Lionel opened bleary, red-rimmed eyes, and after a few moments of trying to focus them, glared at his wife.

  “What the devil are you doing in my bed?” he demanded.

  “It is my bed, my lord.” Isabel glared right back at him, looking as fierce as she possibly could. “Your brother brought you here last night out of concern that you would ruin yourself in a drunken rage at the king.”

  “Guy did that?” Lionel lay back against the pillows to ease his aching head. “He’s a good lad.”

  “That may be, but I am not so pleased he brought you here.” Isabel, who was truly upset, blinked hard, letting two tears fall from her lovely eyes.

  “What’s this?” Lionel stared at her. “My Lady Ice, weeping? Are you so afraid I’ll ruin us both with the king?”

  “No, not that.” Isabel pressed her lips together to stop their trembling, then plunged on. “I know it is your right, my lord, and I know you had been drinking heavily.”

  “Woman, what are you talking about?” Lionel sat up, shaking his head carefully, as if to shake his wits into order.

  “You.” Isabel swallowed hard and looked straight into his eyes. “You asserted your husbandly rights over me, my lord.”

  “I? Never!”

  “Well, you did it once before, and though you said it would never happen again, it did, last night.”

  “It did?” Lionel looked at her with a blank expression on his face.

  “I assume it was because you were drunk. And angry. You were very rough about it.”

  “I don’t remember a thing.” Lionel put his forehead between his hands, holding his head steady. “Get me some wine before my head falls off.”

  Isabel got out of bed and went to the table. She picked up a jug of wine and a goblet and began to pour. She knew Lionel was staring at her, for she had not a stitch on.

  “Where’s your nightrobe?” he demanded.

  “You ordered me to take it off last night.”

  “Well, put something on now. .You’re disgusting!”

  “Yes, my lord.” It was cold in the bedchamber, so she wrapped herself in a woolen robe and came to stand at his side of the bed.

  “It’s all right, my lord. I won’t tell anyone about this.” It occurred to her that it was an odd thing to be worrying about, a man sleeping with his lawful wife, but this jealous king’s court operated by its own peculiar rules. She sighed, thinking how simple everything had been when she had been an innocent girl in Brittany, dreaming of a handsome knight for her husband. In a wave of unaccustomed tenderness, she reached forward and brushed a lock of burnished golden hair off Lionel’s forehead. He reared backward, nearly spilling wine out of the goblet she had given him.

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to upset you further when you have so much on your mind just now, but I thought it best to tell you at once. One never knows what the result will be. An heir for Adderbury, perhaps.” Her voice held a note of faint hope.

  “Yes.” Lionel stared into his wine. “I’m glad you told me. You have always been honest with me, Isabel. You are the only honest woman I have ever known. If only my mother had been like you.”

  “I have tried to be the kind of wife you want, my lord,” Isabel said, her eyes lowered.

  “You have done your best, though I am not the husband you deserved to be given.” Unexpectedly, he caught her hand and held it. “Do they mock you much, those gossiping ladies who adorn the court, because you have no child?”

  “Sometimes. I pay them no heed.” She had not known he was aware of the unkind way she was often treated. “I am the lady of Adderbury. What others say matters nothing to me.”

  “Brave Isabel.” He kissed her hand lightly, then let it go. He rose, reaching for his clothes, which Guy had folded neatly and laid on a low wooden chest the night before.

  “I would wish I had given you a child last night,” Lionel said, pulling on his linen undershirt, “but I doubt a man such as myself could get a healthy child, and even if I did, what sort of creature would it grow up to be?”

  She went to him, to help him fasten his hose, her fingers suddenly trembling and unable to hold the laces. She put her arms around his waist instead and laid her head on his chest.

  “Don’t.” He pushed her aside, not roughly, but in firm dismissal.

  “My lady?” Agnes appeared at the bedroom door. “Good morning, my lord. Your brother Guy has just left. He asked me to tell you he stayed all night in the anteroom. He has gone to the kitchen to get something to eat before he must attend the king. What dress will you wear today, my lady?”

  “Put on your new red gown,” Lionel said, “and the ruby necklace I gave you last Christmas, and come down to the king’s banquet at noon. And do be especially pleasant to the king.”

  There was no war with Scotland after all. Instead, a treaty, which few expected to last long, was concluded with King Malcolm, who then took his soldiers back across the border. Meanwhile, Duke Robert, having no other fighting to do once the war was cancelled, soon quarreled again with his equally bellicose brother, the king, and returned to Normandy just before Christmas. Within a few days of Robert’s departure Lionel had resumed his former close relationship with William, and spent that Christmastide in high good humor, blithely ignoring the increasing irritation of Ralph Flambard, the king’s other close friend. Isabel was soon weighted down with new jewels and had several gowns made from some of the many lengths of fine silk William had given Lionel.

  “And lands,” Lionel exulted. “New honors. William is making up for all the embarrassment he caused me in the last few months. I’ve seen to that. No one pleases him as I do.”

  Isabel said nothing to this. She did not want to know exactly how Lionel pleased the king. She had come to detest the tall, brassy-haired ruler, who flattered her until she felt ill with his falseness, and often made her sit beside him at his day-long banquets. On those occasions he drank himself into sodden quarrelsomeness, and all the while his hard blue eyes regarded her with cold malice, knowing she could not leave her place at table until he gave her permission. She was sure King William disliked her as much as she disliked him. She could have forgiven him his scandalous private life, even though that life included her husband on the most intimate terms, if only he had been a good king. But he was not.

  William Rufus believed that England was his own private preserve. All that was in it, even revenues rightly belonging to the Church, and all of the people who inhabited England were, in William’s eyes, his personal property, to do with as he wished.

  Isabel knew taxes had been raised to ridiculously high levels, for even Lionel was not exempt from them. He had complained privately to her that the wealth of Adderbury as well as his other holdings was being drained away to support William’s opulent way of life. Other noblemen were enduring the same strains.

  William was aided in his exactions by his clever henchman, Ralph Flambard, whom Lionel loathed and who continually tried to undermine Lionel’s relationship with the king. Ralph had devised a plan whereby upon each nobleman’s death his lands were inherited by the king and had to bought back from William by the dead man’s heirs. Furthermore, widows, daughters, and minor sons became wards of the king, who not only managed their properties for them, taking all the revenues for himself, but could sell off heirs in marriages he arra
nged, thus increasing the crown’s income even more.

  “Do you mean, if you should die, I would belong to King William and could not return to my father in Brittany?” Isabel exclaimed when Lionel told her of William’s latest proclamation.

  “Exactly.”

  “And if we had a child?”

  “William would have the marrying of the heir,” Lionel said. His eyes narrowed, searching her face. “What is it, Isabel?”

  “Nothing, my lord. I am just so shocked to hear this news. Will not the barons complain?”

  “They may complain all they want, it will not change William’s mind. He does whatever he pleases, which is to say, whatever Ralph Flambard pleases, and we must accept all because we have given William our sacred oaths of allegiance.”

  “I am afraid, my lord.” It was a momentary loss of nerve, no more, but Lionel looked at her in surprise.

  “I am amazed to hear you of all people say that. I thought you had no fear at all. I have my eyes set on great power, Isabel. One day, I will be the second gentleman of the land, and you the first lady, since William will never marry.”

  “Surely you cannot hope to surpass the marcher lords in strength?” The earls of Hereford, Shrewsbury, and Chester held huge honors along the border between Wales and England and were the mightiest lords in the kingdom. Even William, with his increased taxes, had not been able to do more than nibble away at the edges of their wealth and power.

  “Within the next year,” Lionel said, “I will convince William to reveal the plan that I have suggested and that he is now considering, to conquer all of Wales. And there, Isabel, I shall carve out my own domain, more vast than that of any marcher lord. My reward for my subservience to William will be all of Wales. I will be given the title of earl, but I shall be a prince in Wales before I am done.”