Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts

by Emily Murdoch

  Catheryn smiled: it was a nervous smile, and it was nervously returned. Thankfully, Emma was not a girl who noticed much beyond her own limbs, and so joyfully bounced into a chair, opposite her father’s.

  “My dear, my lady Catheryn may prefer a seat by the fire.”

  “Please,” Catheryn said quietly, “do not trouble yourself, Emma. I am quite happy to sit here by the window.”

  She had been amazed, when she had first arrived at the home of the FitzOsberns, at just how many windows they had – and at the high quality of the glass. It was not common for such things to be found in England. Glass windows there were few and far between; although, Catheryn remembered with a pang, they had always made sure that Annis had a bed chamber with a glass window. It had overlooked the courtyard, and she had loved sitting there, gazing down at the busy world beneath her.

  “…my lady?”

  Both Fitz and his daughter were looking at her, concerned. Catheryn realised that she had probably been asked a question.

  “I beg your pardons,” she said quietly, twisting her hands together in a manner most unlike her. “I did not hear what you said.”

  Fitz smiled: and it was a smile that tore at the very heartstrings within Catheryn’s chest. It did not seem possible that they were standing there, him with a smile on his face and her with a desperation to return that smile. And yet Catheryn did not know what he felt when he looked at her; she could not assume that because her feelings were involved, that he must return them.

  “I merely asked whether you think you will be warm enough by the window.”

  “I… I will be quite warm enough, thank you, my lord,” was all that Catheryn could manage before she had to break eye contact with Fitz. She strode over to the window, where there was a small alcove. Tucking her feet underneath her skirts, Catheryn turned her face away from the other occupants of the room, and stared at the window. Although made of a high quality glass, there was little that she could make out save shapes and shadows. Nevertheless, it was better than facing the stares of the man whom she was coming to consider very important to her very existence.

  Emma soon settled, and lost herself within her book. Her father, however, was having more difficulty concentrating on the words offered to him by the author of his letter. Marmion’s updates on the temperaments of the Anglo-Saxon people and the various court intrigues was not enough, now, to capture his attention.

  She sat there, face turned to the faint rays of sun like a flower welcoming the end of winter. Fitz could hardly believe that she was there, let alone remove his gaze from her. Beautiful blonde hair, turning to silver in parts, washed down her back, barely visible through the veil that she determinedly wore, despite the mockery and slurs she had received. It marked her out: Saxon, it said, and yet Fitz loved it.

  Catheryn was a woman like no other he had ever met. Most of the females that he was forced to consort with during his time were very much like his wife: meaning well, but bred to be cold; born to duty and feeling no fire. Adeliza did not laugh, like Catheryn did; she did not take the time with their children, as Catheryn did; she did not make every part of him feel alive just by one look, as Catheryn could.

  Fitz jerked his eyes away from her, and back to his letter. Nothing could come of this, nothing could be gained by such idle thoughts. Nay, treacherous thoughts – for had he not sworn an oath of marriage and of loyalty to Adeliza? Had he not promised to stand beside her until either his or her body was laid to rest in the warm earth?

  He had done so, and now he had to live with that decision.

  And yet what had he gained from his loyalty to Adeliza? There was no love in their marriage. The creation of their children had been from tradition, and a sense of carrying on his father’s name: there had been little joy in it save the physical release…

  Fitz shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. There was no way to turn back time, and alter the decisions that he – and Catheryn – had made all of those long years ago. Divorce was unthinkable, leaving Adeliza was incomprehensible: he would simply have to learn to live with these conflicting emotions.

  The piece of parchment swam in front of his eyes, and Fitz looked up. Catheryn was staring at him, and it was within that moment that they both knew.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Christmas in 1067 was bright and crisp. A deep frost lay across the land, but it was not impossible to travel, and soon many of Fitz and Adeliza’s acquaintances had made their way to the feast that threatened to surpass all others within living memory.

  Chicken and hogs, fruit that Catheryn thought impossible to get hold of in these dark depths of the season, and spices that enticed every nose in the room filled the air. Holly and ivy had been brought in to give the Great Hall the appearance of a forest, and Catheryn could not help but smile.

  And yet it was not the Christmas that she had wanted, or hoped for. Another season celebrated far from her home, far from her family, far from the daughter who she felt in her heart must be living somewhere. There were no rousing choruses of her favourite songs, and the carols that were hummed by the men, and sung by the women, were foreign to her ear.

  Catheryn had to endure the stares and pointed fingers of the FitzOsberns’ guests. Many had heard tell of the strange Anglo-Saxon woman that was being held captive, of course, but few had had the chance to truly stare at her, laugh at her veil, or draw their children away from her in fear that she would curse them.

  By the afternoon, Catheryn had grown tired of the charade, tired of being part of the entertainment. Even a beautiful and impressive musical performance by the younger FitzOsberns could not draw away the mutterings of the crowd – and she sighed with relief when Fitz stood to announce the end of the proceedings.

  “My friends, my dear friends,” he said with a smile, and a hand over his straining belly, “it has been another good year, and another good day to come together and feast. But, as is our custom, the evening is for the family. And so I wish you a good journey, and a good repast until we meet again.”

  “Until we meet again!”

  The cry was taken up from all sides, and goblets and tankards were raised to the promise of another great occasion to feast and frolic. Catheryn closed her eyes in despair. Was she ever to escape, was she ever to see the sun rise on her home again?

  Within minutes, the Great Hall had been cleared, and the only people remaining were the FitzOsberns. Isabella stared at their prisoner.

  “My lady Catheryn, I do think that you are relieved that we are now left alone.”

  Catheryn laughed. “You are most observant, my lady Isabella. I must confess that such vast hordes of people intent on discovering all about me while cursing my very name is not the way that I had intended to spend this Christmastide.”

  Isabella stared at her, eyes all honesty and confusion. Then she said suddenly, “You must be very lonely.”

  “Sometimes I am,” Catheryn said simply. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fitz pause in the stoking of the fire. “And then I remember that I am surrounded by good and gracious people, even if they are not my family. And that is better than for many others.”

  A smile was the only reply that she received from Isabella, but Adeliza rose from her chair, breaking off a conversation with Roger. He looked at his mother, bewildered, but before he could say another word, she had already stalked out of the room.

  Catheryn caught Fitz’s eye: something that she had been attempting not to do these last few months. There seemed to be a mutual understanding between them now, never spoken of, never referred to, that despite their feelings, no action would be taken. They had far more to lose than to gain.

  “I think your mother has some orders to give the servants before she truly relaxes for the evening,” Fitz said hastily.

  Emma sniffed. Her nose was red, and she had been suffering from a cold for many days. “We shall see her this evening, Roger,” she said comfortingly.

  Roger shrugged off the friendly arm that Emma had tr
ied to put around his shoulders, and followed his mother’s example by leaving the room without another word.

  Fitz sighed heavily. “Girls, why do you not spend a little time away from here, so we can leave the servants time to clear up. My lady Catheryn, I offer you the chance to escape stares by returning to your own room.”

  Catheryn flushed with embarrassment. Was she to be sent to her room, like a naughty child, just because her presence made the lady of the house uncomfortable? And then she realised: yes, it was perfectly reasonable. She was, after all, merely an interloper into this woman’s home. She had traversed Adeliza’s domain, and become a trespasser on her marriage. No wonder the woman could barely speak to her now.

  “We shall return later on,” Isabella said quietly. “Come, Emma.”

  The two girls left, arm in arm – a rare sight in the days of their almost continuous arguments. And so Catheryn was just left standing there, staring at Fitz, the man that she had come to love.

  “As I said,” Fitz moved towards her, and Catheryn was almost foolish enough to stretch an arm out, to catch him, to finally make physical contact with the man she had wanted to embrace ever since she realised what a great man he was, “I would return to your chamber.”

  And the last member of the FitzOsbern family exited the room.

  *

  After a time, Catheryn returned to the Great Hall. She had seen no other members of the family, but desired to sit by a warm fire – and the Great Hall was one of the few places that someone could always be found, regardless of the season or the hour.

  When she entered, she realised that Adeliza was sitting by the fire, a fur covering her knees. She was staring at the flames, wrapped in thought.

  Trying not to make a sound, Catheryn backed away.

  “Stay.”

  The voice was quiet, but it was not hostile. Catheryn hesitated.

  “I am quite happy to return to my chamber –”

  “Catheryn,” Adeliza inclined her head just enough to take in the visage of her prisoner. “I am asking you to stay.”

  There was nothing to be done, thought Catheryn, but to endure it until the other members of the family arrived. Of course, she did not dislike Adeliza: in many ways, she quite liked her. But Catheryn’s new feelings – or infatuation, she reminded herself – for Adeliza’s husband meant that she could never feel totally comfortable around her hostess. Not until she had these strange emotions under control.

  Catheryn took a seat opposite Adeliza’s, and both women observed the fire for several minutes before either one of them spoke again.

  “You still have hope?”

  “My lady?”

  “You still have hope,” Adeliza repeated, “that your child is living.”

  Neither woman looked at the other.

  “I cannot help but hope,” Catheryn said finally. “To lose hope would be to lose all sense of life, all reason for living. Without the possibility that I shall gaze on her face again, I do not think that I could rise each morning.”

  Catheryn shuddered, unconsciously, at the thought that she might never see Annis again in this life.

  “And yet, you have no proof of that. Nothing tells you, positively, that she lives.”

  Catheryn dragged her eyes away from the intoxicating flames, and said angrily, “Do you want me to give up? Does it please you to hear of my hopes, hopes you believe I shall probably never realise?”

  Adeliza refused to look at Catheryn as she spoke. “It is better to accept that she is dead, and live your own life. You are young. Your time has not yet come to dwell amongst the dead.”

  “And my own daughter may be amongst the living!” Catheryn cried. “There is nothing within me that dares give up on that hope.”

  Adeliza said nothing for a moment; when she did speak, it was almost a whisper that Catheryn could barely catch.

  “Sometimes hope is not enough.”

  Catheryn was spared forming any sort of reply by a loud noise. Emma thrust open the door with a crash and hurtled in, hair unkempt, feet cold, and eyes wet.

  “You must go after her!” she cried. “You simply must!”

  Emma crumpled in a heap where she stood.

  Both Adeliza and Catheryn rose in an instant, rushing towards the stricken girl who was now sobbing.

  “Darling daughter, what is the matter?” Adeliza tried desperately to look at Emma’s face, but she kept twisting it away, tears wetting her already matted hair. “Tell me!”

  “Perhaps she is unwell,” Catheryn murmured. She was kneeling next to the mother and daughter, watching the younger in her distress and the elder in her panic to relieve the suffering. “She should be taken to her bed chamber.”

  “No!” Emma almost screamed now; it was as if she was working herself into a fury. “Someone must be sent after her, we must get a horse –”

  “Emma, we do not understand you,” Catheryn said firmly. “You need to calm down.”

  But Emma seemed completely incapable of any semblance of calm.

  Footsteps could be heard, rapid and heavy.

  “Emma?”

  Catheryn knew that voice: it was Roger.

  “Mother!” he exclaimed as he entered the room and saw the three of them, one in hysterics, one near to panic, and one trying to keep everyone calm.

  “Roger, what is happening?” Adeliza said quickly, her hands never ceasing to try to calm Emma down.

  Catheryn realised that she had never seen Roger so pale, so unable or unwilling to look his mother in the eye.

  “She has… she has not told you?”

  “She has told us nothing we understand,” Catheryn said quietly. “Do you know of what she speaks? Who must we go after?”

  Roger knelt down by his sister, and whispered to her. Catheryn could not hear the words which he uttered to make her relax, but within moments she was able to lift her head, and gave a wan smile to her mother.

  “I apologise, Mother,” she said, her voice raw. “I did not mean to alarm you – and yet we must make haste, we must hurry if we are to catch her!”

  Something close to a hint of what could have occurred touched Catheryn’s mind.

  “What has happened?” Adeliza grasped her son’s arm. “Is it your father, is he ill?”

  “My lady Mother,” Roger said formally, and Catheryn’s heart sank. “I have to tell you that Isabella and Emma… they had a fight. A truly momentous argument –”

  “Which was all my fault!” Emma interjected, tears threatening once more.

  “Which was, like all arguments, a combination from two sides,” Roger corrected. Catheryn saw him give a smile, a rare thing indeed, to his sister. “It is not your fault, Emma.”

  “A fight?” Adeliza said urgently, willing him to continue. “A quarrel, that is all?”

  Roger shook his head. “Isabella does not like losing arguments; you know that. She has taken a horse. She has gone.”

  A horrified silence filled the room. Adeliza stared at her son, as if he had begun speaking a foreign tongue. Catheryn watched her, desperate to remove herself from this family tragedy, desperate not to impose, desperately hoping that Isabella had not gone far…

  It was impossible to tell exactly how long that silence would have continued if not for the enormous crash that was Fitz’s entrance.

  “She’s really gone?” he said wildly, cloak already fastened around his neck, and trying to pull on one glove onto the wrong hand. “Who saw her leave?”

  Emma began to cry again. “All I know is that she threatened to run away, and then she did!”

  “You must find her, Fitz,” Adeliza’s voice was sharp. “You must find her. There is no knowing what is out there: wolves, or men in the dark. She’ll get cold, she’ll get ill!”

  Roger stood up, and took two steps towards his father, before stopping awkwardly. “She would have made for the village, Father, I would swear by it.”

  “And suddenly you know all about your sister? You, a boy who never has time for t
hem and has not even found the time to become a man?”

  Roger’s face became paler, but he did not look away, and met the gaze of his father. Anger and panic could be seen warring in Fitz’s face.

  “I wish to accompany you on your quest to find her.”

  Fitz snorted. “Do you really think that you could be useful?”

  “Let him help, Fitz.” These words were spoken by Adeliza. Her arm was around Emma now, and she had raised her to a standing position. “Let him help, and let all that offer their services help. There is no point in denying him, and every pair of eyes is another blessing in the hunt to find our daughter.”

  Fitz opened his mouth, but no words came out. Never before could he remember his wife speaking to him so. Perhaps it was high time, a small voice in his mind said, that she did.

  “Fine,” he said curtly, finally pulling off the glove and throwing it on the floor. “If you wish to come, dress for the weather and saddle your horse. I leave within moments.”

  Roger swept out of the room, but a small muttering of thanks was heard by all.

  Fitz stared at the three women, and suddenly realised who they were.

  “My lady Catheryn, would you be so good as to help my wife take our daughter back to her bed chamber. She needs rest, and complete quiet.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Fitz strode out of the room, glove abandoned.

  His absence brought a silence into the room that was only filled by a hearty sniff. Adeliza and Catheryn looked at Emma, as though just remembering that she was still there.

  “Come now,” Adeliza said softly. “We shall get you into bed, and before we know it your father and Roger will have found Isabella.”

  “And she will go to bed as well,” continued Catheryn in a quiet voice, taking Emma’s arm under hers, “and tomorrow we shall laugh about the scare that she gave us all.”

  Slowly, the two women managed to coerce Emma, partially by soft words and partially by gentle tugs, into her bed. It took a long time to quieten her, to see her off to sleep. As soon as her breathing had slowed to such a point that they were sure she was asleep, Adeliza and Catheryn exited her bed chamber, and stood together in the corridor.