Joining

by Johanna Lindsey

  But she surely could have wrung Roland’s neck by that evening when it seemed as if everyone, himself included, conspired to keep them from being alone for more than a minute. Even sitting next to him for the meal, she could not get his attention for any whispers, at least not keep his attention for more than a moment, when his father and brother both vied for it.

  Finally, when the meal was finished, she was desperate enough to take his hand and drag him over to one of the window embrasures that Clydon’s Great Hall possessed, replete with cushioned benches for comfortable seats. She was even bold enough to push him down onto the seat, which she managed only because he let her, huge giant that he was.

  And she wasted no further time in amenities, saying immediately, “I have things to tell you, and ask of you, that require your full attention, which your family does not seem wont to share.”

  He chuckled at her pique. “We are a close family. When better to discuss each other’s day than at supper when we are gathered?”

  She couldn’t argue that, said instead, “True, but you have a guest in dire straits! I have little time here, Roland. Verily, I should leave for Dunburh on the morrow. I had great hopes—that you would go with me.”

  “Certainly I will escort you there, Mili. You did not need to ask—”

  She waved a dismissive hand as she took the seat across from him. “I need you to do more than that, Roland. I need you to marry me.”

  There, she had said it. Not very subtly, but she didn’t have time to be subtle. She just wished that he didn’t look so incredulous. And then worse, he must have decided she was joking, since he began to laugh.

  His humor grated on her frazzled nerves. “’Tis no jest, Roland.”

  He smiled at her gently. “Nay, I can see you are serious. But even were you not betrothed already, I could not contemplate wedding you.”

  She had hoped that the asking would have been the only hard part to get past. She had not counted on a flat refusal from him.

  “Have you been promised to another?”

  “Nay.”

  She frowned. “Then why will you not even consider my proposal?”

  Rather than answering, he said, “Look you there at my youngest sister.”

  She followed his gaze to see only two young boys, mayhap ten summers old, grappling on the floor. She hadn’t met his younger sister yet, at least she didn’t think she had—she had been introduced to so many people today, she might have overlooked it.

  “Where? I see only the two boys.”

  He grinned. “The, er, ‘boy’ on top, the one with the blond hair cut so short, that is Eleanor. ’Tis why I felt such an immediate closeness to you when we did meet at Fulbray—because you reminded me so much of my baby sister. Like you, she prefers to wear leggings, much to my mother’s chagrin. But Eli does dress properly when we have guests. She only just arrived, though, so is unaware we have a guest. Notice my mother is furious with her, and my father, as usual, is quite amused?”

  Why did this make her blush? Milisant wondered. She should be glad to see another girl much like herself, to know she was not so “strange” after all. Of course, young Eli made concessions, obviously, did indeed conform when she was required to, whereas Milisant had always stubbornly refused to bend even a little…

  She sighed mentally. Was she so wrong? Was shaming her father worth the small freedoms she’d managed to gain? But she had let Roland distract her from her purpose. He hadn’t answered her question.

  She reminded him of that now. “What has your sister to do with this?”

  He leaned forward to tenderly grasp her hands in his. “You were not listening. You reminded me of my sister then—you still do. I love you dearly, but you are like my sister, and the thought of bedding you… I am sorry, Mili, and truly, I mean not to insult you, but the thought leaves me—cold. Besides, ’twould be stealing my liege lord’s bride. Jesu, he will be the Earl of Shefford, and I will one day hold one of Clydon’s properties—through him.”

  She should have been devastated by his explanation. Instead, she realized, belatedly, how true it was, and that she felt the same way. That was why she had always felt so close to him, and why there had never been any sexual feelings where he was concerned—because he was like a brother to her. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him kissing her, now that he was forcing her to think about it, at least not the way Wulfric kissed her. Jesu, why couldn’t she have realized this years ago, when she had first thought of marrying him?

  She nodded to let him know she accepted his explanation, but then she sighed. “What am I to do then? I still must find a new husband.”

  He shook his head at her. “Nay, what you need to do, should have done to begin with, is leave this matter to those who can best handle it.”

  “That does not get me a new husband.”

  “You do not need a new husband,” he countered.

  To which she scowled. “You forget there are other reasons that I do not want Wulfric.”

  “I recall very well what you said about him. You have hated him since you were children, when he hurt you. But you said naught about what you feel for him now that he is a man.”

  “Aha! I knew that distinction would come up!”

  “Is this where we are going to fight like siblings?” he inquired mildly.

  She hit him in the shoulder. He grinned at her. She rolled her eyes. He came to her side of the embrasure and put his arm around her.

  “Answer me truthfully, Mili. Have you even once set aside those childhood feelings long enough to see Wulfric as he is now? Or do you let those old feelings color your current perception of him?”

  “He is still a brute,” she mumbled.

  “I find that very hard to believe,” Roland said. “But even if he is, the question of more import would be, is he brutish to you?”

  “He is a tyrant to me, ordering me about. Verily, he wouldst control my breathing if he could.”

  “Methinks you would think that any man who would dare to give you orders is a tyrant.”

  Milisant sighed once again. “Roland, I do see what you are getting at. But you cannot imagine what it is like to be around him. All we do is argue with each other. We cannot be in the same room but there is a tension between us that is thick enough to cut.”

  He appeared thoughtful for a moment, then said, “’Tis strange, but what you describe is what I felt when I desired a lady I knew I could not have. She was a guest here. I found that I argued with her constantly, every time I saw her actually, when what I really wanted—”

  “Shush!” Milisant cut in, blushing. “This has naught to do with—that.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  Thirty-seven

  Are you so sure?

  Milisant couldn’t get that question out of her mind, even after she retired for the night. Her answer to Roland had been, “Certainly,” but she wasn’t really that certain—at least not in Wulfric’s case. She could not know his mind, after all, and it was easy for a man to love in one direction, yet find desire rising in another direction. There were tales aplenty of men doing just that.

  Wulfric could be frustrated in the wanting of her, now that he had fully accepted that she was going to be his wife, and that could have led to many of their arguments. If she considered that as a reason, then she would also have to consider that the arguments could well end once they were married—at least on his part.

  Jhone had suggested the same thing. Keep him happy in bed and he would be more agreeable in nature and thus allow her more freedoms, had been her sister’s recommendation. But what of herself? Keeping him happy was not going to make her happy with him.

  It was a moot point. Once she told her father everything that had happened, he was like to agree that she should marry elsewhere now, if only because of King John’s wishes. So it would not be with Roland, as she had long counted on. It still wouldn’t be with Wulfric, and she should at least be happy about that.

  So why didn’t that though
t give her some peace?

  Milisant was glad to hear the soft knock on her door, unexpected as it was, simply because it interrupted her plaguing thoughts. It was the lady Reina who entered at her call to do so. She came to sit on the bed next to her. Her brow was knitted with concern.

  “I knocked softly in case you were asleep,” Reina said at first. “Yet I am not surprised that you are still awake, despite the lateness of the hour.”

  Milisant smiled crookedly. “I am, considering I slept very little last eventide. But why do you say so?”

  “Roland sought me out.”

  “Ah.”

  “My son is worried that you are upset because he has disappointed you. Are you?”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  Reina nodded. “You amazed him, with your request. He is not sure you fully understood his reasons for declining, he was so addled when he gave them.”

  “I did, and I agree with them. When I thought of him as a man for me to marry, I only thought of our friendship, our closeness, and how ideal ’twould be to share my life with someone I enjoyed being with. I never once thought of the intimacy that we would have to share. Now that he has made me think of it, I know he is right. He sees me as a sister—and ’tis the same for me, I see him as a brother. We could never share the same bed.”

  Reina nodded again, only to remind her, “But you did not answer my question.”

  Milisant frowned, not sure what Reina was talking about. “But I did. I am not upset with him. ’Tis not his fault that I was foolish enough not to consider all the aspects of marriage before I put my proposal to him.”

  “There was another thing you did not think to consider. Roland could not marry you without Ranulf’s concurrence, but Ranulf would never agree to it. Even if your betrothal to Lord Guy’s son was ended, for whatever reason, it would still be somewhat of an insult to our liege lord for us to seek an alliance with the Crispins through you, when the earl had himself sought that alliance through his son. Did you overlook those political ramifications?”

  Milisant was blushing at the gentle scolding, and scolding it was. “My father tried to point that out recently, but I confess, I was too distraught to let what he said penetrate deep enough to alter my course.”

  “I suppose I need not have asked if you are still upset. That you are still awake in the middle of the night is answer enough.”

  “But not because of Roland. You can assure him of that—or I will, on the morrow.”

  “Is there aught that I can help you with, to relieve what else upsets you?”

  It was apparent that Roland had not confided in his mother about everything. “Nay, ’tis just that I never wanted to marry Wulfric of Shefford. And now that I know King John does not want me to either—I wonder who my father will find for me instead. For many years I only had Roland in mind. I never once looked elsewhere.”

  “What makes you think John is against your marriage to Wulfric?”

  “He told me so.”

  Reina shook her head and yet was smiling. “Mayhap I should have asked instead, what makes you think that John’s preferences will come to bear here? ’Tis my understanding that your betrothal had King Richard’s blessing. John’s permission was not needed. And if he was going to forbid it, he would have done so. That he wouldst mention it to you, rather than to Lord Guy, says clearly that he has no intention of interfering directly. Verily, I would guess he does not dare to anger a vassal as loyal to him as Lord Guy is, when so many of his barons do now rail against him.”

  More reason for Milisant to be sure that if John intended to say naught of what she had done to him, then he also intended to place the entire blame on her if she dared to accuse him of aught, and claim full innocence. She should explain to Reina, but she hesitated. The more people who knew about John’s attempt to end her betrothal by bedding her, even if he denied it, the more likely he was to want revenge for the way she had escaped it.

  So she said only, “Mayhap you are right.”

  Reina nodded, then asked, “Now for the last part of your distress.”

  “The last part?”

  “I mean not to pry, but that was quite an astonishing statement you made, that you never did want to marry Wulfric. I have known Wulfric de Thorpe since he was born. He has turned into a fine young man, a credit to his father. My own husband thrives on war and has been on campaign with Wulfric. He has had naught but good things to say of the lad. And I know that women find him attractive. My oldest daughter has made a fool of herself more than once when he did come to visit here. What is there not to like about Wulfric?”

  Milisant really wished that were not the reaction of everyone. And rather than mention childhood grudges that she was sure the lady would try to discount, she mentioned yet another good reason why she didn’t want him.

  “He loves someone else.”

  “Ah,” Reina replied, as if there were perfect understanding in that little word. “Well, that was not very wise of him, but may not be very serious, in which case it will not take much effort to overcome.”

  “How?”

  Reina chuckled. “By giving him a reason to love you, too, then giving him reason to love you more.”

  “You must have met my sister,” Milisant grouched. “You and she think much alike.”

  Reina laughed at that. “’Tis merely common female logic, my dear.”

  And easy enough for any woman to suggest who wasn’t involved in such a situation. Much harder to get past serious dislike first—especially when both members of the couple shared that dislike.

  “I should not have to fight for my husband’s love,” Milisant said, somewhat stiffly.

  “Nay, ideally you should not have to. But realistically, most women do have to—that is, if they want that love. I am amazed myself how many women do not care. They have no expectation of love in a marriage that is arranged for political gain or alliance, and so have naught to be disappointed about when it is not involved. There are many things to determine a good marriage. Love is not usually amongst them. Ah, but when it is… you cannot imagine—”

  “Giving away our secrets, Reina?”

  It was amusing to see the older woman blush for a change, when with her own frankness she caused so many blushes. But blush she did as she turned to see her husband filling the doorway with his immense size.

  “I was just coming back to bed,” Reina told him as she stood up to leave.

  “Were you indeed? Somehow I doubt it.”

  To that, Reina made a disgusted expression. Milisant didn’t see it, was in fact worried that Ranulf Fitz Hugh was angry with his wife, and that it was her fault.

  So when Reina said, “I was not meddling,” Milisant was quick to support that with, “She really was not.” And when Reina added, “Nor was I being a nuisance,” Milisant added as well, “She could never be that. Verily, Lady Reina has been a great help to me.”

  At that point Reina glanced back at her and with a chuckle said, “Be at ease, child, he is not angry. Not that it would make a bit of difference to me if he was.”

  That was tacked on with a warning look toward Ranulf. The giant grinned, indicating he had heard the same thing, or something similar, many times before.

  It was then that Roland pushed past his father to enter the room and said in exasperation, “I did not mean for you to keep Mili up all night, Mother.”

  To which Reina threw up her hands and huffed, “I am finding my bed posthaste,” and she marched out of the room without another word.

  “I will just make sure she finds it without any more detours,” Ranulf said, then, “Do not be long, Roland. We all need at least a little sleep this night.” And he, too, left the chamber.

  Oddly, Roland and Milisant found they were both blushing after his parents’ departure, perhaps because they had been left alone in a bedchamber, but more like because they both knew what had been discussed there. He was the first to make an effort to put them at ease, coming forward to sit on the side
of the bed where his mother had sat.

  “I am sorry,” he told her, taking her hand in his. “I only wanted my mother to help if you were distraught. She is very good at that. I did not think she would keep you up half the night to do it, though.”

  “No need to apologize, Roland. I was not sleeping, or she would not have come in.”

  “Ah, so you were still distraught?”

  Milisant rolled her eyes and pointedly changed the subject. “Does no one sleep around here at night?”

  He chuckled. “I know not about everyone else, but my mother and I oft meet up in the kitchens in the wee hours, usually when some calamity keeps her from finishing supper. We have had many a pleasant talk there—at least until my father wakes to find her missing, and comes down to search her out, as he likely did tonight.”

  “And what is your excuse for not sleeping?”

  “’Tis not that I cannot sleep, but that I am always hungry, and cannot sleep when I am.”

  He said it with such chagrin that she had to laugh. “Aye, that is a big body you have there to keep fed.”

  Her amusement was broken abruptly by a noise at the door, which had been left open. They both looked to see what had caused it, for it had sounded very much like a sword being drawn from its sheath. It was indeed that.

  Wulfric stood there filling the opening, his sword in hand, his eyes pinned not on Milisant, but on Roland. “’Tis a shame that I am going to have to kill you.”

  Thirty-eight

  Milisant blanched. Not because Wulfric was there when he shouldn’t be. Not even because he had just calmly threatened to kill her friend. She paled because it occurred to her that the only way he could have known to find her at Clydon was through Jhone.