Only Jhone had known otherwise and had shared her horror of the expected lameness. Even the castle leech had known no different, for his answer had been to break out his leeches for a bloodletting. He had not even glanced once toward her injury. But then that was his answer for any malady. His bloody leeches were kept well fed.
For three months Milisant would not walk on her foot. For three months she would not remove the boot she had laced rightly to her ankle either, for fear of what it would look like underneath. She had only tied the boot on because it had seemed to relieve the pain somewhat, and so she had left it on.
But even after the pain had gone away completely, she had been too afeared to take a single step on her foot, or examine it closely. ’Twas only because Jhone had finally complained of being kicked too often by that boot whilst they slept that Milisant had at last removed it, leading to the discovery that she was not going to be a cripple after all.
To this day, Milisant said a daily prayer of thanks that her foot had somehow mended itself correctly, without leaving her lame. ’Twas not until two years later that she’d finally learned who that stranger had been, and that she really was promised to wed him. He had not lied, but he had not endeared himself to her in killing her Rhiska and nigh crippling her, far from it. She despised him and despised the very thought of being forced to marry him.
For six years after she’d learned the truth, she had worried about it, then for another year, then another. But when she’d been ten and four she’d stopped worrying about it. Wulfric had not come to Dunburh again and it had begun to look like he never would. So she had determined to wed her friend Roland instead as soon as he was old enough.
Her father would just have to be reasonable about this. With Roland she could be happy, she was sure of it, for she admired him greatly and they were already close friends. With Wulfric—she did not care to think how miserable her life would be with a brute such as he.
He was handsome enough, had been so as a boy, was more so as a man. He still could not compare to Roland, who had the face of an angel and the body of a giant—like his father, whom Milisant had met one time when he’d come to visit Roland at Fulbray.
She and Roland had both been fostered at Fulbray. Most all boys were fostered for their knight’s training, since it was assumed that at home their retainers and parents might go easy on them. ’Twas hardening future knights needed. Many girls were fostered as well simply because it was the custom to do so. But not all girls were sent off, primarily those whose mothers had died, or were more often at court than at home to teach them.
She had been fascinated by Roland from the start, because she knew him to be near her age, which was eight at the time, yet he was so huge, heads above the other boys he trained with. And he learned so quickly, was adept at everything he did. She envied him at first, his ease with all the skills that she would have liked to learn herself.
That was how she met him. She would not stay in the keep with the ladies, learning sewing, embroidery, social graces, and the like, things that interested her not at all. What interested her occurred out in the tilting and practice yards, the beauty of a well-aimed arrow, the power of a lance held just right, the deadly precision of a well-timed sword thrust—seeing a true benefit and return for effort and practice, a life-and-death difference.
For two years she hid from Dame Margaret, whose thankless task of trying to track her down to drag her back to the ladies’ solar was usually futile. She learned how to craft her own bows and arrows from a master bowman who thought her just another of the young pages eager to learn.
She and Roland had one thing greatly in common, which was why they had become such fast friends. They were both of them very different from others their own age, Milisant in her scorn of ladylike pursuits, Roland in his incredible size and exceptional abilities.
She had not seen Roland for several years now, not since he had last stopped to visit on his way home to Clydon for the holidays. Unlike her, he was still at Fulbray and would be until he was knighted.
That could have occurred already, though, and she would not know it. They corresponded, but infrequently, it being costly to have such missives written, much less delivered. And she had put off writing to him lately, since she wanted to propose that they join in marriage, yet she was not quite sure how to go about that.
She was pondering how her father could handle that matter, soon as she had his agreement to null her contract with de Thorpe, when she heard a horse approaching. She then saw it, and its rider, coming slowly toward the tree she was perched in. He would not notice her, though, had his eyes on the ground. It took her a moment to recognize him—one of the knights who had been with Wulfric.
She was surprised when he stopped directly beneath her tree. Then she heard, “You trust that limb to support you without breaking?”
Milisant stiffened. Never before had she been sighted, even by the falconer, who trained the hawks in these woods and so had reason to frequently look up. And the knight had not once glanced up toward her. He did so now, revealing blue eyes of a dark hue—not quite as dark as his eyes, yet set much the same.
“You would not be de Thorpe’s brother,” she guessed, “for he is an only son. A cousin mayhap?”
He started now, but as quickly chuckled. “Most people who know us not do not discern a relationship. How is it that you did?”
It was true they did not look much alike. He was much smaller than Wulfric, much thinner, too. And he had light brown hair, where Wulfric’s was darkest black. Their bones were set much differently as well, this man’s jaw softer, his nose thicker, his brows straight and bushy rather than sharply curved like Wulfric’s.
Yet she did not think she had guessed wrong, and said, “You have his eyes, not as dark, but still his.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “True enough. We share the same father, though I was born in the village.”
A bastard then, which was common enough. Some even inherited—if there was no legitimate heir. Still, a brother, which had Milisant wondering why she did not feel the same rancor for this one as she did the other. Mayhap because this one actually seemed nice, with his crinkling eyes and quick laugh. Certainly he seemed non-threatening, so mayhap they were nothing alike after all.
“What do you out in these woods?” she asked curiously.
“Looking for those who are stupid enough to make war on a lady.”
Jhone was the lady he spoke of, obviously, those assailants on the path the ones he sought. Had Sir Milo enlisted his aid? She could not fathom why he would, when Dunburh had plenty of household knights and over fifty men-at-arms.
“Should you not come down from there, ere that limb breaks?” he suggested.
“I am not big enough to break it.”
“Aye, you are small,” he agreed, then added cryptically, “but older than you appear, methinks.”
“Why say you that?”
“You are too discerning, for a villein, least for one as young as you seem.”
She realized then that he did not know who she was any more than his brother had known—until he’d been told.
But he was not finished, said also, “And too audacious for one. What are you then, lad? A freeholder?”
“A freeholder wouldst be preferable to what I am, sirrah. Nay, I am Nigel Crispin’s daughter.”
He winced and she heard him mumble, “Poor Wulf,” which she was likely not meant to hear, as insulting as it sounded. So he pitied his brother, did he, for being contracted to wed her? No pity for her, of course, for being forced to marry a callous brute. But then when was a woman’s lot ever taken into consideration by men?
In two carefully placed steps along the tree trunk, she dropped onto the ground in front of his horse, making it shy back a ways. She spared a moment of concern for the animal, putting her hand out to it and saying a few comforting words in Old Saxon. He came forward to nuzzle against her.
The knight blinked. She didn’t notice before she glare
d up at him to say in parting, “Aye, your brother deserves to be pitied, for he’ll have no peace if I am forced to join with him.”
She was turning to disappear again in the woods when she heard, “Do you wear that dirt for concealment, or are you a believer that bathing is unhealthy?”
She whirled back around. As if it was any of his business what she wore …
“What dirt?” she demanded.
He smiled then, his eyes crinkling again with it. “The dirt on your face and hands, demoiselle, that covers what might be perceived as a woman’s skin. Very deceiving in keeping one from noticing to begin with that you are indeed a woman. You do it apurpose then? Or mayhap it has been a while since you have seen your own reflection?”
Milisant gritted her teeth. “Gazing in mirrors is an utter waste of one’s time, and not that ’tis any concern of yours, but I bathe more often than most, nigh once a week!”
He chuckled outright. “Then you must be due for a bath.”
She refused to drag a sleeve across her face to see if it would come away dirty. She did not doubt that it would, though. Jhone was forever dabbing at dirt smudges on her face—when Milisant would stand still long enough. She just was not used to having someone mention it. But as if she cared, she snorted to herself. How silly and—and womanish, to be concerned with vanity.
And even if she was due for her weekly bath, she’d avoid one now just on general principles— at least until Wulfric was gone from Dunburh, which could not be soon enough to suit her. If his brother had noticed she was dirty, then he likely did as well, and all the better to send him away pleased with a broken contract.
So she smiled in parting and said, “Worry about your own bathing habits, sirrah, for you are not like to have time enough to find a hot tub here.”
With that she slipped back into the woods and was quickly gone from his sight.
Eight
Milisant was feeling the effects of missing both supper and dinner that day, but she was too anxious to visit the kitchen before she sought out her father. He was a creature of habit, and ’twas his habit to retire at precisely the same time each evening, whether he had guests or not. And she wanted to catch him at just the right time, when he was alone in his chamber but not yet asleep.
So she slipped into the small chamber in front of his where his squires slept, and waited for them to leave the inner chamber after preparing him for bed. She did not have to wait long. Soon both squires appeared, and recognizing her, gave her no more than a curious look as she passed them and closed the inner door behind her.
The thick curtains on her father’s bed had been closed to keep out the drafts, so she cleared her throat to let him know he was not alone. She had no worry that he might not have been alone before she entered.
He had never taken a mistress, at least none that she ever heard of. Instead he slept with the memories he had of the one he still missed. Milisant sorely regretted not knowing her mother, a woman who could inspire such devotion even after her death. She had been only three when she’d died, and could recall no memory of her other than sweet smells and a gentle voice that could banish all fear.
“I have been expecting you,” he said as he moved the curtain aside and patted the bed next to him.
She approached slowly, unable to tell by his tone just how angry he was. She knew he had sent others than just Jhone to look for her, for she had dodged them repeatedly throughout the day.
“You are not too tired to talk?” she asked carefully, sitting beside him.
“Talks with you are always interesting, Mili, because you do not think as one might expect you to. So nay, I am never too tired to talk to you.”
She frowned. “You find me interesting, do you? But I’ll warrant you do not think others find me so.”
“If you seek a denial of that from me, you will not get it. Others do indeed find you—strange, rather than interesting. ’Tis well that you do not delude yourself of this and so cannot be offended by it. When you make a concerted effort to be other than what you are, daughter, you must accept the consequences. ’Tis human nature to cling to what is normal and traditional, and to question, even fear, what is not.”
“I am not feared,” she scoffed.
“By those who know you well, nay, you are not. You are normal to them, because they have long known you to be the way you are. And you have been deluded by this acceptance to think that you can continue to do as you would like indefinitely. ’Tis just not so, Mili.”
She noted the sadness in his tone. She did not take his words to heart, though. She would not change her ways just because some folks would find her behavior strange—for a woman. She had fought against such limited restrictions all her life. Why would she stop that fight now? But she knew why her father would want her to change—at this time. Because of de Thorpe.
In the same vein he continued, “You are old enough now, and certainly intelligent enough, to realize that benefits can be reaped from compromising.”
She stiffened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that it would have cost you little to don the appropriate clothes to make a favorable first impression on your future husband. To have him pleased with you would greatly be to your benefit and yours alone. Instead, you do not even make an appearance. Was it necessary to embarrass me in front of my friend’s son this way?”
“Nay, Papa, you know that was not my intent!” Milisant protested.
“Yet was that the case,” he replied. “Would it really have inconvenienced you so much to treat our guest with the respect due him?”
“He is due no respect from me,” she mumbled.
Nigel was now frowning. “He is due every respect from you. He is your betrothed, soon to be your husband.”
“But I would have it otherwise.”
“Otherwise?”
This was what she had come for, and she rushed to get it all said before he stopped her. “I do not want to marry him, Papa. The thought of it terrifies me. I would mar—”
“This is normal—”
“Nay, it is not, for ’tis just him. On the path this morn, he meant to strike me down, would have if Jhone had not prevented it, and only because I questioned why he did not go after the attackers ere they escaped.”
She knew she was misleading her father. She should have mentioned that Wulfric had not known who she was. Unfortunately, her father guessed so much.
“He thought you a lad, Mili, and a villein at that. You know yourself that villeins can be dealt with severely for questioning their betters. Some have been hung for less. ’Twould seem he would have been most lenient, merely to think of striking you.”
She flushed furiously. “You find that acceptable, that he will beat me?”
Nigel snorted. “I doubt me he will ever do that. And be honest, daughter. You choose to provoke him, so the choice is in fact yours, whether you live with him in harmony or not.”
“I do not want to live with him at all! I want to marry Roland Fitz Hugh of Clydon instead. I know him well. We are friends.”
“Is that not Lord Ranulf’s son?”
“Aye.”
“And is he not one of Guy de Thorpe’s liege men?” “Aye, but—”
“You would have me wed you to the son of one of his vassals, when you could be wed to his own son instead? Do not be a fool, Mili.”
“If you were not friends with the earl, if you had not saved his life, I would never have been considered for his precious heir! You know that.”
“All the more reason to be honored that you were considered. He made the offer himself. ’Twould have been the gravest insult to refuse such an offer. You should be pleased with it. You will be an earl’s wife.”
“What would I care for titles when I know I will be miserable? This is what you want for me? To condemn me to a life I will hate?”
“Nay, I want you to be happy, Mili. The difference is, I know you will be, once you get over this silliness of thinking you cannot love Wulfric. There is n
o reason for you not to love him.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to give him one very good reason, that in the space of mere seconds, Wulfric had not only killed one of her pets, but nigh crippled her for life. But since her father had never known about her broken foot, with Jhone going about pretending to be her during those three months she had stayed to her chamber to recover, so she would not be missed, he was not like to believe her. And even if he did believe her, he would still discount it, because Wulfric had only been a boy at the time, and boys could be forgiven for their childhood misdeeds.
So she gave him another reason, albeit one that was not true as yet, but she had every confidence that it would be. “I cannot love Wulfric de Thorpe when I already love Roland and know I can be very happy with him. I would not fear him, because I know that he would make me a good, tolerant husband, as you have been a good, tolerant father.”
Nigel shook his head slowly. “You speak of feelings you developed as a child. That is not love—”
“It is!”
“Nay, you have not even seen him for nigh two years—aye, I remember his visit here. A fine lad. I was much impressed by his manner. No doubt he would make a tolerant husband. But I have done you no good favor, being tolerant of your preferences all these years. More tolerance is not what you need now. ’Tis time for you to accept what you are, a woman, soon to be a wife, soon after that to be a mother, and to conduct yourself accordingly. Or do you intend to shame me for the rest of my days, as you have shamed me thus far?”
She blanched. She had never heard him speak so before—nay, that was not exactly true. He had mentioned many times the embarrassment she brought him with her unnatural tendencies, but he had not seemed to really mean it. She had not taken him seriously. But now …
“You are ashamed of me?” she asked in a small voice.
“Nay, child, not ashamed, just very disappointed that you cannot accept your lot, what the good Lord decided you should be. And very tired of not being heeded. You do not realize how disrespectful it is when you disobey me, or how others perceive it and lose respect for me also—” “Nay, that is not so!”
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