Joining

by Johanna Lindsey

  “Easier for him, aye, but I am not worried about making this easier for him, I am worried about you having to deal with him again on your own.”

  She snorted. “You think I will do more than kick him next time?”

  “Nay, I just do not want there to be a next time. Is it so hard for you to understand, that I would protect you from his machinations?”

  She was only used to motives like that from her father. It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable to hear him say it, since it suggested concern.

  So she didn’t address his question at all, changing the subject instead with the remark, “You never did say how you found me so quickly. Did you not even bother to search the castle for me?”

  “I know you reasonably well, Milisant. You would not bother to hide, when you would eventually be found. What would be the point?”

  She didn’t mention that there were times when hiding was quite sufficient, as she knew from experience at home. Just this time, it wouldn’t have been.

  She liked it not, though, that he knew her ‘reasonably well,’ or thought he did. If he could predict her actions, even if only half the time, she would be at a distinct disadvantage, particularly when she was finding that she couldn’t do the same with him.

  He apparently didn’t expect the new thread she had introduced to continue, since he opened the stall for her and said, “Come, I will return you to the hall.”

  “To lock me up?”

  He sighed at that point. “Until I can recognize everyone who gathers in the Great Hall again, aye, I will not take the chance with you. You need not worry about your horse, I will see to him. You need not remain in the solar constantly, either. If you stay close to my mother, you may go where she goes. Likewise, if you are with me—”

  She cut in angrily as she marched past him, “There is no way to make it palatable, so do not bother to try, Lord Wulf. A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter what small freedoms she is allowed.”

  Forty-two

  It annoyed Wulfric that Milisant had made his nickname sound like an epithet. It annoyed him that John was not going to leave her alone. It annoyed him that she thought she could handle John on her own. But mostly it annoyed him that she was annoyed with him.

  He had hoped to start anew with her after their return to Shefford. After the rage he had experienced upon realizing she had run off to Clydon, and recognizing it for the jealousy it had been, he had been forced to admit, at least to himself, that what he felt for her now was more than just the simple lust he had thought. His feelings had grown apace. The more he was in her presence, the more he wanted to be.

  It was a new experience for him, the particular feelings she stirred in him, so he had no ready name for it. He knew only that he found her company very stimulating, both in mind and body. She amused him, frustrated him, provoked him by turns, and now, he realized, too, worried him. But she never, ever bored him.

  Fortunately, or so it did seem to him, his mother was in the hall, so he didn’t have to personally escort Milisant to the solar and call the guards to stand watch at the door to keep her there. He was able to leave her with Anne instead, not that it seemed to make much difference to her. She still glared at him in parting.

  So be it. Her safety was more important to him than her animosity just now. Starting anew with her would obviously have to wait until after the wedding. For now… he went off to find his father and remind him to set Milisant’s restrictions in place.

  Guy knew that she had sneaked out of Shefford, but not about John’s involvement in that. He thought only that she had panicked, with the wedding so close. Wulfric had told him last night about Roland Fitz Hugh and her mistaken feelings for him. Guy had actually found that amusing. Ironically, so had Roland’s father, when Wulfric had discussed it with him before they left Clydon.

  Neither parent saw it as a serious stumbling block for Wulfric. Yet he was finding it hard to ignore the fact that, even though young Roland had been taken off her list of likely husbands, she probably still had a list, since he knew she would still rather marry anyone other than him. The only consolation in all this was that she didn’t actually love someone else as he’d thought, so he no longer had that to infuriate him as well. Ironically, he might never have learned that if she had not run off to Clydon.

  When he returned to the hall later, it was to find everything almost back to normal. Servants were setting up the tables for the midday meal, and his mother and her ladies gathered at the hearth. The guests had all gone to watch an exhibition of archery that Guy had arranged for their entertainment. The ladies didn’t find that of much interest, though he realized Milisant likely would, which was why he had come to fetch her.

  His mother wanted his attention first, though, and hurried to meet him before he reached the hearth, pulling him aside so they would not be overheard by the passing servants. Yet it was those servants whom she apparently wanted to talk about, he found to his amusement—at least he was amused at first.

  She nodded toward the tables with a frown. “Look you at that girl there with the dark hair.”

  “Which one? They mostly all have shades of dark hair, Mother.”

  “The trull.”

  Trull was a rather harsh name for a strumpet or prostitute, which amused him even more, since his mother rarely ever belittled anyone with name-calling. Yet the description did bring his eyes to one woman in particular whose manner of dress did suggest that profession, her bodice nigh full open to reveal a pair of very plump breasts, her girdle cinched in tighter than was likely natural, to emphasize her curves.

  “What about her?”

  “She does not belong here,” Anne said stiffly.

  That was true enough, if the girl actually was a prostitute. His mother didn’t allow such to ply their trade in her hall, where her ladies would take offense at it. Yet the woman appeared to be one of the regular servants. After all, she was working in the hall, busy setting out trenchers of bread on the tables.

  “Have you tried to correct her ways?”

  Anne all but snorted. “Why would I do that when she is not one of ours?”

  He frowned himself at that point. “Then what is she doing here?”

  “I will leave that for you to find out. You did ask me to point out anyone I find suspicious. That is what I am doing. Of course, I questioned her immediately I saw her today. She claims to be a cousin to Gilbert in the village, who asked her to offer her help in the kitchens, since there is so much extra work needs doing while so many guests are here. But I know our villagers. Gilbert has never before mentioned relatives who live beyond Shefford.”

  “What did Gilbert have to say of it?”

  “I have not had time to go to the village to question him. I only noticed the girl shortly ere you arrived. Now you are aware of it, you can do so. And while you are at it, take her with you. If she really is a relative of Gilbert’s, you can explain to her that she is not welcome inside the keep. It has been many, many years since I have had to embarrass myself getting rid of someone like her. I would rather not have to resort to that again.”

  There were, of course, several whores among the castle wenches. It would be a strange demesne indeed that didn’t have them, with the exception of religious holdings. But as they weren’t conspicuous, Anne was able to ignore them for the most part. It was women who were blatantly obvious about the selling of their wares whom she objected to.

  He nodded and approached the woman, who had, surprisingly, moved to the lord’s table to distribute the last couple of trenchers she carried. That, frankly, amazed him, since the dais table had its own personal servants, those well trusted, and no one else saw to the care and serving of that table. Since it was common for poison to be used to get rid of one’s enemies, no seneschal worth his salt allowed any servant unknown to him anywhere near his lord’s table. It was no different here at Shefford.

  He would allow the woman might be too dense to realize that. He would allow also that she might really be
who she said she was and was only trying to help in a time when the castle could use additional hands. But he would find out for certain. And it was not his father he was worried about. Milisant’s assailants were still out there, and were no doubt getting desperate, now she no longer ventured beyond castle walls where they could easily get at her.

  Forty-three

  “Did you see that?” Milisant asked her sister in a barely contained hiss.

  Jhone glanced up from the robe she was sewing. It was a new vestment Lady Anne wanted made for the priest to wear for the wedding ceremony.

  “What?” Jhone asked when she followed Milisant’s gaze to find nothing untoward—at least, nothing that would cause the hot green ire now flashing in Milisant’s eyes.

  “Wulfric and that whore he just left with,” Milisant clarified. “He does not even wait until after the wedding to openly dally.”

  Jhone stared incredulously at her for a moment, before remarking, “That is quite a conclusion you jump to, without knowing for certain—”

  “I saw the whole thing,” Milisant cut in sharply. “He stopped her to haggle over the price, then left with her—as if he could not see that I was here, and did not know that I watch him when he is near. He even put his arm around her shoulder to hold her close.”

  “Which means naught,” Jhone reminded her. “He could have done so for any number of reasons that are unrelated to what you are thinking.”

  Milisant snorted. “You cannot defend him this time, Jhone. I have eyes.”

  “Then I must point out, what difference does it make who he goes off with, when he is not wed to you yet? What he does now has no bearing on you.”

  “What he does now shows me clearly what he will do later. If he had no hesitation in doing thus now, think you he would not keep his mistresses right under my nose?”

  “Mili, why do you care? You sound about as jealous as a woman can be. Are you?”

  Milisant blinked in surprise, but it was only a moment before her scowl returned and she denied hotly, “I am not annoyed because I care what he does. He can have all the women he likes. I just do not want to have my nose rubbed in it, nor be pitied by those around me, when it becomes obvious that he prefers other beds to mine.”

  Jhone chuckled. “Aye, pure jealousy—or you would be shrugging with indifference. Ere you rail at me further about it, think well on why you are jealous.”

  “I tell you I am not!”

  Jhone merely nodded, though it was a condescending nod.

  “Faugh, I do not know why I discuss aught with you anymore,” Milisant complained in disgust. “You are so set on the thought that love is going to magically occur in this marriage of mine that you cannot see what is before you.”

  “And you are so set upon resisting it that it will take a sledgehammer knocking you on your head ere you admit the wolf is not as loathsome as you thought.”

  “I can admit that now,” Milisant mumbled.

  “What was that?” Jhone smirked.

  Red-cheeked, Milisant retorted, “Just because I have not seen the worst yet does not mean it won’t be brought forth once the vows are actually spoken.”

  Apparently done teasing her, Jhone said now with concern, “Mili, you need to stop worrying about it. What will be will be. If you but keep an open mind, and step softly, you might be pleasantly surprised at the results. Men are malleable. Whatever you still do not like about Wulfric, you can change. Just keep that in mind.”

  After mulling that over for a moment, Milisant didn’t concede the issue, but she did remark, “You should have been an abbess. Your ability to guide, bolster, and teach with such calm self-assurance is amazing.”

  Jhone blushed and admitted, “I did consider it.”

  “Really?”

  An embarrassed nod. “Aye, after Will died.” “Then why not?”

  “Because although I did not want to remarry and still do not, I did enjoy being married. So I know I may not always feel as I do now.”

  For once, Milisant knew Jhone was speaking only for herself. Still, she saw the point. Life changed. Feelings changed. What she found so horrid today, she might tolerate or even like next year, and the opposite was also true. She could as well despise something tomorrow that she greatly enjoyed today.

  Logically she understood that feelings could do this, completely change for many reasons. But she also knew she couldn’t depend on that being so; feelings could stay the same as well. And what did one have to base one’s outlook on except for current feelings? Thinking, even hoping, those feelings might change eventually didn’t help to abate them.

  She was still furious over what she had just witnessed, but she said no more about it, letting Jhone get back to her sewing. As far as she was concerned, her opinion had been reinforced that she and Wulfric would never get along. What was plain now was how little difference it would make for him. He had other outlets to see to his needs. He had just shown her that quite clearly, and no doubt intentionally.

  He could have picked any one of the other serving women if he could not wait the two days more till they were wed. Not one of the women there was like to refuse him, just because of who he was. And many were certainly prettier than the slattern had been, and no doubt cleaner.

  Milisant probably would have thought nothing of it had he walked out with someone else. Even putting his arm about her could have meant nothing more than a friendly gesture toward someone he had known for years. She wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t have cared.

  But he had instead picked the one woman there who was so blatantly obvious about what she was. Why else would he have done that except to point out to Milisant that he could, and there was nothing she could do or say about it?

  Forty-four

  Anger was an unpredictable emotion. Strange how it could ofttimes backfire on the one experiencing it, or cause more harm than the original occurrence that prompted it. Such had been the case when Wulfric returned to the hall that day he had gone off with the whore, and asked Milisant if she would like to accompany him to the bailey to watch the archery competitions.

  Of course, she had told him no. She had still been too angry to tell him anything else. And yet afterward she had railed at herself for letting her fury interfere with something she knew she would have enjoyed.

  That he invited her at all, she attributed to a guilty conscience. Assuredly he would not have done so otherwise, thoughtless brute that he was.

  It was probably just as well that she had refused. Had she gone with him, she would likely have resented the fact that she couldn’t join in the competition herself.

  Her father would have let her do so, but then all at Dunburh knew her skill with the bow and didn’t question it. The de Thorpes, however, would see it as an embarrassment to have their daughter-in-law win in a male sport; thus she would be denied the chance to even try.

  Milisant’s new restrictions continued, though her time with Lady Anne did lessen the resentment of it. She still was forced to spend a goodly amount of time in the women’s solar those next few days, though her mounting nervousness kept her somewhat distracted from the ignominy of it.

  With it being no longer expected, at least by Milisant, it was a surprise when Nigel arrived at Shefford the day before the wedding, and with a ready excuse for being so tardy. He had been sick. His pallor and loss of weight attested that it was no lie.

  She was forced to admit she had been wrong in thinking he meant not to come at all, just to avoid hearing her present opinion of Wulfric. On the contrary, it was the first thing he questioned her about, as soon as they found a moment alone together that night.

  She and Jhone had put him to bed early, sending his squires away so they could see to him themselves. He had not been well enough, really, to travel yet. That was obvious. Yet he had come anyway.

  Milisant loved him dearly for that, though she had scolded him profusely for it. So had Jhone for that matter, and Lord Guy as well. Her poor father had been quite grouchy aft
er all that scolding, but now he was merely tired.

  However, he asked her to stay for a moment, after Jhone bid him good night and left them. “What have you decided about young Wulfric? Confess, he’s a damn good choice for a husband, is he not?”

  She wasn’t going to distress her father with the truth. Not because he was ill, but because it would simply do her no good. Even if the contract could still be broken at this late date, now that Wulfric had promised to interfere, she didn’t dare look elsewhere.

  So she said merely, “He will do.”

  That made Nigel laugh. It obviously pleased him greatly that he had been right and she wrong. She saw no reason to disabuse him of that notion. At least someone was happy about her wedding.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked next.

  “Only a little,” she lied.

  She was in fact so nervous, she had been unable to eat anything all day, afeared if she did, it would come right back up. And she was not even sure what she was nervous about. The bedding? Or finally being completely and utterly under Wulfric’s control?

  “That is to be expected,” he said, patting her hand encouragingly. “How is your shoulder?”

  “What? Oh, that. ‘Twas so minor, it has long been forgotten.”

  “And you would not tell me even if it still pained you, would you?”

  She grinned. “Likely not.”

  He chuckled. “Just like your mother, always trying to keep me from worrying about her.”

  “I wish I had known her—better—longer—” She broke off, sighing. “I am sorry. I know it still hurts you to think of her passing.”

  He smiled at her to make light of it. There was pain in his eyes, though. “I wish you had known her better as well. Actually, I wish she could have known you longer. She would have been so proud of you, daughter.”