The Damsel's Defiance

by Meriel Fuller

  ‘Come, my lady. Allow me to escort you.’

  Emmeline turned to see the smiling profile of Guillame at her side. Despite having at least thirty winters, his features retained the rounded plumpness of someone far younger. Taking her arm courteously, he led her gracefully through the jumbled mêleé to help her into an empty place at the top table. Sitting beside her, he helped her to a choice selection of roasted meats, vegetables and poured wine into her goblet.

  ‘My thanks, Guillame.’ She turned to him gratefully.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he replied, seriously. ‘Remember, because of you, we are safe in England and not at the bottom of the sea.’

  ‘Only just. It was a miracle that no one was killed when the boat came to shore.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, mam’selle. We only reached the shore because we were able to steer properly with the repaired sail. You did well.’ His voice was full of admiration.

  Emmeline’s stomach growled. Hearing it, Guillame smiled. ‘You must eat, mam’selle.’ The delicious scent of roast chicken tantalised her nostrils and she tucked in with relish, watching as the trestle tables were pushed to the sides of the hall below them.

  ‘Why are they doing that?’ She whispered to Guillame, who had just started his fourth chicken leg.

  Guillame looked at her in amazement, the succulent meat poised en route to his mouth. ‘Why, now they have finished their meal, they will dance, my lady. We must have some entertainment on these long winter nights.’

  As if on cue, the musicians in one corner, on lute, lyre and harp, struck up with a farandole. The sweet tempo of the delicate music filled the hall, enthusing everyone with a sense of occasion, of celebration. Their lord and master was home! Lord Talvas had returned! With delight, the peasants and knights milled about, trying to organise themselves for the first dance. Emmeline watched the smiling faces below, linking hands, forming a long chain that began to weave back and forth across the floor in time to the complicated rhythm of the music. So this is what life at a lord’s castle is like, she thought. Full of music and light and laughter and very different from the quiet, humble life she had lived with her mother; different from the austere, restricted life she had led with Giffard. Her feet tapped under the table to the beat of the music as she followed the dancing chain with her eyes. Soon, she became confused as the leader, a jovial man with a florid, sweaty face began to duck in and out of the connected arms of the chain, drawing the rest of the line with him.

  ‘’Tis a mystery to me, this dancing.’ She smiled at Guillame.

  He appeared puzzled. ‘But you have danced before, my lady.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

  Emmeline shook her head. ‘Nay, I’ve never had the—’ But her words were drowned out as the crowd began to roar. As the line twisted and turned the chant rose higher and higher above the sound of the music. ‘Talvas! Talvas!’ Emmeline looked along the length of the table toward Talvas. Her view was blocked by the Empress Maud sitting in a hefty oak chair.

  ‘Surely they don’t expect him to dance!’ She couldn’t imagine Talvas ever performing such a frivolous activity.

  ‘You’d be surprised, my lady.’ Guillame answered. He licked his lips free from the grease of the chicken, before using his eating knife to stab a piece of pork from a serving platter.

  A great roar emerged as Talvas stood up, magnificent in a green and gold tunic that fitted the breadth of his wide shoulders like a second skin. The bleached linen of his chemise contrasted strongly with his tanned neck and face; the dark, upward slash of his brow lending him a fiendish air. And then he was at Emmeline’s side, his supple leather braies clinging to his brawny thighs, as he held out his hand to her. She stared at him aghast. Guillame nudged her. ‘Now is your chance to try, my lady,’ his ale-laced breath whispered in her ear.

  ‘I cannot,’ she whispered, eyeing Talvas with dismay. She would trip and stumble across the floor, embarrass him with her disability. The stiffness in her ankle would not allow her to perform the swift, graceful movements that a farandole demanded.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ Talvas said fiercely. The gleaming blue of his eyes challenged her. ‘Do not refuse me. The people wish to honour you for bringing me home safely.’ He lowered his voice, so only she could hear the smooth velvet of his tone. ‘I wish to honour you.’

  Her heart flipped with untrammelled joy. ‘I…er…Talvas, my leg…?’ Huge green eyes appealed to his, tried to make him understand.

  He smiled, the light of comprehension already in his eyes. ‘I had not forgotten, mistress.’ In two strides he stood beside her, grasping her hand and pulling her upright. The warmth of his breath tickled her ear. ‘And I will not let you fall.’

  The sea of faces went wild as Talvas led her carefully down the steps to the lower level of the great hall, people cheering and clapping, parting respectfully before them as the music struck up once more.

  ‘Just follow me.’ Talvas looked down at her, a fleeting smile of reassurance. He held her left hand and a leering, pock-marked knight held on to her right with a sweaty grip. Emmeline mirrored Talvas’s movements with a grim determination, taking little steps round and round, in and out of the other dancers. As her step faltered with her weak leg, Talvas yanked her back up, so swiftly and assuredly that no one noticed. He seemed to sense the moment before she would stumble, the power of his body scooping her round as if she were weightless. Slowly, her confidence began to grow. He would not let her fall! The tense lines of concentration lifted from her face; her lips curved into a tentative smile. Emmeline relaxed into the sweet lilting melody, turning and turning into the rhythms of the music. The hall became a whirligig of colours, a sea of vibrant, laughing faces, her only constant, the assured steady pressure of Talvas’s hand, and occasional glimpse of his lean, angular features as she swept in his wake. The music sang into her veins as the crowd turned in a circle around them as they danced as a pair; her fingers linked with his as he laid an arm across the back of her shoulders, her left arm stretched across the flat muscle of his stomach to hold his left hand. She ceased to dwell on the intimacy of the situation, releasing herself to the vibrant chords of the music. After tomorrow, they would never see each other again.

  He swung her around once more; her feet lifted in a swirl of brilliant green hem-line to reveal her shapely calves encased in pale silken hose, her small feet clad in borrowed shoes made from the finest leather. With his arm locked around her waist, and hers around his shoulders, his devilish face was merely inches from her own. She laughed with the joy of the dance, the effervescent vibrancy that coursed through her veins, that made her feel alive. He smiled back, a dark lock of hair falling boyishly across his forehead, unable to resist the sweetness of her expression. Locked into each other’s glances, neither realised that the music had ceased.

  A deathly hush fell.

  Maud had risen to her feet, her face a mask of unbridled fury, her body shaking with anger. ‘How could you do this to me!’ She screeched down from the top table. Fury screwed up her mouth as she spat the words out, pointing in condemnation toward Talvas. The long, trailing end of her sleeve swept across the table in the wake of her savage gesture, knocking over a goblet of wine. The liquid spattered and soaked into the white linen tablecloth. A peasant woman tittered nervously into the silence, before hurriedly smothering the sound with one hand over her mouth.

  Talvas set Emmeline on her feet, his movements controlled and deliberate, one hand still in hers. He quirked one eyebrow in question toward the Empress, saying nothing, as if waiting for the Empress’s tirade to run its course.

  ‘You have betrayed me, you cur! You villainous beast!’ Maud flapped a single sheet of parchment at him, a gob of red sealing wax dragging at the bottom end. The young lad at her side appeared horrified by Maud’s reaction to the message he had delivered. He shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his face and cloak splattered with mud.

  ‘Mayhap you should tell me what I have don
e to offend you so, my lady,’ Talvas suggested in an unruffled tone. Despite his composed demeanour, the relaxed hold on her fingers, Emmeline sensed a winding spiral of tension mounting within him. The set of his shoulders straightened imperceptibly, his stance altered with a subtle movement—he prepared himself for a possible onslaught. An unbecoming puce colour flooded Maud’s face; she sat down abruptly as if her rage had robbed her of the power of speech. Earl Robert stepped forward.

  ‘Stephen was crowned King of England this morning,’ he explained, solemnly. A tiny sound, an expulsion of anger, emerged from Maud’s lips. ‘Your own brother-in-law, Talvas.’

  ‘I know who he is,’ Talvas replied, his tone level.

  ‘He has stolen the crown from me,’ Maud announced. ‘Robert sent this message to the Abbott at Sherborne, asking him to attend my coronation at Winchester, and this is the news we have back! I will not have it!’ She thumped the parchment that lay discarded on the table, like a spoilt child.

  ‘’Tis unfortunate, my lady,’ Talvas replied.

  ‘Unfortunate for you, my lord.’ The Empress rounded on him. ‘How did Stephen know that Henry was dead?’ A gasp rose amongst the assembled crowd as individuals turned to each other in astonishment. Of course, thought Emmeline, the King’s death had been kept a secret! The Empress continued. ‘How could Stephen have known?’ Her eyes narrowed to vicious slits. ‘Your only sister, Matilda, is married to Stephen. You must have sent a message, when I specifically stated that no one was to know! That throne is rightfully mine, and I intend to have it. But first I need to know who is on my side, and you, my lord Talvas, are most definitely a traitor. Guards, seize him!’

  The command rang out across the room. No one moved. Incomprehension crossed Maud’s face; it was unusual for her orders not to be immediately followed.

  ‘My soldiers are loyal to me, my lady, and no one else,’ Talvas explained, his voice holding a rich seam of authority. ‘And you are mistaken in your wild assumption that I sent a message to Matilda. I do not, and never have, meddled in matters of the crown.’

  ‘Liar!’ Maud snarled, rudely. ‘I’ll have you run out of this castle, even if I have to do it myself.’

  In two great strides, a blur of green and gold, Talvas reached the edge of the platform; in one powerful jump he stood over the Empress’s carved oak chair. He towered over her short, portly form; Maud had to tilt her head back to look up at him.

  Mild irritation laced Talvas’s tone. ‘May I remind you, my lady, that this is my castle and these are my people. You have no authority in this place.’ A ripple of undisguised excitement flowed through the crowd. ‘With respect, I suggest that you leave, since it is you who has decided that I am your enemy.’

  In the dark corner of the hall, something moved. Emmeline frowned. Was someone hiding there? She caught the gleam of a buckle, the vague outline of a shadowy form, and began to move forward instinctively, trying to discern the shape in the corner. Was Talvas in danger? His warning rang in her ears; Maud was strong-minded, but she was also sly, and would stop at nothing to rule England and Normandy.

  Maud stood up, poking Talvas in the chest. ‘Listen to me. I will be Queen. And you will do as I say. I am content to use your castle for my own purpose; I will gather my forces here and march on Winchester at the earliest opportunity. That crown will be mine!’

  ‘Then you must fight me for it.’

  The Empress slumped back in her chair once more, as if exhausted with the whole process and raised her right hand to her half-brother who stood on her other side. ‘Robert, deal with him.’

  Talvas’s hand moved to the jewelled hilt of his sword as Robert stepped forward, holding both his hands up in a gesture of peace. At the same time, a great hulking oaf stepped out from the shadows.

  Emmeline’s heart leapt into her mouth. Having moved silently over to the steps up to the dais, she spotted the threat first. ‘Talvas, watch your back!’ She yelled over to him, as the lout raised his mace. Talvas whipped his head round at the sound of her voice, momentarily disconcerted, then ducked. The mace hit the back of his skull with a glancing blow. His lean form pitched to the side, crumpled to the ground. Emmeline tried to reach him, but her way was blocked by Talvas’s attacker.

  The hall was silent. Nobody moved.

  ‘What have you done?’ Emmeline whispered accusingly to Maud, pushing against two of the Queen’s soldiers who prevented her from mounting the dais.

  ‘Your concern for the man is touching, my dear—’ Maud’s eyes looked blank ‘—but I’d be careful about showing too much affection for such a traitor, or you might be joining him in the dungeon.’ Maud turned to her half-brother. ‘Have him carried below, Robert,’ She commanded, ‘and clear this ogling lot out of here. We have a country to win back.’

  Emmeline paced the width of her chamber, the delicate embroidery edging the bottom of her linen chemise catching the light from the fire as she walked, and turned on the tip of her toes to tread the length of the room once more. In the confusion below—Talvas carried away senseless, the amassed crowd quickly dispersing lest they should be the Empress’s next victim—she had managed to slip away, praying that with their current concerns the Empress and the Earl would forget her very existence. But she needed to go! To leave this god-forsaken place!

  Yet the image of Talvas being carried away, his body limp, repeatedly shuttled into her mind. Unconscious, it had taken three men, including the hulk who hit him over the head, to lug him away. Blood had dripped from the gash in his head, large spots staining the floorboards. Emmeline stopped by the window embrasure, staring out over the moon-soaked land. What should she do? Every instinct told her to leave this place but…but for one compelling reason to stay. If no one attended to Talvas’s wound, he would surely bleed to death! She could not let that happen. Despite his rough, overbearing ways, he had shown her kindness, more than kindness. She closed her eyes at the memory of his lean form pressed against her own, his lips upon hers in a fervent, heady kiss. It was if his soul had reached out and twined with hers, tangled so intricately that it had become impossible to separate the strands. She took a huge, shuddering breath, realisation coursing over her with astounding clarity. He would not die! She had to reach him and quickly! Pulling her bliaut carelessly over her chemise, leaving the side lacings trailing, she wrenched open her chamber door.

  Talvas stood before her.

  She blinked in surprise, then stretched her fingers out, as if he were an apparition.

  Talvas grinned at her stunned reaction, putting one finger to his lips, warning her to be quiet. He moved silently into the bedchamber, setting the door quietly back into its thick, oak frame. The iron latch slid back into place with a small click.

  ‘Aye, it’s me, mistress.’ His low, husky tone curled around her.

  ‘But how…?’ Emmeline wrapped her arms about her, defensive in her concern for him, unwilling to show the relief that coursed in her veins.

  His teeth gleamed white in the dimness of the room. ‘A secret passageway leads from the dungeons. It is well hidden.’ He chuckled. ‘That giant still thinks I’m in there. Now, where were you going?’

  Going? She frowned.

  ‘You opened the chamber door, my lady,’ he prompted. ‘Where were you going, so late at night?’

  ‘I…er…well, I couldn’t let you bleed to death,’ she said, trying to add an element of brusqueness to her tone. ‘I was coming to see if you were recovered.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have let you anywhere near me,’ he replied. ‘But I’m gratified to know that you care.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ She flung back churlishly, unwilling to reveal her true feelings for him. ‘But any decent human being would have made sure that you didn’t bleed to death.’

  ‘Which was Maud’s intention, of that I’m certain,’ he returned drily. He put his fingers up to the back of his head, grimacing. ‘That man must have put his body weight against the blow, although your warning deflected the full force
of it. For that I thank you.’

  ‘Let me look,’ she offered. ‘It may need stitches.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nay, no time. Guillame saddles the horses as we speak. I must away to my sister and her husband in Winchester. Maud is in a dangerous mood; there’s no predicting what she may do. I must get to them before she does.’

  ‘You’ll be no help to your sister if you fall ill from an untreated wound,’ Emmeline admonished. ‘I can at least clean it, if you let me look.’ She moved to gather up a linen towel and jug of water from the elm chest in the corner. ‘Come and sit by the fire, so I can see the wound in more light.’

  She noted the exhaustion that etched his roughly hewn face, all shadowed angles in the firelight, as he came forward and lowered his large frame onto a stool before the flames. Resting his elbows onto his wide-slung knees, he leaned forward, rubbing the flats of his palms over his face.

  Emmeline moved to stand behind him, the thick, vigorous strands of his raven hair just inches from her breast. Against the sweet smell of the apple branches burning in the grate, she caught the musky aroma of him, a distinctive smell laced with the salt of the sea. Raising her fingertips to the back of his head, she gently parted the blood-clotted hair, biting her lip at the wide, seeping gash that she found. Lifting the wetted cloth, she began to clean the blood away from the wound, her fingers working methodically downwards. The softness of his hair brushed against the backs of her hands, sending a frisson of awareness to the very core of her.

  ‘It’s finished,’ she announced finally, exhaling slowly. Her fingertips tingled with the feel of him. She yearned to smooth her hands over the broadness of his shoulders, to hold him close to her, yet she stood back rapidly, awkwardly, knocking the wooden pail of bloodied water over the wide-planked floor.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, staring at the gush of spreading water, then started forward, intending to mop it up with the linen towel in her hand.