by Jaye Peaches
“Please don’t tell him!”
She patted his arm. “It will be our secret. I shall not say a word. In the morning, you can tell him what a brave knight you are and how you slew a fiery dragon in your sleep.”
The boy beamed at her.
“Edgar! There you are.” A woman hurried across the courtyard and snatched the boy out of Tilda’s hand. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Tilda glared at the elderly nursemaid. “He’s quite safe. I’ve been keeping him company.”
“He should be in bed, my lady, not out here catching his death.” She tugged on Edgar’s arm. As the pair hastened indoors, Edgar turned to look over his shoulder at Tilda. He smiled again and she answered it with one of hers. The boy in years to come would be a handsome devil.
She sighed. At least her father had never scolded her for having bad dreams, and neither had he ever called her a weakling.
From out of the shadows emerged a hooded man, clapping his hands together. “Bravo, my lady, I applaud your kindness and good matronly approach to handling the boy.”
Gervais Baliol threw back his hood and the moonlight lit up his sculptured face. The lines around his lips and nose were not harsh, but defining, and she could not help admiring how they suited his light eyes and thin mouth.
“I’m quite capable of being kind. Why wouldn’t I be?” She gathered up her skirts, keen to hasten a retreat.
Gervais held up his hand. “Forgive me. That was cruel of me. Of course you are kind to children. I just wish you’d show such behaviour to those who serve you. I find it hard to believe your father would be harsh to his servants.”
“He isn’t.” She bit her lip. “My mother... she’s demanding...”
“Your mother?” He moved to stand closer to Tilda, trapping her by the wall. “Where is your mother, is she not here?”
Tilda lowered her chin and hid her sad eyes. Her father would not like her speaking about her mother.
Gervais cocked his head to one side. “I see. I will say a prayer for her departed soul.”
“She’s not dead,” Tilda said swiftly. “She’s at home. She’s mad. There, now you know. My mother has lost her mind and is kept locked away.”
“How terrible for her and you. Can nothing be done?”
“The priest has sprinkled holy water on her and says she is damned. Her words make no sense, and she refuses to pray.” Tilda wiped away a tear. “I suppose she speaks rudely to those who watch over her because she is unable to look after herself.”
“Then, you should show her otherwise, eh?” Gervais stepped to one side. “I apologise. I’m keeping you from your bed.”
“I’m not tired.” She walked past him.
He chuckled. “I think otherwise. More sleep might calm your agitation.”
She spun on her heel. “I am not agitated.”
“No? Then listen to yourself, my lady. Listen hard, for you seem to be in a constant state of displeasure with everyone you meet. Why is that?”
She clenched her fists, then noting the tension rising into her shoulders, she unfurled her fingers and tried to relax. Was Gervais a magician? He seemed able to read her like an open book. She tried so hard to hide her feelings, knowing that they might portray her as weak. Women had the harder battle to win if they wanted to be taken seriously.
“I... I am not,” she said feebly.
Gervais bowed. “Then forgive me. I clearly am mistaken. The light is poor, the hour late, and I have caught you at a bad time. The kindness you showed the boy does you justice, my lady. I will take heart from that encounter.”
He turned away, but she managed to snatch at his cloak. “What do you mean? Take heart?”
Gervais halted. “I’ve decided to bed you, my dear. One way or the other, you shall be mine.”
Letting go of his cloak, she gasped at his audacity, and to her horror, just like when he described spanking her bottom, she felt a rush in her stomach, a flock of butterflies heading into the lowest part, where she knew a man might touch her if he dared, like the priest.
“Bed me?” she stammered. “There is only one way to... you can’t have me... I’m going to be Geoffrey’s.”
“That is what you might think.” He grasped her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed not the back of it, but the tender part of her palm. “My lady.”
She stood stunned, her hand tingling. She was alone, for as quickly as he’d emerged from the darkness, he vanished again.
In her chamber, where her maid slept on the floor, she lay down without disturbing Sara, and curled into a ball on the straw mattress. The feeling would not abate. What had the man awoken in her? And why had she never felt this thing before with the gallant Geoffrey?
Chapter Four
Gervais rose early with the other knights and lords, and together they formed a body of riders for a hunt. Deer was the prey, but Gervais was happy to shoot at rabbits and fowl, knowing that the servants needed food as much as the nobles. He hooked the coneys on his saddle, alongside a brace of pigeons.
Geoffrey was determined to down a stag. He harried the creature from one grove to another, firing off his arrows in all directions. It was a miracle he had not shot a fellow huntsman. Gervais kept to the rear and picked off the weaker creatures that strayed into his path. He preferred to hunt alone and not in an unruly pack.
The earl called an end to the hunt, but Geoffrey refused to follow. Left with only his squire, he continued to weave between the trees. Gervais held back and waited, knowing that eventually the knight would have to return to the castle. Somehow, he had an inkling that Geoffrey was trying too hard to impress a certain young lady. It would do no harm to see if he managed to fell a stag on his own.
A galloping horse nearly charged into Gervais and the steed reared up, sending the young squire tumbling onto the ground. The lad shook himself down and attempted to remount the angry horse.
Gervais held the reins, steadying the jittery horse. “Where’s your master?”
“I don’t know. His horse bolted and I can’t find him.” The boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen was red-faced and afraid. He took back the reins.
“Go back and fetch help. I’ll go look for him. Take these too.” He handed over his kill.
“My lord.” The squire cantered off toward the castle with the rabbits and pigeons bouncing on his saddle.
Gervais trotted into the darkest part of the forest. It reminded him of the one near his own castle. His sawyers felled the trees and fashioned timber planks. Gervais sold them to the ship makers, making him a tidy profit. Forests never scared him, no matter how dark and gloomy they might seem.
The path Geoffrey had followed was marked by destruction. The horse had trampled at the undergrowth, leaving a trail of debris. Geoffrey had no trouble following it. The horse, when he found it, was without a rider. He tied both sets of reins to a branch and continued on foot. Eventually, he stumbled upon Geoffrey, who lay with his arm outstretched and his leg twisted unnaturally beneath him. The prize wolfhound was licking the boy’s face and whining. Gervais knelt and checked Geoffrey’s pulse. Although deeply unconscious, the young man had a strong beat and steady breath. He’d probably landed hard and knocked himself out.
With Geoffrey unaware of pain, Gervais straightened the limb and used sticks for a splint. Aid administered, he laid his cloak over Geoffrey and waited. He whistled repeatedly to raise the alarm. An hour or so later, a search party arrived, and he allowed them to take charge of the maimed knight.
“It’s a good thing you stayed back, my lord,” one rescuer said. “Might have been out here for some time before we’d noticed he wasn’t back. His squire was in distress but able to tell us where he’d met you.”
“Good. I shall leave you to stretcher Sir Geoffrey back. I believe his leg is broken.”
“It seems so.”
Gervais smothered a grin. He had feared that he might have to compete with Sir Geoffrey for Matilda’s hand, now he had an ad
vantage. Would she want to wait for the lad, or would she be prepared to take up Gervais’s offer once she knew of it?
He rode at a leisurely pace to the castle keep, retrieved his kill from the flustered squire, and ensured the kitchen staff knew what to do with the meat. He insisted it went to the stable lads, who were caring for the exhausted horses.
Later, while the huntsmen snored in chairs and their ladies stitched tapestries, he went in search of Lord Barre, who was awake, alone, and reading letters at a table. Gilbert Barre rose to his feet to greet a fellow baron.
“Lord Baliol. I must offer my thanks. Geoffrey has a broken lower leg, and is in some pain, but it could have been much worse if he’d been left undiscovered. Come and share a cup of wine with me.”
Gervais seated himself opposite Lord Barre. “I have a proposal for you, sir. One concerning your daughter, Matilda.”
Barre pursed his lips and frowned. “Matilda. She has an affection for Geoffrey, I believe.”
“I’ve no doubt that she does. He’s handsome, eager, and young. And reckless. As today has proved.”
Barre nodded, silently agreeing.
“With no disrespect to yourself, my lord, Matilda is equally high-spirited and careless. I might be mistaken.” Gervais raised an eyebrow. Again, Barre didn’t argue the opposite.
“She has some of her mother’s wildness. I have tried... I’m soft on her, I agree.”
“Do you believe Geoffrey will win her heart?” Gervais held Barre’s gaze and waited.
“I don’t know,” he said, after a lengthy pause. “He is from a good family. It is a marriage that should suit both of us.”
“An alliance of two great houses, I cannot dispute the appeal.” Gervais fingered the hilt of his dagger. So far, nothing he’d said had angered Lord Barre. “I fear though that Geoffrey might not contain her... wildness. She would bring dishonour to both of your houses if she were to embarrass him with her obtuse behaviour.”
Barre sighed and shook his head. “You’ve seen it for yourself then. I am at a loss. She is nothing like her brothers or sister. The incident in the convent... it is most unfortunate. I regret to say that I know not if she is intact; till now, she refuses to submit to examination, and I cannot bring myself to thrash the truth out of her.”
“That is awkward.” Gervais tapped his chin with his forefinger and clucked his tongue loudly. “This obviously might cause issues for Geoffrey’s honour. I must confess that I would not find it so unfortunate if she was not intact, as having travelled afar, I have a different view of the world. Geoffrey on the other hand...”
“I think him infatuated enough not to care,” Barre said hastily. “But his family will not like it. Yes, you’re a man who is greatly honoured for your soldiering, but I do not know if you would make a good husband.”
“I respect your honesty.” Gervais sipped on his wine. “Then maybe we need to resolve these issues quietly and find out some truths.”
“Oh? You have a suggestion?” Barre leaned his elbows on the table.
“Geoffrey will be out of action, bed bound for some weeks. Possibly months if he wishes to regain his athleticism. I do accept he has a strong physical appeal and a charming nature. I, myself, might seem colder and harder, so I wish to reassure you, my lord, that any wife of mine will be deeply cared for and want for nothing. I will not let any harm befall Matilda.”
“Good,” Barre said. “You want to marry her, I understand. What else? I can see you have something more than that in mind.”
“Marriage is a commitment. And I admit, I never thought of it as necessary. But an heir would be useful.” He drew the chair closer to the table and lowered his voice. “If Matilda and I were betrothed, and assumed to be married at a later time, we might spend some time together and for that duration, while young Geoffrey heals, I might discern the extent of her fall from grace, whether it needs addressing. It would save you the encumbrance of asking the nuns to conduct an examination.”
Barre drummed his fingers on the table. “Go on. I’m not adverse to the idea. And if she isn’t chaste?”
“Then she might need to learn to control her urges. A husband desires an obedient wife, yes? I shall return her humbler, for that is what I shall expect from her.”
The older man’s forehead wrinkled, and he frowned. “I fear that chaste behaviour is not in her nature. Even if she had not succeeded in tempting the priest to break his vows, I believe she tried, and the witness was quite confident of this. She is wanton, and I sadly have failed to teach her. If only her mother...” A sadness crept into his eyes. “Marion was steeped in piety. It is hard to understand why she was cruelly taken by the devil’s madness.”
Gervais lowered his head respectfully and gave Lord Barre a minute to collect his thoughts.
Barre cleared his throat. “You will take her to your home, test her, and then what?”
“I shall marry her or return her to you tamed. If she still wishes to marry Geoffrey, then that is her choice. I shall annul the betrothal, release her from the contract, and leave you in peace. I’m sure Geoffrey will continue to covet her and her dowry.” Gervais waited for a reaction.
“Ah, yes. Her dowry. I assume if she picks you, then you’ll take it.” Barre settled back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Now we come to the rub of the matter.”
“Actually, my lord, you may keep the dowry. I have plenty to share with her.”
Barre’s eyes sparkled brightly. “And you would still take her?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want, Lord Baliol, other than my daughter, which clearly is an attraction?”
“If, my lord, during our trial period, while I teach her and ensure she is suitable to marry, I beget her with child, I promise I will raise that child as my legitimate heir regardless if she marries me or not. The child’s origins will be kept secret if necessary, but I shall not shun your grandchild.”
“You intend to use my daughter for the purposes—”
“That might seem to be the callous purpose of my proposal, but the truth be told,” Gervais matched Barre’s angry gaze with a genuine expression of honesty, “I want to marry her. But she must lose her love of Geoffrey. I will be not an alternative. She must love me with her heart and soul, for only then can I meet her needs.”
The man’s ire softened into a gentle nod. “I understand. I believe you have integrity, and what you do is not only for your own necessity, but for Matilda too. She needs guidance.” He rose to his feet, and Gervais joined him. “Shake hands with me, sir. We have an agreement.”
“And Matilda?”
“She’s my daughter, and like all women, must learn to trust their menfolk and kin. She will be informed that she will depart with yourself, with one maid for familiarity, and that, shall we say three months is sufficient for Geoffrey’s recovery, she is yours for the duration. The betrothal will be blessed by a priest, one whom I trust, and we shall sign our names to a document, stating that you require no dowry in the event the marriage is completed.”
“I wish to make it clear, sir. I shall not force myself upon your daughter. She might not come willing to my home, and if necessary, she might need to be taken under duress if her stubbornness will not weaken. However, I am a man who prefers the company of willing women, not frightened maidens.”
Barre scratched his chin. “Then what if for the duration, she refuses to comply with any of your requests to submit? Will this not make her stay unbearable for both of you?”
Gervais smiled. “I’ve spent sufficient time with your daughter to know that I don’t think she’ll tarry for long. I believe she will come to that conclusion swiftly. What I can’t determine is whether she will need me more than her young suitor. I can’t compete with Geoffrey’s gallant ways or lively charms. That is something we will both have to wait upon.”
“Then, sir, I wish you good luck. For I cannot deny I am relieved that you should take on my spoilt child, whom I have failed these last
years. If I had a firmer hand... ah, but it is too late. I cannot bargain with her that way anymore. You must do what you can to tame her.”
The hint was there, and Gervais’s loins stirred in response. It appeared that Barre had unwittingly given Gervais permission to do exactly what he planned to do anyway. Discipline Matilda until she learnt to mend her ways, and then he hoped that kindness, of the sort he’d witnessed with Edgar, would win him over, perhaps even claim his heart and soul.
Chapter Five
“I will not go, you can’t make me. I want to marry Geoffrey.” Tilda stamped her foot on the floor until straw and dust billowed up around her slipper.
Lord Barre pushed her down into the nearest seat and handed her a handkerchief. “The offer has been made for your betrothal and I have accepted it.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “But I love Geoffrey.”
“Sir Geoffrey is laid in bed, and will be for some weeks. His shin is the size of a tree trunk. The bonesetter has done his best and now all we can do is wait. With luck, he will ride and hunt again. For now, he is incapacitated. Lord Baliol has both good looks and money, has he not?”
“Yes, but...” She sniffed and blew her nose. “He’s not the man I want. I thought you agreed with me, Father.”
He seated himself next to her. “Daughter, I have allowed you much leeway in your life. I took you out of that convent, did I not? I paid the abbey a fair sum in compensation. If you had behaved yourself, then you might be in a position to barter, but you’re not. I have it on good authority that though Geoffrey might favour you, his family is not so easily persuaded.”
“The dowry—”
“Would be well received. However, your chastity is in doubt.” He leaned over and picked up a letter. “This was sent only this morning from Sir William Pole. In it he asks that you submit to an examination at St. Winifred’s convent, and only if the Abbess finds you intact will he allow Geoffrey to marry you. Your foolishness has done you great harm.”
