Lord Tristram’s Love Match: Her Stern Husband Book Three

by R. R. Vane

  “I do not know,” Tristram said, beginning to feel his temples pound hard with pain.

  “You did bed her though, didn’t you?” Bertran asked cautiously.

  Tristram laughed to himself, knowing he would have to speak the truth in Court and that tomorrow everyone would scorn him. And Henry would be furious with him, because, at this time, Henry knew that war with Eleanor was bound to break out at any time and none of his vassals should look so weak.

  “I didn’t. And I cannot lie about it. They’ll make me swear an oath and I am not foresworn.”

  Bertran sighed deeply.

  “I do not understand why you acted as you did, but you must have had your reasons for not bedding your wife. Yet not everyone knows you as I do. They’ll scorn you and humiliate you for it!”

  “I know only too well,” Tristram said bitterly.

  At this time he grieved not so much for the deep humiliation he would bear, but for the way his wife had acted towards him. He had given her his heart and she had spurned and betrayed him. She’d broken not only her pledge to him, but also the vow he’d asked her to make to come with him to France. Would Henry still want him to deliver the message to Eleanor? At this time, Tristram found himself no longer wishing for it, although it would be even more shaming for him to have his mission taken away from him. What he wished was that he would be free to go to Redmore and make Judith take back every word she’d written in that hateful letter.

  Chapter 18

  Present time, 1174

  The next morning Judith woke up to find her husband gone from her bed and already dressed for the day. She recalled last night’s events and how she’d finally understood he did not mean revenge. Instead of avenging himself on her, Tristram had attempted to shield her from harm. In light of what she now understood of him, she could well see the punishments he’d delivered had been but mild. And, truth be told, he’d not been harsh to her apart from the humiliating belting in the bailey and the sterner punishment she’d received last night. She resolved to have words with him, to beg forgiveness for how she’d misjudged him. Yet he only stared away from her with a sombre expression on his face.

  “There’s nothing I wish to talk to you about at this time,” he said grimly.

  “Please, husband,” Judith found herself pleading.

  He turned to face her, and gave a short mirthless laugh and a shake of his head.

  “I see. The punishment worked this time, and you seem sweet and subdued, when before you were just defiant and spiteful. But no wonder. You’re used to acting like a selfish, spoilt child. So certainly the spanking served its purpose, but I do doubt you’ll be able to behave for long. Soon you’ll start acting just as you did. With no regard for others or of how you can hurt them through your deeds.”

  Judith hung her head in shame, because she’d often thought upon what she’d done. She had been too hasty in her wish to sever her ties with Tristram, and, on her mother’s advice, she’d sent the letter right after she’d made up her mind. She’d had misgivings the moment the messenger had left, but what she’d done couldn’t be called back. She’d tried to tell herself she had done right. And she had become persuaded Tristram would only have trampled upon her heart if they’d stayed married.

  Now she became aware of the bitter, pained way in which Tristram was gazing at her.

  “Tell me, husband, what occurred after I sent you the letter and asked the Church for an annulment?”

  “Oh, don’t you know? Don’t you already know I was made a laughingstock in front of the entire court? A man unable to bed his bride? Less than a man!”

  Judith blanched.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t lie and say you’d been unable to bed me. All I said was that we’d long been apart and we hadn’t had the chance to be proper man and wife!”

  “Yet everyone knew we’d shared a bed on our wedding night. What did you think they’d say?” Tristram asked in full bitterness.

  “I…”

  Judith blushed scarlet with shame. Tristram had been courteous and hadn’t ravished or pushed her as, surely, other men would have done, feeling entitled to claim their wives whether they were willing or not. And this was how she had repaid him.

  “I-I didn’t think,” she muttered, understanding it was just as he’d said.

  “Plainly, you didn’t,” Tristram retorted tersely.

  He turned his back on her.

  She had been selfish. She’d thought only of herself and of her own jealousy, disregarding how her deeds might harm Tristram and his standing at Court. All she had cared about was her own pain over him loving another woman.

  “But the Church refused to grant the annulment. Why?” Judith found herself asking in a small voice.

  If he wanted to spank her now even harder than last night, he would be within his rights to do so, she thought. Tristram turned to scowl at her.

  “Henry still needed me and he needed Redmore, knowing his feud with Eleanor might soon turn into war. He wanted our marriage to stand and he stalled for time, sending me to France to ask Eleanor to join him for Young Henry’s pending nuptials. In the meantime he was able to persuade the prelates to do his bidding. And then… Well, you know only too well that Eleanor came to Court to see Henry for a brief while, yet things became worse rather than better. The war started soon after and you obviously took Eleanor’s side just because I stood for Henry. Certainly, you resented it that your petition had been rejected, and sought to add further betrayal to what you did.”

  Judith shook her head, hurrying to say, “That, I’m not guilty of! I didn’t know, Tristram. I thought… I truly thought the Church had granted the annulment. I took up the cause which seemed fair to me. I did not mean to stand against you!”

  His dark eyes became stormy.

  “Stop lying, wife!”

  “I am not lying! And I still kept the letter in my chest – the sealed letter I received telling me the Church had ruled and that we were no longer wed!”

  Judith didn’t wait for him to say anything, but ran to the small chest where she kept her letters. She soon found the letter, because it was a letter she’d read many times. For a while after it had first arrived, she’d read it every day.

  “Here. See for yourself!” she said.

  Tristram reluctantly took the parchment from her, but then he began looking at it with widened eyes and a shake of his head.

  “It looks like the bishop’s seal, and the words ring true, but I know for certain the Church didn’t grant your petition. I was there when the ruling took place.”

  “Then how did this come to be?”

  Tristram closed his eyes, tiredly.

  “Treachery, for certain. There were many people who wanted a stronghold like Redmore to stand against Henry in the war with his sons and his wife. It no longer matters though. None of this matters anymore. You’re still foresworn. You broke your vow to me. Can you deny that?”

  “No, I cannot deny it,” Judith said quietly.

  “Why?” he suddenly asked, now staring away from her. “I’ve spent months wondering! Why, Judith?”

  Judith opened her mouth to speak, but at this time she grasped that what she would say might anger him further. Yet speak the truth she must now, no matter the cost. However, Tristram perceived her hesitation and he laughed savagely.

  “Oh, maybe you do not even recall! Perchance you did it on a mere whim. Because it seems this is how you govern your life. On whims. Or perchance you did not wish for a courteous, gentle husband. You wished for a different kind of man. One who will chastise you at every turn when you do not mind him. So I suppose this is why now you look upon me with such sweetness. Well then, my lady, now you have him!” he called out with a mocking smile on his lips, pointing at his chest.

  The next words he uttered were spoken in a tone seeping with even more bitterness. “You have been well bedded and well chastised, so I suppose I am a weakling no more.”

  And Judith now recalle
d what Lord FitzRolf had told him of the cruel taunts Tristram had received in his childhood, and of how he’d overcome them. She saw now how hurt he must have been by the scorn he’d received just because he’d treated her gently. At the time she’d foolishly believed he was just toying with her, but now she saw only too well Tristram was truly honourable. And he’d behaved honourably to her, although he must still love another.

  “Husband,” she called out in a soothing voice, reaching to touch his shoulder.

  He flinched away from her, and looking more closely upon him, Judith noticed he was wearing a strange garment below his tunic. When she gazed even more upon it, she came to understand, with widened eyes, that it was a hair shirt. It was a garment of penance which overzealous men of the Church wore sometimes. Thomas Becket had worn one, because he was overly pious. However, she’d never known Tristram to be overly pious. Rather, he scorned those who displayed too much fervour, just as he’d scorned Thomas Becket. Yet a hair shirt was sometimes worn by lay people in penance for their sins.

  “A hair shirt,” Judith said, shaking her head and knowing that this thing must already chafe upon his skin. “Why are you wearing this?”

  “I wear it for my penance every Friday,” Tristram retorted tersely.

  “Penance? What for?” Judith asked in sheer anguish.

  “Oh, wouldn’t you want to know,” he said with a mirthless laugh as he began to draw away from her.

  Judith called after him, but he didn’t heed her, and she remained staring after him. The letter she’d shown him lay discarded on the floor, and she picked it up. She dressed with care, aware that, after yesterday’s chastisement, all eyes would be on her. At morning Mass, she strived to keep her eyes downcast, now understanding that Tristram’s cousin still kept close watch of her. Her bottom still felt sore, but she understood the salve Tristram had applied had lessened the sting so it was bearable and not too much of a discomfort. She thought of his own discomfort at wearing the hair shirt, and spied his pale, tight face. He wouldn’t look at her at all, and after Mass, he went away without sparing anybody a single glance.

  Judith stared after him, with a sigh, yet she strode purposefully to Isidore, because at this time there was a question she needed to ask him.

  “A word,” she said.

  He stared at her with cold, disdainful eyes.

  “A bold woman you still are. You seek to speak to me? What for?” he said.

  Sir Bertran was approaching and it seemed his gaze held worry for Judith in its depths. He stood behind her, in a protective stance, and Judith felt grateful for his care.

  “Here. Read this. It is the letter I received more than a year ago. I thought the annulment of my marriage had been granted,” she uttered glancing at Isidore levelly.

  Isidore scowled, but he reluctantly perused the letter she was extending towards him. His scowl deepened when he looked at the seal.

  “And when was this delivered?” he asked.

  “I told you. Eighteen months ago already, by a messenger in a monk’s garb.”

  Lord FitzRolf took hold of the letter, looking even more closely upon the seal.

  “It does look like the Bishop of Canterbury’s seal. Yet it cannot be!”

  Isidore heaved a sigh.

  “It’s plain the letter is forged. The seal resembles the bishop’s seal quite closely. It is not the same seal though. And what does that prove? You are still married to my cousin, though, for the life of me, I cannot understand why he would want to keep as his wife a woman such as yourself,” he tossed out at her in sheer scorn.

  “Oh, it proves something though,” Lord Bertran countered. “That Lady Judith did not mean to stand against her lawful husband when she rallied herself to Eleanor’s cause. So she is not guilty of what she’s been accused! Though she received chastisement for it.”

  “You see then,” Judith said in a level voice, searching Isidore’s eyes. “I did not stand against my husband. Henry and the Church should learn of it. I have not betrayed my lord!”

  FitzRolf inclined his head in grave acknowledgement, but Isidore shrugged, casting both her and the lord a look of sheer venom. He did not deign to speak to Judith though, but only addressed FitzRolf, “She might have forged the letter herself!”

  “You truly think so?” Lord FitzRolf said, cocking an eyebrow.

  Isidore looked plainly uncomfortable under the lord’s steady stare.

  “It’s of no matter now. She’s already been chastised, as all wilful wives should be from time to time. And far too mildly, I am certain,” he growled, yet he began to draw away from them.

  “May I keep this?” Lord Bertran asked with a preoccupied look on his face as he gazed upon the parchment. “I will show it to Henry!”

  Judith nodded, handing it to him. She’d held on to it for far too long, and now the letter looked simply hateful. It was a reminder of the wretched way in which she’d acted towards Tristram. And Tristram…

  “Sir Bertran, why does my husband wear a hair shirt today?” she asked in anguish.

  Lord FitzRolf cast her an unfathomable look.

  “You’ll have to ask him that yourself, my lady.”

  Chapter 19

  The bells had been still for some time and Sunday Mass was over. Tristram told himself he should feel relieved as he accompanied his cousin out of the village church. His cousin had insisted upon spending his last day in the village to see upon the spiritual welfare of its inhabitants. It seemed plain Isidore was now mad with both religious zeal and scorching ambition, and Tristram felt sheer relief that the churchman would be soon gone from Redmore.

  Upon going out of the church, he chanced upon a woman from the village whom he was already acquainted with. He’d spoken to her some time ago. She was the village midwife, but she was skilled in all kinds of herb remedies. Tristram had asked her for a salve to soothe the skin. The scars left by the whip he’d had to bear a few weeks ago had mostly healed. Yet he had known he would have to observe the further penance the Church had decreed upon him every Friday until Lent, and he’d asked the midwife in advance for something soothing. Two nights ago he’d used much of the salve on Judith’s sore bottom. And he needed more of it for his own back.

  “Well met, Nell Tyler,” he called to the woman who now curtsied in front of him.

  He spoke to her of what he wished for, promising her to pay even more coin than he had last time, because, by the way Judith had held herself this morning, it seemed the salve was indeed soothing.

  “Oh, so you’ve already used up the one I gave you not so long ago?” Nell Tyler asked with arched eyebrows.

  “Not all of it, yet some,” Tristram conceded.

  “And what might you have used it on? Your lady wife’s sore bottom from the birching you gave her?” Nell asked pointedly.

  Tristram heaved a sigh, because it seemed the servants’ gossip had already spread through the village, and everyone had gotten wind of their lady’s chastisement.

  “Aye, it is as you say. And what of it?” he said with a shrug, striving to look unconcerned.

  Nell Tyler was a bold, plain-spoken woman, he’d perceived that ever since they’d first met. Yet he found himself liking her, in spite of her boldness to him.

  “As long as you’re not harsh again and you’re a kind, loving husband, I suppose I can aid you with what you seek,” Nell Tyler said, narrowing her eyes at him.

  She now looked closely upon him, and at the way he held himself.

  “Though I can see it is not for your wife that you seek the salve. I know the look of a man who’s still suffering from the harm of the whip. You were flogged, and not so long ago. Does your back still pain you?”

  Tristram widened his eyes at her, because he’d not told this woman what he needed the salve for and it seemed uncanny she should know this just by merely looking at him. Nell Tyler smiled faintly.

  “It’s just a gift for healing. It runs in my family, yet...”

  She cast a sharp glan
ce over his shoulder. Tristram himself looked over his shoulder and now saw Isidore approaching them.

  “Don’t tell that one! He’s evil,” Nell Tyler said, but she spoke the words loud and not softly.

  She drew away from them, and Tristram felt thankful Isidore could not understand the English of the North. Unlike Tristram, Isidore barely spoke English at all. He’d always refused to learn what he called a coarse language, although most of Tristram’s large family used English among themselves in their household.

  “What did she say?” his cousin asked in Norman, staring hard after Nell Tyler.

  “Nothing of any matter,” Tristram replied tersely.

  “She has the look of a witch,” Isidore now muttered.

  And Tristram felt the blood rise within his temples, and that same sickening feeling which had seized him whenever he’d caught his cousin glancing upon Judith. Nell Tyler was right. His cousin was sheer evil.

  “She’s none of your concern. Nor is my wife. Not any longer. I want you gone at first light!” he said, laying stress on every word.

  Isidore cast him a long look which held vexation mixed with wonder.

  “I never understood why you let yourself be flogged for a woman who spurned you. He must be mad, I thought. Or perchance she is a witch – a northern witch, just like the one we saw!”

  In but an instant, Tristram’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. He held his cousin’s gaze, meaning him to see the menace in his eyes.

  “You think all women are witches. I wonder why you hate them so? Nevertheless, it’s no longer my concern. I warn you! You are to go from Redmore and never set eyes on Judith or this village ever again!”

  Isidore bristled.

  “You’re threatening me? Your own cousin? A man of the Church?”

  “I am,” Tristram said in a resolute voice, still holding his cousin’s gaze.

  Isidore soon lowered his eyes, yet before he did so, Tristram perceived the gleam of fear which now shone there.