In Leicester’s household, where Adam had served as page and squire, there also was love, but it was in that household that he had learned that there are women and women and women. The Earl of Leicester was fond of his wife and she of him, and they lived in peace together. However, Lady Leicester was uninterested and helpless in all things that did not pertain to the immediate concern of women. In addition, Adam had not yet grown the first black down between his legs when the more sluttish of the maidservants were at him. It was all pleasure, and he gave them what they desired, but he knew that more than one who spread her legs for him had a man of her own—and that troubled him. Nor was he much older before he discovered that sluttishness was not confined to the lower classes.
Lady Leicester watched over the maidens in her care and they had no opportunity to try Adam’s paces, but their eyes said plainly that they would be happy to ride him. Moreover, there were those who were not under Lady Leicester’s control, visitors or older relatives who came to stay for some time. Adam had learned a great deal from them, both about the fine art of giving a woman pleasure and that the need and desire for that pleasure did not necessarily make a woman a slut. Some who sighed and cried under him were coarse in mind and filthy in spirit, but others were only light and silly, playing at love because they had nothing better to occupy them.
It was the silliness, really, that had kept Adam unwed. He was well found in lands and allied through marriage to the high nobility. Thus, the ladies offered to him were of high estate and their education had fitted them for that estate—that is, it had fitted them to do nothing except bear children. Oh, they could sing and play, talk most amusingly, embroider exquisitely. Adam approved of all these skills most heartily; his mother and sister were both excellent conversationalists and notable needlewomen. However, that was by the way, a lace trimming, as it were, upon the solid cloth of their real abilities. Alinor and Joanna could also manage a keep without the intervention of stewards, run a farm as well as any bailiff, cure a sick or wounded man better than a physician, trade as keenly and keep accounts as well as any merchant and, he suspected from the heavy-eyed look of their husbands on many mornings, play the wanton as skillfully as a high-priced whore.
Adam watched Joanna return from the wall chamber in which Father Francis lived, carrying what her mother had asked for in a small writing desk. It occurred to him that Geoffrey was right to be concerned for his wife’s safety. Such a woman as his sister was a pearl without price. In four years of more offers than Adam could remember, he had not found a single girl with whom he would be willing to share his life. Each one, no matter how beautiful or sweet-tempered, would have been no more than a burden to him—worse yet, would have bored him to madness in a few weeks. Adam shrugged mentally. He wanted to be married and was aware that he should breed an heir to his property and his name as soon as possible. He was the last male of the Lemagne line, his half brother Simon being Ian’s son, a de Vipont. Nonetheless, Adam was not yet prepared to take second best. Somewhere there must be a girl who would fulfill his expectations of what a woman should be.
On the same day in Tarring keep, Gilliane sat alone before the fire and dutifully employed her needle in embroidering a collar for one of Saer’s gowns. Her resentment over such a duty was not nearly so strong now as it had been in the past. She would rather have been working on a gown for her husband or herself, but she was sufficiently content with her current condition to give her service to her guardian without bitter anger. She had so serious a puzzle about Saer to work out that she had little room for anger; also, she had begun to realize that Saer was all that stood between her and Osbert.
That name made her shudder with a mixture of fear and revulsion. The cruelty and cowardice of that creature repelled and sickened Gilliane far more than poor Gilbert, but Osbert’s cowardice was her bulwark and her protection. He would not touch her or harm Gilbert as long as Saer lived. For that reason, Gilliane prayed for Saer’s well-doing in the enterprise he had embarked upon. Besides, Saer was much changed. He had not beaten Gilliane once since her marriage, and one time, when he came in unexpectedly and found her trying to shield Gilbert from Osbert’s cruelty, he had knocked his son to the ground and threatened to take him apart piece by piece if he hurt or frightened Gilbert again.
Gilliane had been stunned. She could not believe there had been a sudden reform of Saer’s character; yet he was plainly as delighted as she at the effect marriage had had on Gilbert. The first sign of the change was Gilbert’s attempt to comfort Gilliane on their wedding night. The second sign—Gilliane blushed faintly—was the coupling itself. When she had kissed him at the wedding ceremony, his lunge toward her had been entirely animal, a mindless, instinctive movement. In the bed, however, a different set of memories—if the confused maelstrom in Gilbert’s mind could be called memories—had come to the fore.
Gilbert had responded to Gilliane’s kiss, but gently. He had kissed her in return, stroked her body softly. The blush died out of Gilliane’s cheeks and anxiety came into her eyes. She was guilty of the sin of lust; she knew that. It was lust, pure lust, that made her writhe and whimper with pleasure in Gilbert’s embrace. Not that first time, of course. That had hurt, although less than Gilliane had expected. The salve Catrin had given her had been quite effective. In a few days, however, there was no need for it. As soon as Gilbert began to caress her, a tingling, aching pleasure centered in Gilliane’s breasts and loins pervaded her body. Her thighs would part of themselves, her own moisture would fill the passage, making Gilbert’s entry easy, and she would lift herself eagerly to meet the thrusts that brought delight with impalement.
That was lust. Gilliane did not pretend she loved her husband. If Gilbert was no longer completely an idiot, he was not a man either. She had a pitying sort of affection for him, but that was not love. Thus, her pleasure was owing to her own lust. Yet there was really no way to curb herself. It was her duty to accept her husband; it was her duty to conceive a child by him if she could.
That brought Gilliane’s mind back to Saer and the anxiety deepened on her face. It was not reasonable, not natural, that Saer should be pleased by Gilbert’s improvement. True, it was not much—the ability to say a few stammering words, to recognize Gilliane, to learn to use a crutch so that he could walk about the keep rather than crawl. Still, so much advance might mean that the wound in his head was healing. And if Gilbert should regain his ability to reason, would not Saer lose his hold on Tarring and on Gilbert’s men?
What was more, it was perfectly plain that Saer greatly desired that Gilliane conceive a child. He had asked regularly whether she was breeding and had been disappointed when she told him her flux had started at its usual time. Gilliane thought he would strike her then, but after a moment he had lowered the hand he raised and had said only that she had better try harder to get with child. She was to urge Gilbert to coupling and never to refuse him. Nor was she any longer permitted to close the door to her bedchamber. A maid sat in the antechamber to listen and be sure that Gilliane and Gilbert performed their marital duty at least once every night. Gilliane began to blush again. Even that could not abate her lust. She bit her lips to keep herself as silent as possible, but the red, pulsing pleasure came anyway.
There had to be a reason for the change in Saer. She worried at it, but twist and turn the matter as she would, she could see no possible profit for Saer in Gilbert’s recovery or in her conception of Gilbert’s child. The puzzle was insoluble to Gilliane because she did not understand the attitude of Neville’s men. Saer had always been sure he could get them to accept the terms of the wedding contract. It was the next step that worried him. After he killed Gilbert, how could he make Neville’s men agree to Gilliane’s marriage to Osbert?
First of all, it must be plain to them (as it was to Osbert’s father) that Osbert was no prize. That, however, might work as much in Saer’s favor as against him because the men would believe they could rid themselves of Osbert easily enough once his powerful f
ather was out of the way. Saer did not care about that. He loathed Osbert almost as much as Gilliane did. All Saer cared about was that Tarring and its rents should be his own for the span of his life. Saer desired his own aggrandizement, not the foundation of a dynastic line, and for this only a creature like Osbert would serve.
The solution to Saer’s problem had occurred to him soon after he mentioned to Sir Richard Gilbert’s brief periods of semi-rationality. It was not true that Gilbert had tried to throw himself from a window—that had only been Saer’s excuse for keeping the poor creature locked up—but even as the words came out of Saer’s mouth, he realized they gave him the answer to part of his problem, that of explaining Gilbert’s murder. Then the second part of the problem solved itself.
Just before dawn on Gilliane’s wedding night, Saer had crept quietly from the bed of the maid he was currently using to make sure that there was blood on the sheets of the wedding bed, evidence that Gilbert had consummated the marriage. Gilliane had started awake when Saer pulled the bed curtains aside to let the candlelight fall upon the bed, but she had spoken soothingly to Gilbert. For a wonder, the idiot had not soiled himself with terror or curled up into a fetal position. He had reached for Gilliane—half seeking protection and half desiring to protect her. The girl was obviously having a very strong, stabilizing effect.
Saer’s first instinct was to beat and torture Gilbert into idiocy again, but he restrained himself because there would be no way to hide the marks and Gilbert’s screams might rouse the guests. Cursing, he withdrew. By the time he reached his own bed, however, he was smiling broadly. All his troubles were over. Gilbert’s recovery would fix Saer’s good intentions firmly in the minds of Neville’s men. Then, as soon as Gilliane conceived and it seemed likely she would hold the child and carry it to term, Gilbert would die.
Saer knew just how he would explain the death. Knowing his wife was bearing his bloodline, the poor cripple had felt he had the right to end his miserable existence. Then Saer could demand that Osbert be permitted to marry Gilliane to guarantee that Saer would not be ousted from his position as protector and guardian. After all, if the young widow were seized by someone else and married, that person would have the legal right to control Tarring. Saer was perfectly willing to sweeten his demand by promising to send Osbert away, even back to France, so that there would be no danger that he would hurt the Neville heir. It was the perfect solution. Neville’s vassals and castellans would probably accept so reasonable a compromise, and Saer could go on being the great man of the area.
All went according to plan until King John unexpectedly died on October eighteenth. Saer had the news from a friend in Louis’s force a week after the event. At first, he was delighted. It seemed to make more certain Louis’s grasp on England and thus ensure Saer’s own position. However, by the end of the next week, the situation began to look less hopeful. Word of the defection of men from Louis to swear their faith at Henry III’s coronation began to drift through the country and the tale of the stubborn defense of Dover and other places held for the boy king gave credence to these tales.
When Louis raised the siege at Dover, it occurred to Saer that he had better do something to impress Neville’s men with his personal power. He did not think there would be a generalized rebellion among them unless Louis yielded and fled England—which was very unlikely. However, if there was a period of protracted fighting and King Henry’s party approached this area, one or more of Neville’s men might think that if he killed Saer he could gain control of the idiot and reaffirm his faith to the king.
What Saer must do to keep such an idea from even entering the men’s heads was obviously to clean out the one spot of loyalty to King Henry in the immediate vicinity. That action would serve two additional purposes—it would remove a center from which adherents of the king could attack the surrounding French bastions, and it would bring Saer himself most favorably to Louis’s notice.
The trouble was that the loyal lands belonged to that accursed loudmouth, Adam Lemagne. A huge sense of unease rose in Saer. Moments later, rage replaced the unease. Before meeting Adam, he had never in his life feared any man. He was cautious not to arouse the animosity of men who had greater power than he, like the Comte de la Marche, but the closest he had come to abject terror had been the moment when he realized he was caught in a pincer between Adam’s forces. Shame at the memory of the indecent haste with which he had fled the field, and rage that he should have been so shamed, overwhelmed the unease. Rage took the place of caution, and deceived his mind by urging into it the notion that Adam would not be on his lands. He would have gone to swear his loyalty to King Henry.
The next day Saer’s mercenaries were summoned from their billets in the surrounding area, supplies were wrested from the long-suffering people and, by the end of the week, Saer was on the march. Gilliane never thought she would regret Saer’s absence, but this time his departure frightened her. Osbert would be without restraint However, Saer had not been unaware of the situation. Before he left, he took the precaution of explaining his plans again, very carefully, to Osbert—except the part about sending him back to France—stressing why Gilbert must be left in peace. He also warned Osbert that he must permit any of Neville’s men to visit the keep; Saer was sure that one or more of the men would come as soon as the news of the political situation trickled down to them.
Saer had been perfectly correct in that assumption. As soon as they heard of King John’s death and Louis’s retreat from Dover, Neville’s men began to wonder whether they had chosen correctly. Perhaps now was the time to shift their allegiance back to the English king. Still, Louis’s men held most of the shire. Discretion seemed the better part of valor. Sir Richard decided to visit Tarring and see whether Saer seemed uncertain of the future, whether perhaps he had some knowledge of what Louis planned to do.
Most of Sir Richard’s questions were answered by Saer’s actions. It seemed plain that Saer did not take Louis’s abandonment of the siege of Dover as a sign of retreat. If he believed that, he would have strengthened his defenses at Tarring rather than take his men out to attack. Such an action implied that Saer expected Louis to begin a new offensive directly against the young king rather than yield his position. It would not be safe, Sir Richard decided, to try to shake off Saer’s influence at this time.
The decision was made easier, as Saer had hoped, by the clear evidence of Gilbert’s improved condition. Although the young man did not yet recognize his father’s old friend, he was obviously much stronger physically, not nearly so terrified of any male, and completely devoted to Gilliane. She, for her part, was consistently gentle and patient in dealing with her pathetic husband. To Sir Richard, it seemed that it would be a serious mistake to destroy so careful and considerate a guardian as Saer was proving himself—although Sir Richard could not manage to like the man, no matter how hard he tried.
The only mistake Saer had made was in expecting to curb Osbert’s vicious tendencies by reason. Osbert had not quite broken free of his fear of his father, but he had begun to devise in his mind ways to circumvent the restrictions placed on him. Thus, the only thing that disturbed Sir Richard was Osbert. He did not like the way Gilbert whimpered whenever Osbert approached him or the way Gilliane rushed to interpose herself physically between Osbert and her husband. It was clear that Osbert enjoyed terrorizing the poor cripple and might even try slyly to hurt him. Sir Richard also did not like the way Osbert looked at Gilliane or the fact that she was alone with Osbert in the keep and had no protection from what was obviously a completely dishonorable man. Moreover, Sir Richard did not like the way Osbert spoke to him.
The rudeness was the last straw. Sir Richard chose a moment when Gilliane was alone and approached her. The widening of her lovely dark eyes and the way she braced her body were significant. Sir Richard was a firm husband and father; he had lessoned his wife and his daughter when it was necessary. However, he did not mistreat his womenfolk and they did not fear him unless they we
re conscious of some fault. Nonetheless, Sir Richard had seen enough women beaten for sport to recognize the signs.
“I beg you not to fear me, Lady Gilliane,” Sir Richard began. “I mean you only good. I am most grateful to you for your kindness to my poor overlord.”
Gilliane’s face brightened. “He is much better, is he not, Sir Richard? I think the hurt to his head is healing itself slowly. Do you think, perhaps, he will recover altogether?”
“I do not know, my lady. That is in the hands of God. At first I would not have believed it possible, but now I have some hope of it—so long as no man deliberately thrusts him backward.”
“I do my best,” Gilliane said faintly. “And the servants help as they can. They give me warning if…if…”
“Believe me, I have seen that you do. In fact, you do more than many women would for such a husband. I also know that in these times it is unwise to leave a keep without a man to defend it. However, I could wish Sir Saer had not chosen to leave his son.”
Tears magnified and increased the brilliance of Gilliane’s eyes. “I wish it, too,” she whispered. “I fear…” She dared not finish that. “We are safe while someone is in the keep.” Her face became thoughtful. “Sir Richard, if we were to have frequent and unexpected visitors, perhaps Gilbert would be left in peace, particularly if it were made clear that the visitors expected to see progress in Gilbert’s health. Truly, fear does him much harm. When he is alone with me, he speaks much better and does not forget so easily.”
Sir Richard looked troubled. “I will do my best to arrange it,” he said, “but I am promised to take my wife to my daughter, who is near to her lying-in. I can come next week again, but after that I will be away. However, my son will be at Glynde. If you have real need of help, you can send to him and he will try to come.”
“Thank you,” Gilliane breathed. For two weeks, at least, she would be safe. There was no hope of escape while Osbert was in the keep, and now that King John was dead, the value of escape was greatly diminished. Gilliane knew nothing of the men who were ruling for the boy king; she was not even certain of their names. However, Sir Richard seemed to like her and certainly he cared for poor Gilbert. Gilliane was just considering whether she dared voice her suspicion of Saer’s motives when Sir Richard stopped her tongue on that subject.
Gilliane (Roselynde Chronicles, Book Four) Page 6
