The carriage pulled away without another word to Kellen, as if they were anxious to get away from him and remove themselves from Kennington’s bailey. The de Lara escort formed loose ranks and followed the carriage, thundering out of the ward. As the big, iron gates lurched closed, Kellen turned to his sister.
Gazing into his hard eyes, it was the first time Ellice had every truly been afraid of her brother.
Oxford
Not a word was spoken between Jeniver and Courtly until they were well away from Kennington. In fact, the carriage was awkwardly quiet for several long minutes. Courtly would not speak until the countess did and Jeniver wasn’t sure how she was going to start the conversation. They were strangers, after all, and Jeniver had essentially abducted the woman from her father. She had given the man no choice, but she wasn’t sorry in the least. As she observed Courtly as the woman watched the passing landscape through the cab window, she was coming to think there was something rather downcast about the woman. She was both concerned and intrigued.
“It is very kind of you to accompany me, my lady,” Jeniver finally said, smiling when Courtly looked at her. “It looks as if the weather will hold. It should be a fine day.”
Courtly nodded. “Indeed, Lady de Shera,” she said, returning her gaze to the carriage window. “I… I would like to thank you for inviting me to attend you. I have never attended a fine lady before. Well, except for Lady d’Umfraville, but she had several ladies-in-waiting and a half-dozen wards. I was one of many.”
Jeniver grinned. “It sounds as if she had an entire court at her disposal.”
Courtly laughed softly. “She did,” she agreed. “And she behaved much like a queen would. She was gracious and generous, but she was not afraid to take a switch to you if the situation warranted.”
Now it was Jeniver’s turn to laugh. “God’s Bones,” she said. “That is positively tyrannical.”
Courtly shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “She was a very kind woman. Having lost my mother at a young age, I appreciated her guidance.”
Jeniver’s smile faded. “Then you and I have a great deal in common,” she said. “I lost my mother at a young age, also.”
It was common ground that immediately bonded them. “Do you remember your mother, my lady?” Courtly asked. “I was fostering when my mother died. My memories of her are distant, almost as if I have dreamt her.”
Jeniver understood. “I have very little memory of my mother,” she said. “I was very young when she passed away. It was only my father and me for many years until I met my husband.”
Courtly was feeling comfortable with the conversation and with Lady de Shera. It was very rare when she had the opportunity to converse with women and, as she’d felt almost immediately upon meeting Lady de Shera, she was drawn to the woman’s warmth and kindness.
“We have more in common than you realize, my lady,” she said. “It has only been my father and my younger sister all of these years.”
Jeniver cocked her head curiously. “What of the woman who offered to tend your sister?” she asked. “Who was that?”
Courtly lifted her eyebrows in an ironic gesture that only she understood. “That is my father’s sister, Lady Ellice,” she said. “My aunt and my father do not get on well. They fight constantly. She did not have a hand in raising me.”
There was something both ironic and bitter in that statement but Jeniver ignored it without making it seem too obvious that she was. “I am sure your father did a fine job on his own,” she said. Then, she shifted the subject a bit. “Your name is very pretty and very unusual. Is it a family name?”
Courtly grinned. “It is not,” she said. “My mother named me Courtly Love because she was a woman who was quite enamored with all things romantic and chivalrous. I cannot tell you how much I detest my own name, however. I had always wished for something elegant and lovely, like Elizabeth or Eleanor.”
Jeniver shook her head. “Pah,” she scoffed softly. “Boring names, both of those. Your name is unique and lovely. It is very regal, I think.”
Courtly shrugged, flattered. “My mother chose the name because she said that every woman should know courtly love and thought that the name would bring me great love in my life.”
Jeniver giggled softly. “Has it?”
Courtly immediately thought of Maximus and her cheeks flushed unexpectedly. Startled at her reaction, she looked at her lap, trying not to appear too embarrassed.
“Not yet,” she admitted. “But I hope it will, my lady.”
Jeniver watched the woman, her head lowered with her pink cheeks, and she could see that perhaps the lady was as taken with Maximus as Maximus was with her. The red cheeks, the sudden inclination to demure… it was just a feeling she had. And it gave her great hope for Maximus’ sake.
“Surely you have more than one prospect, my lady,” she said leading.
Courtly shrugged. “I have had suitors,” she said, fighting off the giddy flush that thoughts of Maximus provoked. “Unfortunately, my father is not keen to me having a suitor. He has chased them all away. But I hope that someday there will be a man he will be unable to chase away.”
Jeniver studied her carefully as she delivered her reply. “Do you have anyone particular in mind?”
“Mayhap.”
“Have you considered Maximus?”
Courtly’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “Why… why would you ask, my lady?” she asked, almost fearfully. “I have never… that is to say, Sir Maximus saved my life yesterday and I have the utmost respect and gratitude towards him. I have never indicated anything else.”
Jeniver could see, quite clearly, that she had struck a nerve. Courtly had the same look that Maximus did when the idea of attraction between the two had been broached. She put up her hand to ease the woman.
“I know you have not been improper with him,” she assured her. “That is not what I mean. What I meant was… if Maximus were to call upon you, then I doubt your father would be able to chase him away. No one chases Maximus de Shera away, in any case. He is a fine, noble, and compassionate man, and he is the greatest warrior in England. Aside from my husband, that is. Maximus will make some fortunate woman an excellent husband.”
Courtly was back to looking at her lap as Lady de Shera’s words rolled over and over in her mind. Her fingers were fidgeting but beyond her slender fingers and chapped skin, she could see the dusty, dark green dress that she had been wearing since yesterday. It didn’t smell too much like smoke any longer but it was still rather dirty and worn. She sighed faintly, brushing at the dress.
“I am sure he will, my lady,” she said quietly. “But why should he want to call upon me? Did he tell you how we met?”
Jeniver nodded. “He said he saved your life when your hostel burned.”
Courtly rolled her eyes, rather miserably. The way she and Maximus had met wasn’t something she ever envisioned herself speaking of, but at this moment, it was on the tip of her tongue. For whatever reason, she felt the need to confide in Lady de Shera, perhaps because she had never really had anyone to confide to in all of her life. This was all very new to her.
“I fell on his head, my lady,” she said, embarrassed and distressed. “I was climbing down a rope I had made of bed linens and the rope gave way, so I crashed down on his head and… and my skirt went over his head, trapping the top-half of him within my skirts when we fell to the ground.”
Jeniver’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps offer her condolences on such an undignified meeting, but she ended up laughing. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“It is not true!” she hissed, stifling her giggles.
Seeing that Lady de Shera was laughing should have upset Courtly greatly, but it didn’t. She, too, saw the humor of the situation, now a day after it happened. At the time, it was the worst possible thing that could have happened but now, in hindsight, it was rather funny. She struggled not to smile.
“I am afraid that
it is,” she said, remembering the entire event with great clarity. “But… but that was not the worst part. He became entangled in my skirts with his head… where it should not have been, my lady, and I swear I thought he was a beast, a fiend at the very least. As his head remained trapped in my skirts, I… I beat his head through the fabric.”
Jeniver couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing, so much so that Courtly started to chuckle whether or not she wanted to. Jeniver’s laugher was contagious and, as Courtly thought on the situation, she realized just how funny it really was. She began to scream with laughter, too. As they rolled along the rocky, hole-prone road towards Oxford, the entire carriage was echoing with laughter.
“God’s Bones,” Jeniver gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “That is the best thing I have heard in weeks. You say you really beat him around the head?”
Courtly was still snorting. “I did, my lady.”
Jeniver was off in gales of laughter again until she was weak with it. Struggling to catch her breath, she was leaning back against the cushioned side of the cab when a very big horse and an armored leg appeared near the cab window. There was a very big hand, too, gloved, and as the horse plodded along, the man astride it bent over so he could look into the cab window.
“What is happening in there?” Maximus asked. “All I hear is screaming.”
Jeniver glanced at Courtly, who had the look of absolute surprise and absolute elation on her face. But Courtly abruptly looked at her, horrified that the woman was going to tell him why they had been laughing and Jeniver subtly shook her head.
“It is not of your affair, Maximus de Shera,” she told the man. “We are speaking of womanly things. You would not be interested.”
Maximus flipped up his three-point visor, of the latest style, and looked between Jeniver and Courtly. Mostly, he was looking at Courtly. His eyes lingered on her, like a gentle caress, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Jeniver. She’d never seen that expression on Maximus’ face, ever.
“I suppose you told her why she is here,” he said to Jeniver.
Jeniver, a sly smile on her face, shook her head. “I have not,” she said. “Now you have ruined the surprise. Go back and ride behind the carriage, Maximus. You are spoiling all of my fun.”
Maximus grinned, flashing those straight white teeth framed by the beard. “Hurry and tell her before we arrive,” he said. “Oxford is up ahead. I can see it now.”
Courtly was looking at Jeniver very curiously at this point. Jeniver, seeing the woman’s expression, sighed dramatically.
“Oh, very well, Maximus,” she said, even though she was looking at Courtly. “It has come to our attention, Lady Courtly, that all of your possessions were burned in the fire yesterday. Is that correct?”
Courtly nodded, although she was somewhat confused by the question. “They were,” she said. “That is why I must apologize for my state of dress. This is all I have to wear and….”
Jeniver cut her off, gently done. “I know,” she said. “Maximus and I discussed your predicament and he would like to take you shopping for a few things to replace what you lost.”
Courtly was hit with a wave of utter delight, of utter shock. “But why?” she asked, to both of them, but ended up looking at Maximus. “Sir Maximus, it was not your fault that my possessions burned. You certainly do not have to replace anything.”
He was bent over his horse, looking at her through the cab window. “I know,” he said. “I want to do it. It would give me great pleasure, my lady. Please do not deny me.”
Courtly stared at him, unsure of what to say to that. She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t sure what her father would say to all of this, either. He might be offended by others paying for what his daughter had lost. Perplexed, she looked at Jeniver.
“I thought we were going to shop for items you needed, my lady,” she said.
Jeniver lifted her slender shoulders. “I am going to shop for items I need,” she said. “If you are agreeable, Maximus will take you shopping for a few items that you need.”
Courtly still wasn’t following her meaning. “Then you and I are not going together?”
Jeniver shook her head. “Maximus will be perfectly behaved, I assure you,” she answered. “It will be quite safe to go with him alone. Unless, of course, you would rather come with me, in which case, Maximus will accompany us. The choice is yours.”
It was a wide-open question, the answer of which could have implications on both Maximus’ life and Courtly’s. The opportunity was presenting itself for a potential suitor to have some time with Courtly, away from her father, and the realization was almost too much to comprehend. In fact, it was too good to comprehend. Courtly could hardly believe it, but it was becoming readily apparent to her that this had been planned all along – Maximus wanted to spend time alone with her, much as he had done in the kitchen the previous night, and Lady Jeniver was helping him accomplish that. Overwhelmed with the scandalous joy of such a thing, all Courtly could do was nod.
“Aye, my lady,” she replied softly, with emotion in her voice. “I will go with him, alone. I would be honored.”
Jeniver smiled. “It could be considered quite unseemly by others,” she warned gently. “Surely you understand that.”
“I understand.”
Jeniver was pleased that the lure of being alone with Maximus was worth the risk of gossips. That showed that Lady Courtly had some bravery in her and it also showed that perhaps her feelings for Maximus were indeed genuine. In any case, the woman was agreeable, as they had hoped. Jeniver turned to Maximus.
“Max?” she said, catching his attention. “Hurry us along to Oxford, now. You and Lady Courtly have shopping to do.”
Maximus didn’t need to be told twice.
Oxford Castle
“Gallus, we must move. We must convene at Westminster.”
The ominous words came from Simon de Montfort. Leader of the baron’s rebellion against Henry III, he had essentially been in control of the country since the end of April when the king had been virtually overthrown by de Montfort and his most powerful barons, Hugh Bigod and Gallus de Shera included.
Hugh Bigod was also in on this meeting along with Peter de Montfort, of no relation to Simon, Hugh’s brother Roger, John Fitzgeoffrey, and Richard de Clare. These were some of the most powerful men in England at this time, men who ruled alongside de Montfort, but Simon’s latest words had Gallus furrowing his brow.
“Why?” Gallus asked, perplexed. “I thought we were meeting here, with all of our supporters, in two days?”
De Montfort shook his head. A big man, he was older but he was still quite strong and healthy. He sat heavily in the nearest chair, one of oak with a silk pillow on the seat, and one that happened to be the closest to the pewter decanter of wine that de Montfort was so fond of. As the man poured himself a draught of wine, he spoke.
“Our main goal last month when Hugh wrested power from the king was that a council be set up to govern the country so the king does not have absolute rule,” he said. “You know this, Gallus. You were there when Henry agreed to surrender his absolute rule in favor of a council of twenty-four men, chosen equally by him and by us.”
Gallus snorted. “The king did not have much choice with Maximus standing over him,” he said. “He was afraid he was about to be arrested or worse. Maximus has that effect on people.”
Simon’s lips flickered with a smile as he remembered the incident. Henry had been caught off-guard by a mutiny of his barons and, fearful of being thrown in the Tower, had agreed to their terms. That was essentially how de Montfort had come to power, but the struggle wasn’t over, not in the least.
“So he does,” Simon agreed. He took a long swallow of wine and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I have received word that Henry has chosen his representatives for the council and, unfortunately, I agree with none of them. Most of them are damnable Poitevins, Henry’s relatives from France that seem to be infiltratin
g our country by the hundreds. Those men have no right to rule England.”
It was serious news, indeed. The king’s French relatives were one of the main points of contention between Henry and his barons.
“What do we do?” Gallus asked quietly. “Henry was free to choose his representatives, as we were free to choose ours.”
Simon eyed him. “Henry was free to choose men who belong in England,” he snapped softly, “not mercenary relatives who will only govern for their own good and not for England’s. That is why we must go to London, Gallus. My sources tell me that they are convening at Westminster and we must be there.”
Gallus understood. “Very well,” he said, though there was disappointment in his tone.
Simon caught the inflection. “What is it?”
Gallus hesitated a moment before speaking. “I was hoping we would be finished with our business in Oxford quickly so that I could return home and see to my mother,” he said. “I realize that seems like a trivial thing when the fate of the country hangs in balance, but certainly it is not trivial to me.”
Simon sobered, eyeing Hugh Bigod, who was standing several feet away. Hugh and Gallus had shared a contentious relationship for the past several months, culminating last month in what could have been a rather violent circumstance. The truth was that Hugh had not forgiven Gallus for refusing to marry his daughter and the situation, and Hugh’s pride, had veered out of control. It was only redeemed when Gallus saved the man’s army from an attack from the king’s forces, although Simon was still unclear as to how, exactly, Gallus had known the king was moving against Bigod. It was still a mystery but one Simon couldn’t spare any thought to. At the moment, he had quite enough to deal with and he worried that Hugh might press Gallus on the very touchy subject of his dying mother, so it was a situation between the men that continued to bear watching.
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