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

by R. R. Vane

  Why was this day so unlike any others? And why did all those things Judith had thought she knew seem suddenly other than what they were. For a while, she walked along with Nell Tyler, up the hill which, she’d recently come to learn, her father had also loved. Had it been he who’d brought her here first in her early childhood? Judith began to understand it must have been so. Even in her childhood, her mother rarely ventured out of the castle – a prisoner in a marriage to a man she couldn’t bring herself to love, and, unlike her father, unable to escape her prison. Was it why Judith had learnt so easily how to resent her father? Because she’d been able to perceive he’d set himself free from his loveless match, while her mother hadn’t ever been able to do so?

  When they finally reached the top of the hill, Nell Tyler spoke of other things, those things which had prompted Judith to seek her out. She was knowledgeable in her craft and she spoke well, not thinking it blasphemous to advise Judith what to do in order to prevent conceiving a child.

  “I shall prepare a pouch of herbs and a pessary for you if you do not wish to soon cradle children in your arms. And I shall school you on what days it is better to abstain from bedding, though, by the looks of your lord husband, it would be a hard thing to ever abstain,” Nell Tyler said with a wink and a smile.

  “Why is it that you are so willing to help me?” Judith asked in sheer wonder, recalling she’d spurned this woman and had never even deigned to speak to her.

  “You’re Edward’s daughter,” Nell Tyler said in her steady, soothing voice.

  “Am I so like him? My mother always said…”

  “You are like both your parents, and yet in some ways unlike them. All children are so. But I am certain you know this already, don’t you, my lady?” the midwife said as they looked upon the green hills.

  Chapter 21

  Tristram winced slightly as he pulled his tunic over his head. He’d come to the bedchamber to change his garments, seeking a time when Judith was not there. It was best he didn’t look upon her or share a chamber. Because if he did, he would be sorely tempted to let go of all his anger towards her and treat her gently. Yet she’d deceived him before, had broken his heart before, and he did not want his heart broken again by her.

  Fetching the jar of salve he still had left, and promising to soon seek Nell Tyler out to collect more of the medicine, he attempted to nurse his sore back as well as he could. The whip scars may have had a better chance of healing had he not received the penance to wear a hair shirt every Friday until Lent. They’d flogged him in Church not a month past, a flogging he’d chosen to take upon himself in order to spare his wife from the punishment that had been bestowed upon her for standing against him. He’d reasoned with them he was the one to blame for his lady’s transgressions, having been unable to school her to due obedience. As such, the fault lay with him for not guiding her. The punishment Judith should have had would have been a flogging after they’d shorn her hair and paraded her in Church for all to see what happens to treacherous, defiant wives. Yet Tristram would not have it. He would not let them hurt and belittle the one he loved.

  Tristram’s family had been angered by his obstinacy to shield a woman who’d humiliated their noble house. They had prevailed upon Henry and the Church to request a solemn vow from Tristram that, should he keep his treacherous wife, he would make this defiant woman repent and rue the day of her betrayal. Tristram had made the vow, right before the flogging, that he would from now on keep his wife repentant and chastised. Still, those prelates who had looked upon him making the vow had caught the look of stubborn pride in his eyes when he had spoken the words. Pride was a grievous sin. They had bestowed further penance on him after the flogging. A hair shirt would cure him of his prideful ways and help him see he’d been wrong to indulge a woman who’d defied him.

  In this, King Henry had cared but very little for how his vassal chose to make a fool of himself over a woman. If Tristram chose to take a flogging himself, instead of having his wife flogged, so be it then, as long as the Church and Tristram’s family were appeased. As long as Tristram made sure his wife would never step out of bounds again or seek a new treacherous cause, Henry didn’t so much care for what happened to Lady Judith. Redmore was his concern, and once Tristram held Redmore, all would be well. A secure stronghold and the due chastisement of a rebellious wife was all Henry asked for, and Tristram had clung to that, gritting his teeth against the pain and humiliation of the flogging he’d borne.

  He shook his head to himself recalling that day, and the gleeful, malicious faces of all those who’d witnessed his punishment, and who’d revelled callously in seeing a lord of high blood so humbled. In spite of it all, Tristram knew he could never have done otherwise, and that he’d do it a thousand times over to keep Judith from harm. He had resolved they would never touch her. And it was a vow he would never break.

  He now tried to spread what he had left of Nell Tyler’s salve on his back as well as he could, cursing his own pride and knowing he should have had one of his squires attend to him.

  “Tristram!”

  He winced. His back was turned on the door and he’d been busy at his task, with his mind on his troubles. It had been hard to sense that Judith had entered the chamber. He suppressed a deep sigh, fully aware that now she could see his back, and the whip scars whose full healing the hair shirt had deferred. Judith’s voice was deeply anguished, and a treacherous part of Tristram’s soul rejoiced in her anguish. Yet he had meant to hide the scars from her. He did not want her gratitude. He’d always wanted her love. But he’d come to see it was something it was most likely she could never give him.

  “What’s this? Who did this to you?” Judith asked in the same high, anguished voice.

  Tristram sighed deeply.

  “Instead of prattling, perchance you could come and help nurse my back since you’re already here.”

  He closed his eyes as soon as Judith came to tend to him, immersing himself in the bliss of having her soft fingers spread the salve in order to soothe his skin.

  “You’re hurt!” Judith said in the same voice which seemed anguished.

  “Don’t make so much of it,” Tristram growled, now already beginning to feel vexed with the way she was behaving. “It hardly pains me. And in a few weeks’ time I shall be rid of the accursed penance shirt, so I’ll be the better for it.”

  “But why? Who’d whip a lord? And why the penance?”

  Tristram found he’d had enough of his wife’s care. He pushed her hand aside and fetched the fresh tunic he’d prepared.

  “It was all for my sins,” he said tersely, knowing it was best she never learnt of it.

  He did not want Judith’s gratitude, and had never sought it. What he had done had been because he’d wanted it so.

  “Sins? What sins were those?” Judith now asked, not letting him be.

  “They’re mine. I do not care to share them.”

  Tristram strode to the door, knowing he needed to go away from her at this time. Yet Judith called after him, and this made him stop in his tracks.

  “It was for my sake, wasn’t it? So that they wouldn’t chastise me!”

  He closed his eyes wearily.

  “Just look at me! Say something!” Judith pleaded.

  Tristram would have wanted to say many things to his wife, but at this time he resolved it was best not to speak to her. Nothing good would come of it. He would be again tempted to think there might be hope she cared for him somewhat, even in spite of the wretched way in which she’d spurned him.

  Judith remained staring after Tristram, deeply shaken by what she’d perceived. Her shame burnt fiercely, because she at last understood that Tristram had not only thought to shield her in this but he’d suffered for her sake, with no regard for himself. They’d hurt him. She pictured the scene in her head as tears welled in her eyes. They’d hurt her beautiful Tristram. And she herself had been the cause of it. In truth, she’d been the one to hurt him.

  For
hours on end she was numb, unable to think. At last, she began to feel torn between grief and joy. Because she finally understood that Tristram’s words all those years ago had been true. He loved her. Truly loved her. Immeasurably so it seemed, because he’d borne pain and humiliation for her, even if she had spurned him. She’d been so blind and wicked – unable to see that the words she’d feared so much were true.

  When at last her mother called for her, Judith went to see her in the solar, shaking her head to herself and understanding how blind she’d been. She stared at her mother, now at last beginning to see her for what she was in truth – a woman who was deeply sick, and whose counsel she had trusted when she should have relied only upon herself. All those years ago, Tristram had been right to tell her she’d been a child. And today was perchance the first day in which she was a child no longer.

  “At last I’ve had an answer from my sister, to the letter I sent her,” Lady Fenice said, perusing a piece of parchment and, for once, unable to see her daughter’s distress.

  “Oh,” Judith said, having recently learned from Lord FitzRolf that the lady Edith might be forced to take the veil and join a priory.

  Lady Fenice then went on, telling the tale of how King Henry hadn’t been inclined to entirely forgive her aunt for her ardent support for Queen Eleanor’s cause. Yet he’d chosen to be lenient on his foes, since he knew many of them still held powerful connections in France. As Lady Edith’s own husband had been killed in the rebellion some months ago, the king had taken possession of the rebel’s fortune, leaving the lady Edith with only enough to join the convent.

  “What of Raymond?” Judith asked, because she had always been fond of her young step-cousin.

  “He managed to escape to France, and he sought to join our kin in Aquitaine. Yet he didn’t receive the warm welcome he’d expected.”

  “At least he’s safe from Henry’s wrath!” Judith mused with relief.

  King Henry might have been lenient on most of those who’d played a part in the rebellion, but some of his punishments had been swift – those he’d bestowed upon the noble lords and ladies who’d played a portentous part in the rebellion. So it was a relief that Judith’s cousin had escaped with his life. He had a chance of building a new life for himself in France, and maybe, in time, Henry would be even brought to pardon him for his parents’ deeds and rescind his exile.

  “My brother,” Lady Fenice said in sheer anguish, “is not the man I thought he was! It seems he wishes to have none of us or our kin!”

  The news did not surprise Judith. For years, she’d begun to suspect her Occitan uncle had grown sour towards his sisters who resided on English soil. She could not begin to guess the cause of this enmity, but it was plain there was no place for her mother in her brother’s home.

  “We have a home here,” she said gently.

  She stared upon her mother, knowing already what she’d been too blind to see all these years. Her mother was indeed sick, but she was more diseased than even Judith had imagined. Her unhappiness had loomed like a large dark shadow upon her and Judith’s lives. Nell Tyler was right. In some ways, her mother was a prisoner of her own making.

  “A home,” Lady Fenice scoffed. “At the fiend’s mercy?”

  “Hush, Mother, Tristram is no fiend,” Judith said wearily.

  She thought of Tristram, and of how Tristram had attempted to protect her even when she’d spurned him and had judged him unfairly. Of how Tristram had borne the pain and the humiliation of a flogging for her sake. She had misjudged her husband grievously. And she could not blame her own blindness fully on her mother. She herself was to blame for the troubles in her marriage.

  “Oh, I see now,” her mother said and her voice rang ugly and full of venom, unlike her usually melodious tones. “He’s enslaved you with his bedchamber eyes and sinful ways. How many times have I told you men are not to be trusted? Are you so shallow that you only think of the ways of the flesh? That you allow him to rule you just because you can’t get enough of his lechery?”

  Judith stood silent, gazing through the window at the world outside which her mother had pushed away.

  “I see how it is. You are his puppet now in every way! I knew this would happen ever since my sister first wrote about the lovesick way you gazed upon him at Court. I urged then for the match with Raymond, yet your dull father would have none of it!” Lady Fenice ranted.

  Judith turned, feeling deep heat rise in her cheeks.

  “You and Edith! You always plotted to have me parted from Tristram, I see that now. And as for Edith, I can see why she wished for her stepson to have my dowry. But you… You always knew I was in love with Tristram. Why were you so set against him?”

  “I thought to spare you the heartache! A man like him would have never kept faith with a woman like you!”

  “Why? Because he is accomplished in every way and because you see me as dim-witted and ugly? Because you see me as unworthy of a good man’s love?”

  The words rang bitter, in echo of what Nell Tyler had uttered. He wants to marry you, daughter. Her own father’s words at the time he’d urged for her match with Tristram. She hadn’t understood at the time what her father had meant, but it was now as clear as day that in his own artless way her father had been trying to convey to her that Tristram could learn to love her for herself, not for the dowry she would bring. And Tristram did love her, in spite of the wretched way she’d behaved to him.

  “It is not so, my sweet one!” Lady Fenice uttered, taken aback by Judith’s forceful words. “He’s broken your heart already, and he will break it, again and again! It’s all a game to him, just as I’ve often said!”

  Judith shook her head with a hollow laugh.

  “You truly believe he can’t ever love me for myself. And you’ve made me believe it. You even stooped to lie about his lady love at Court!”

  Lady Fenice’s face went crimson.

  “You are mistaken. I don’t recall ever telling for certain he had a lady love. And even if I did, it was my sister Edith’s own words that I was repeating!”

  “Did Edith ever see him with this lady?”

  “It is what she said! I was only repeating her words.”

  Lady Fenice’s tone was gentle and sweet, and, perchance another time, Judith would have strived to believe her mother spoke the truth, yet this day had been a day of revelations. And Judith had grown sick of deceiving herself.

  “Nay. You lied! I wonder even if there’s a lady by that name. Perchance she’s all a lie you conjured up. A heinous lie! And I was foolish enough to believe you. What of the letter telling me the Church had annulled my marriage to Tristram? I showed it to Tristram’s cousin, and he pointed out the seal was but a clever look-alike. Was that still Edith? Let me guess… Not only she, but you and she, in league. What did you think to accomplish by leading me to believe my marriage was over? Make it appear I stood against Tristram so that he may forever forsake me?”

  “I…”

  Lady Fenice suddenly clutched her chest.

  “My heart… I do not feel well. Why are you saying such cruel, unfeeling things to make me ill? Accusing me of lying?”

  Judith closed her eyes briefly, then called upon a servant to tend to Lady Fenice by giving her a restorative potion. She understood her mother genuinely believed herself ill in her body, although the illness resided only in her soul. It was an illness that had caused her to disregard her own daughter’s wishes or happiness. And Judith saw her mother still fervently believed she had been doing this for Judith’s welfare and protection. And for this, she’d stooped to lying and treachery.

  “Forgive me, Mother,” she said, now striving to speak gently, perceiving her mother’s sickness was a powerful one and that Lady Fenice may never see the error of her ways. “I did not mean to make you ill.”

  Lady Fenice nodded with a tremulous smile, now obediently drinking the potion the servant had handed her. It was in truth a restorative tea made of cat’s valerian which the p
hysician had recommended. He’d told Judith it had no healing power, but just a mild calming effect. However, while she’d been told what it was, Lady Fenice was persuaded it was a good medicine for her ailing heart.

  “Yet I did not tell you what Edith further said,” her mother went on, when it seemed she was feeling better.

  Judith strived to keep her composure and to listen calmly to what her mother had to say.

  “Edith spoke of Severborough Priory as a place of peace and tranquillity. A place of contemplation. With pleasant gardens, and a prioress of noble blood who’s mindful of those who are of high birth. Edith herself is content there, and she tells me of books and songs and even of other entertainments which can be had. There are several women of our station in that place of solace, who were forced to take the veil or reside there, like-minded souls who supported our queen’s cause. It got me thinking. As our own home seems lost to us forever, you and I could go to this place where we’d be free of men and their harsh ways!”

  “Free? This is a convent, Mother! No matter what Aunt Edith says, convent life is bound by harsh rules!”

  Her mother waved her hand. “I never told you, but at one time I thought to join a convent. Convent life seemed a far better prospect than being married to your father.”

  “Was Father truly so harsh and unkind to you, Mother?” Judith couldn’t help asking now, hoping her mother would not become newly distressed by her question.

  Lady Fenice shrugged, apparently unbothered by her daughter’s boldness.

  “He was a man I could not ever care for, with his uncouth and savage ways. A fiend, just like your husband is, but in a different way. Your lord is clever and well-spoken, but underneath all this he’s only savage – just as savage and as fiendish as your father was.”