by Anne Herries
She closed her eyes for her head was whirling again, and in truth she felt far from well. It was not long before she drifted into sleep, but soon she began to toss and turn restlessly on the pillows, crying out for Rob in her dream. She was in a dark cold place and she knew that she was dying. If her beloved husband did not come to her soon, she would die.
Rob sat on his horse looking at the stout walls of the castle. He had known it was well defended and he had made his plans accordingly. He would bring up his engines of war, the battering rams and ladders, protected by overhead shields that his men would use to scale the walls, but he knew that in the end he might have to starve Leominster’s people out. He would not have cared for that, it was a practice often used when the fortress proved impregnable—but Melissa was a prisoner in there. If the others starved then she did, too. She might suffer far worse once Leominster knew that she was his wife.
He cursed that he had let her go alone to her chamber the previous night. Had he gone with her, she might have been safe in her chamber at Gifford, waiting for his return. Now he was not certain that he would see her alive again—and even if they both lived after this was finished, would she be the same? He knew the reputation of the man who had her now, and he was in agony for her sake. As Gifford’s prisoner, she had been treated well enough, but now…
Leominster would not take kindly to the idea that the woman he had intended to make his wife had wed another, and if Melissa behaved in her usual proud, stubborn way…Rob did not dare to think of it for he was desperately afraid for her.
He turned to look at Owain. ‘I need a volunteer to take my message to Leominster.’
‘I shall go,’ Owain said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. ‘If he hangs me, so be it—but if he lets me go I shall see what may be learned of her.’
‘No, Owain, I cannot afford to let you go,’ Rob told him with a grim smile. ‘I believe you may do her more good by living than dying, my friend. I shall ask for volunteers from the men—but not you.’
Owain inclined his head, accepting that the man he had followed for Melissa’s sake knew best, though he would willingly have given his life for her if need be.
‘As you wish, sir.’
Rob summoned one of his most trusted officers and told him that he needed a volunteer to take in the message to surrender, and, as he had expected, the man offered to go at once.
‘You know the marquis’s reputation, Rolf,’ he said. ‘He may take his spite out on you.’
‘I go under a flag of truce, sir,’ the soldier said. ‘If he betrays it and I die this day, take my love to Bronwen and see that she does not starve.’
‘You have my word on it,’ Rob said, and clasped hands with him. He handed him the baton, which held the roll of parchment that Henry Tudor had signed, demanding the surrender of the castle. ‘This is your authority. You come from the King of England, who is even now hastening to our aid with his troops.’
Rolf saluted him and turned his horse towards the walls of the castle, followed by the trumpeter who would blow his horn to attract the attention of those who manned the walls.
Rob and his men sat watching; they were out of range of the deadly crossbow or any missiles that might be fired at them by the great slings that had been erected on the battlements, and might be used for balls of flaming pitch once the fighting started.
The trumpeter did his work and men came to the edge of the battlements, looking down and calling out to know what was wanted. Rob’s messenger held up his baton and called out in a loud voice that carried to both sides.
‘I am come in the name of Henry Tudor, King of England by right of descent and conquest. He demands that you surrender to him as your lawful sovereign. If you now lay down your arms and swear an oath of fealty pardon may be granted and you may treat for your lands.’
A man had come to the battlements, looking down at the scene below. Rob could not see his face clearly enough to know him, but from his robes guessed that he was the Marquis of Leominster. This was the moment of decision, the one hope that everything might go well and he would soon be united with Melissa.
Something was happening…As Rob watched he saw the marquis signal to someone and then a bowman appeared and took aim with his crossbow. His intention was clear and a cry of warning left Rob’s lips as he saw the bolt fly. It pierced the helmet of the soldier who sat below on his horse, causing him to pitch forward and fall from his horse.
‘Take my answer back to the upstart Henry Tudor,’ Leominster cried out in a loud voice. ‘I owe no allegiance to him. He takes the crown by force but while I live it shall never rest easily on his head.’
Rob’s expression was grim. He saw that the some of his men had started forward. They had not waited for his order, their intention to recover the body of their officer.
‘God damn him,’ Rob said as they returned, carrying his lifeless form. ‘We shall break down these walls if it takes a week or a year!’
His impatience knew no bounds. If Leominster would strike down a man who carried the white flag of parley and the authority of the King of England, what would he do to the woman who had been meant to be his wife but betrayed him with another? Melissa was Rob’s true wife in every way. Leominster would be offended. He would not consider wedding her now, but would use her as he might any whore. He would do it from anger and from a desire for revenge against Rob.
A great sickness swirled inside Rob, for he knew of Leominster’s reputation. He had ruined more than one woman and killed men as easily as another might swat a fly.
‘Please, God, do not let her be harmed,’ Rob prayed as he gave orders for his friend to be buried with all honour. ‘Let me be in time, I beg you. Let me be in time…’
Chapter Seven
Melissa was awakened by noise in the courtyard outside her window. She pushed herself up against the pillows, realising that her headache had gone. She felt much better and wondered if the wine Naomi had given her the previous night had some healing property. As she considered whether she should get up to investigate what was happening outside, the door of her chamber opened and Naomi entered carrying a pewter jug.
‘I have brought warm water so that you may bathe and dress, my lady,’ she said. ‘I hope that you are feeling better.’
‘Yes, thank you. I believe I may owe that to you.’
Naomi smiled at her. ‘I wished only to serve you, my lady. There was naught to harm, only to heal. My father was a physician and passed on some of his secrets to me.’
‘You have used them well for I did feel truly ill last night,’ Melissa said, and threw back the covers. The dizziness had passed and she was no longer feeling sick. ‘What was the commotion I heard just now?’
Naomi glanced over her shoulder as if she feared to be overheard. ‘I have not dared to look, my lady, but they say that Sir Robert of Melford has come with his army to demand the lord of Leominster’s surrender in the name of the King.’ Naomi held a gown of fine blue wool for her to put on. It was new and obviously provided for her use by the marquis, a wedding gift perhaps. She did not wish to wear it, but it seemed that there was nothing else. Besides, the news had made what she wore seem unimportant.
‘Rob is here? Truly here?’ Melissa’s eyes lit with pleasure for it was what she had longed for. Oh, if only he could be victorious and carry her off to his home, but she knew that it would not be easy. ‘What is the marquis’s reply?’ She sat down on a stool, allowing the woman to dress her hair. Naomi brushed it, twisting it into braids that were brought to the top of her head and covered by an embroidered hood with lappets of gold thread at either side of her face.
‘He will not surrender,’ Naomi said. ‘He has the White Boar as a part of his standard—and it is whispered that he was one of old King Henry’s bastards, though I do not know it for truth. He supports the Earl of Lincoln’s claim to the throne, as do others…’
Melissa nodded, for she knew that her father had chosen his allies well. He would never have supported
Henry Tudor and she did not think the marquis would bend easily.
‘If he will not surrender, what then?’ she asked. ‘How long can the castle be defended?’
Once again, Naomi looked uneasily over her shoulder. ‘I have heard whispers that there is food for no more than a month at most—but…’ She went to the door and looked out, coming back to her mistress. ‘You will not tell anyone what I say, my lady?’
‘If you give me a confidence I shall keep it,’ Melissa promised intrigued by her woman’s manner.
‘I have heard that some of the men do not wish to fight,’ Naomi said. ‘The marquis is not a popular master for he has been harsh and ruthless with those who serve him. It is not certain, but I believe that some of them may rebel against him. They whisper that it is useless for the King will not be denied and then we shall all be traitors.’
Melissa’s pulses raced. ‘If only that were so,’ she said, eyes glowing. ‘If they could somehow force the surrender I know that my husband would be grateful…’
She broke off as the door was suddenly flung open and a man entered. He was tall and heavily built, though not fat. A great hulk of a man, his skin had a red mottled appearance and his beard was black as was his hair that hung almost to his shoulders. He was wearing a long gown of crimson velvet over a short black tunic and hose, his shoes of soft leather with buckles of silver, a flat cap of black velvet on his head. There was no doubt in Melissa’s mind as she looked at him that this was the man she was supposed to have wed.
‘Out, woman,’ he said to Naomi, who gave her mistress a scared glance and then fled, clearly terrified.
Melissa had been sitting on a stool while Naomi brushed her hair. She rose to her feet, assuming the haughty air that Rob had found so amusing, but her eyes were cold, disdainful and did not hold the warmth that they had for her husband.
‘By what right do you enter my room, sir?’ she demanded.
‘You are my promised wife,’ Leominster said, his thick lips curling in a sneer as he looked at her. She was a little thin for his taste; he preferred women with more flesh than this proud beauty, but she would do well enough as the mother of his sons. He had spawned three already and killed as many wives, but women were easily come by. ‘And this is my fortress. I go where I wish and none may deny me.’
‘I am not your wife,’ Melissa said. ‘The ceremony was abandoned and Lord Whitbread is dead. The contract is void and I am now Henry Tudor’s ward.’
‘That upstart who claims the throne of England?’ Leominster snarled. His eyes were slitted and angry, mouth hard. ‘I swear I have as much right as he, though I would claim it for Lincoln not myself. I have no taste for kingship. I live as master of my own manors and here I am as powerful as any king.’
‘I daresay you may rule your own people,’ Melissa said, and her expression was defiant, though her stomach was tying itself in knots. ‘But you do not rule me, sir. I am not your wife and shall never be so. Indeed, I cannot for I am married to Robert of Melford—and all I own is his by right. While he lives, I can never be your wife.’
‘You lie!’ The marquis moved towards her like a snarling beast, grabbing hold of her by the top of her arms and shaking her. His fingers dug deep into the tender flesh and made her wince, but she gazed up into his enraged face, proud and still unrepentant. ‘Tell me the truth, woman, or it shall be the worse for you!’
‘I tell you nothing but the truth,’ Melissa said. ‘My fortune is in Henry Tudor’s power to give or withhold—and my husband is Robert of Melford. We were wed more than two weeks since…’ She gasped as he shook her, half lifting her from the ground in his fury and then throwing her back so that she fell to the ground and for a moment lay looking up at him. ‘You can kill me if you wish, but it will not change the truth. I am the wife of another.’
‘You would not be the first wife I had made forget her husband,’ Leominster said with an ugly sneer. ‘If I had the time I would teach you manners for you are a proud bitch. You are still of use to me. There is a chance that Henry will lose the crown as easily as he gained it, so I shall allow you to live for the moment. I would have taken you as my wife, but since you have given yourself to my enemy I shall have to think of some other use for you. Perhaps you may amuse my men…’
Melissa rose to her feet. Inwardly, she was feeling sick with fear for his reputation as a monster had not lied, but she would not allow him to see that he had frightened her.
‘You may not have long to live, sir,’ she said angrily. ‘My husband is at the gates and he will come for me whether you defy him or not.’
‘Aye, and so he may,’ Leominster said, and the smile in his eyes made her stomach clench. ‘But he will not find you. Had you been less proud, lady, I might have spared you—but you need to be humbled. I have no time to tame you for the moment, but I know of something that will quench the fire.’
He turned and departed from the room, leaving Melissa to stare after him. What did he mean? She felt cold all over and the dream that had haunted her came back as two soldiers entered the room. They hardly looked at her as they took hold of her arms.
‘What are you doing? Take your hands from me! I demand that you release me at once. I am the daughter of Lord Whitbread and the wife of Sir Robert of Melford. You will be punished for what you do.’
‘And dead if we disobey him,’ one of the men said harshly. ‘I beg your pardon, lady. What he plans for you is wicked and I do not like to do it, but I have no choice.’
Melissa struggled against them, fighting as they dragged her from the chamber. Naomi saw them and came running, her face pale.
‘Geoffrey of Brampton,’ she cried, ‘what do you think you are doing to my lady? If you harm her you will answer to me.’
‘’Tis none of my doing, woman,’ the man said. ‘He has ordered us to shut her in the oubliette and we must obey him.’
Naomi gave a scream of despair. ‘No, not there,’ she cried. ‘I beg you, Geoffrey, for the love you bear me—not there. She will die in that place. No one can survive it for long.’
‘It is what he has ordered,’ the other man said. ‘If we disobey we shall hang from the battlements before the day is out.’
Naomi clutched at Melissa, trying to drag her away from the men, but the one who had just spoken hit her and she fell back, stumbling to her knees and screaming as they dragged Melissa away.
‘Have pity for my lady. In God’s name do not shut her in that terrible place.’
Melissa struggled as they took her down the stairs. She managed to break free for a moment and ran a few steps but she was caught and one of the men knocked her down. She hit her head against a stone balustrade, falling into the darkness as the man swept her up, carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.
‘Naomi is right,’ Geoffrey said. ‘We should not be doing this, Jack.’
‘I do my duty while he rules here,’ Jack muttered. ‘If your stomach is too weak for it, leave it to me. I have no mind to hang for her sake.’
Geoffrey nodded. He did not wish to hang, either, and might not have given the lady’s fate another thought if he had not had hopes that Naomi would wed him.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said. ‘But for goodness’ sake at least give her a blanket, some food and water.’
‘You do it if you want to,’ Jack said. ‘But she’ll die anyway, unless he changes his mind. Once she is there it would take a clever man to find her without help.’
‘Yes…’ Geoffrey shuddered for the oubliette was below ground, hidden by a secret door and men had died there many times before. ‘Poor lady. I pray God that something happens before it is too late.’
Rob greeted the messenger eagerly. He had sent out his scurryers to see if there was any sign of Henry’s reinforcements, because it might be best to wait for them before making the first attack on the castle. Its walls were stout and defended on one side by sheer cliff that towered above the sea-foamed rocks below; it would not fall easily.
‘What news?’ he asked as the man dismounted. ‘Have you seen anything of the King’s men?’
‘No, sir,’ the man said, ‘but at the fork I rode to the right and John rode left. He may have better luck.’
‘Thank you,’ Rob said. ‘Rest and eat for we shall attack within the hour.’
He dare not wait too long for her sake! He strode away, giving orders to various officers as the preparations for the first assault began. Owain came up to him as he was speaking to the solider in charge of the battering ram.
‘You do not wait for the King’s men?’
Rob shook his head, his eyes narrowed, expression harsh. ‘Every hour that we delay places her in more danger, Owain. If he has a battle on his hands he will not have time to think of her.’
Owain inclined his head, understanding Rob’s impatience. ‘There is news from the castle. One of the serving men slipped out through a side gate and came to us, asking for sanctuary. I cannot vouch for the veracity of his story, but the fellow says that there is a strong feeling against their lord amongst the men. Many of them are discontent with his service. They wished to surrender and are murmuring of rebellion.’
‘What are you saying?’ Rob asked.
‘Perhaps it is not necessary to attack at once. It might be that a siege of some days would bring about a mutiny and surrender.’
‘You think that I should wait?’
‘It is your choice,’ Owain said. ‘I know you cannot bear to think of her at that monster’s mercy—but suppose he took his revenge by killing her when you attack? If you give him a little rope he may yet hang himself.’
‘What do you suggest I do?’ Rob suppressed his impatience, knowing that his friend was speaking the truth.