by Beleaguered
A candle still burned on the table, and he smiled to see his wife had attempted to keep her word. Sleep had finally claimed her, however, and she slumbered with her head upon her hand. He reached for a bottle and poured himself a cup of wine, taking in her innocent face in the flickering light.
Strange, he still felt nothing for this woman with whom he had lived for nigh on two months now. He did not dislike her, for she gave him no reason to do so. She simply was not the woman he desired. Perhaps if he could bring himself to try to foster a companionship with her, it would ease some of his tension. But he constantly held himself from her, speaking to her but little, coming to her in their bed only when his need could not be denied—but without passion, almost as a stranger. At times, he hated himself for the way he treated her, yet he could not do otherwise. She was his wife in name only. One woman alone would ever hold that true title for him. Alyse’s dear face rose before him. The wife of his heart.
Geoffrey roused from his reverie and drained his goblet. Such reflections would lead to nothing but more bitterness aimed at Mary, who deserved it least of all. He must make the effort to be more courteous, less brusque in his dealings with her. Mayhap ’twould ease his conscience. At least it could do no harm. He reached over to gently waken her. At his touch, she started back, and he smiled kindly at her as she sat, blinking sleepily.
“You did not have to wait up, madam. I told you I would likely be late. ’Tis almost dawn. You should have been abed ere now.” He stretched and began to remove his garments.
Mary yawned as she rose from her chair and went to stand before him. Geoffrey looked up, surprised. She usually stayed her distance, choosing to be as invisible to him as possible. She glanced at his face, and opened her mouth, yet no sound emerged. She bowed her head.
“What is it, Mary?” Perhaps the princess had elevated her status once again. That had been the last circumstance to bring this much spirit to his wife.
“I stayed up to speak with you, my lord. I did not mean to fall asleep, but the time grew late.” She seemed oddly abashed at her inability to remain awake until he arrived.
“’Twas all right.” Geoffrey looked at her curiously. “What would you say that would not keep ’til morning?”
Taking a deep breath, she raised her head. “I waited to be sure, but now I am.” She finally met his eyes. “I carry your child, my lord.”
His breath stopped, and he stared at her so hard her face turned red.
She backed away.
A child. Bitterness flooded his mouth. If only ’twas Alyse with such news to tell. He shook his head. ’Twas not to be. Such thoughts were fool’s fodder. Best take what satisfaction he could glean from the news.
A child of his body. Mayhap a son and heir to Longford. A sudden image arose of him on horseback with a sturdy, blond-haired lad astride a pony beside him, holding a small hawk on his wrist. He would have much to teach such a lad. His heart swelled at the thought.
Much more satisfaction than he had cause to expect.
He looked anew at Mary, standing quietly before him. The mother of his child warranted more respect than simple courtesy.
He reached toward her to draw her to him and was saddened to see her flinch. “Nay, Mary, do not fear me,” he said gently, gathering her to him in the first moment of true affection he had shown her since their wedding. He held her close, whispering, “I am very pleased with your news, my dear. I will look forward to the birth of our child with great anticipation. Are you pleased as well?”
She seemed startled by his question, but answered eagerly. “Aye, my lord, I am very pleased to bear your child. Pray God it is a son.”
Geoffrey chuckled. “Aye, madam, although a daughter would do as well to start. Whichever God wills.” He lifted her face and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Thank you, Mary. Thank you for waiting up to tell me. ’Twas a sweet thought to honor me so.” He let her go, and she smiled broadly then moved toward the bed to undress as he resumed his disrobing.
Shortly, he joined her in bed and blew out the candle. In the darkness, he smiled, and found himself willingly reaching for Mary, drawing her to him, cradling her against his shoulder. She said nothing, but it took a while for her body to rest easily against his.
When she finally did, he ventured to ask, “How far along are you, madam?”
“Almost two months, my lord.”
Short work that.
He smiled again in the dark. “Perhaps, Mary, it is time you learned to call me Geoffrey.”
Chapter 4
Boom, boom, boom.
A persistent knocking at the chamber door awakened Alyse from a deep sleep. She struggled to sit up, the sheets catching about her hips. Moonlight streamed through the western-facing window of their apartment, making the shadows near the bed lengthen. She blinked sleep from her eyes and glanced at Thomas, still in the thrall of slumber. Deciding not to wake him, she rose yawning, lit the candle by her bedside, and grabbed her robe before cautiously approaching the door.
Fastening the robe around her, she called hesitantly, “Who is it?”
“’Tis Geoffrey. Please, I must speak with Thomas.” The urgency in his voice made her swing the door wide without delay, and Geoffrey strode in, his face a distracted study in the candlelight.
“What is wrong, Geoffrey?”
He ignored her, rushed to the bed and began to shake her husband vigorously.
Thomas came fully awake, alert and on his feet in an instant. He peered at his attacker in the dim light. “Geoffrey? What the devil is going on?” He looked around cautiously, apparently expecting some sort of assault.
“I need you, Thomas. We must move the household immediately. By first light we must be on the road to Loremo, for we are all in mortal danger.” Geoffrey’s face was gaunt in the candlelight, pinched with fatigue and fear.
“Good God, man. What has happened? Are we under attack?” Thomas shot a look of concern at his friend as he scrambled into his chausses.
“Robert Bouchier is dead, apparently of some pestilence that has been ravaging Bordeaux for the past month.”
“My God.” The clammy hand of fear dropped Alyse’s oath to a mere whisper. Pestilence? She had heard naught of such in the city.
Thomas uttered a more colorful oath, but looked at him inquiringly while struggling to pull on his boots. “Why does this one death disturb you so, Geoffrey? Granted, Robert is a grave loss to the company, but why this frantic need to move house because of one death?”
Geoffrey’s lips flattened into a straight line. He looked pointedly at Alyse, but then shrugged, and addressed Thomas once more. “’Tis not one death, Thomas. As of last count, just ere midnight, twenty-seven of the party have died of this malady.”
Alyse gasped. More than a score of men and women she most likely knew. Who? Had any of her friends been taken? All of Joanna’s ladies had been well at dinner last night, thank God.
Thomas let his boot fall to the floor and stared at his friend. “Twenty-seven since we arrived? ’Twas but a week ago.”
“Twenty-seven in two days.”
Her legs wobbled, and Alyse slid to the floor, her bottom hitting the cool stone with a soft thump.
Two days? God have mercy.
She looked to Thomas, but his impassive face betrayed no alarm. A slight tic in his cheek, however, told its own tale.
“Robert was taken ill night before last,” Geoffrey continued. “I learned of it at the banquet. All day yesterday I received reports of illness with the archers, with the servants, and even some of the courtiers. Before word reached me of his death, I had the other accounts of illness.” The lines on Geoffrey’s face seemed to deepen as he spoke. “It apparently kills very swiftly. Some people have reportedly died in a single day.”
“God save us!” Alyse crossed herself. She glanced from one man to the other and struggled to rise. “I must dress and go to the princess.”
Thomas placed a cool hand beneath hers and assisted her to he
r feet. “That is wise, my love. See to Her Highness’s comfort.” His eyes met Geoffrey’s. “Princess Joanna has been informed?”
Geoffrey gave a slight shake of his head. “Nay, I came to rouse you first. You are second-in-command now. I look to you to take charge of the bowmen for me. I go to Her Highness now.”
Alyse’s heart thrummed in her chest. She must dress and attend the princess, yet she was loath to leave either man. These two men formed her anchor in a world suddenly adrift. No such disaster had ever struck so near to her before, and fear seized her, body and soul. What would she do if they succumbed to the illness? She gripped Thomas’s arm, but sought reassurance in Geoffrey’s face. If only he could take her in his arms and shelter her from this danger.
The desolate look in his dark eyes terrified her, and she hid her face in Thomas’s chest. ’Twas comfort enough. When he made to pull away from her, she clutched him tighter.
“Alyse.” His tone was gentle but firm. “You must be brave, my sweet.” Slowly, she raised her head. He gazed into her face and stepped away from her. “Take a moment to compose yourself. Pack our things. Steady yourself ere you go to the princess. Let her not see or feel your fear.”
Alyse gulped and nodded. She was a courtier to a princess of England and must comport herself as such. Straightening her shoulders, she turned toward her clothes chest then stopped. Best to know what she would face when she left her chamber.
Steeling herself for the worst, she asked, “Who else has died besides Sir Robert?”
Geoffrey shot a wary glance at Thomas, who shrugged. “She will find out soon enough.”
Shifting from one booted foot to the other, Geoffrey replied in a flat tone, “Eleven of the bowmen, perhaps six or seven servants, three men at arms, Sir Robert, and,” he hesitated a beat, “five other courtiers.”
Dear God. Who?
Before she could form the dreaded question, he continued. “Sir William Hapsgood, Sir Richard Starke,” he paused, sighed, then rushed on, “Sir John Wakefield, his wife, Lady Maurya, and her brother, Sir Patrick Sullivan.”
“Oh God, no!” The words landed like a blow to her heart. Maurya. Patrick. Tears flooded her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she landed in Thomas’s arms, sobbing desolately. This could not be. Her dearest friend…her faithful courtier…gone.
As from a distance, Thomas asked, “Think you removing to Loremo will keep us safe?”
“’Twas Sir Robert’s thought that although Bordeaux was infected, the contagion might not have reached as far outside the city walls as Loremo.” Geoffrey spoke low, yet she heard.
“You spoke with Sir Robert?” Thomas asked.
“Aye, shortly before he died.” At his bitter tone, Alyse’s head came up, and before Geoffrey could turn away, she read grim despair in his face.
Thomas had apparently caught Geoffrey’s mood and stood Alyse away from him. “My love, you must be strong. Weep not for our friends just now. You must do as Geoffrey directs, see to our belongings, and attend the princess. She will have need of you.”
“Aye, Thomas.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She must put her grief aside and comfort Joanna. “I will make haste with our things and attend her presently.”
Geoffrey nodded, approval in his eyes. A boon to her spirit, albeit a very small one.
“I have instructed Mary to do likewise,” he said, heading for the door. “She may be with the princess even now. Stay in the princess’s apartments until either Thomas or I come for you. The princess and her ladies will be the first to be taken to the carriages.”
Mary. Even the burden of her rival’s company seemed light in the wake of such a disaster. “Aye, Geoffrey. We will await you in her chamber.”
Thomas grazed her mouth with a kiss and followed Geoffrey from the chamber.
As if in a dream, Alyse gathered their belongings and stuffed them into the chests, for once not caring for neatness or order. What need had she of order in a world where such madness reigned? Try as she might to focus on the task at hand, she could not help but think of Maurya and Patrick Sullivan. Dear Lord, she could scarce believe it yet. Her grief spilled down her cheeks as she hastily packed clothing, jewels, linens, and personal items for herself and Thomas. Pray God they find a safe haven from this grave pestilence. Finished at last, she left the trunks where they sat and rushed to dress.
Hurrying down the corridor to the princess’s chambers, Alyse again wiped at her eyes and tried to compose her face into concerned but hopeful lines. She and the other ladies must take care of the princess, attend to her comfort, and keep her from being unnecessarily aggrieved.
She comforted herself with the knowledge that Geoffrey was in charge. He was a decisive leader and a clever strategist who could be trusted to keep a cool head whatever the circumstance demanded. And the combination of the stalwart Geoffrey and the resourceful Thomas bolstered her confidence that all would end well. Between the two of them, the princess’s household would be served admirably in this time of crisis.
As she entered the princess’s audience chamber, a murmur of voices drifted in from Princess Joanna’s bedchamber, and she turned her steps toward it. Within, she found the princess, attended by Lady Mary, Lady Anne, and Margaret, all hovering in a tight knot of concern. They started at her entrance, frantic fear in their faces. Alyse took a breath, made herself remain calm, and bustled toward the wary women.
“Your Highness,” she said, and dipped a quick curtsy.
The young girl no longer looked the regal princess who had imperiously confined her to her cabin on the Phillipa. In her place sat a frightened and confused child. Alyse’s heart went out to her, and she affected a bright and cheery countenance. “Sir Geoffrey bade me come to you and see to the packing of your personal belongings in preparation for the coming move. He assures me we will be on the road to Loremo ere we break our fast, so we have little time to waste.”
Alyse had seldom had occasion to bring authority to bear on anyone, much less Her Highness, but she sensed an innate need for leadership emanating from the group of women. Someone had to take charge of the ladies before they collapsed into a frenzy of wailing and fear. Her confidence in the men who led them gave her the courage to take the reins.
“Lady Anne, please open the princess’s trunks and pack what has been taken from them.” Her voice took on a commanding tone that none in the room had likely heard from her before. “Margaret, fetch the case for the princess’s personal items. It should be in the far corner of the antechamber, with the linen trunks. I will pack that when you bring it. Lady Mary, if you would be so kind as to help Her Highness dress for the journey? I will build up the fire and then pour some wine to fortify us this morning.”
The authority in her voice seemed to touch a chord in the other women, for, to her astonishment, they scattered and set about their tasks with no protest. Mayhap they were merely glad to have something to keep them busy.
“Make haste, ladies!” Alyse raised her voice. “We must be ready ere Sir Geoffrey returns.”
The next hour saw the princess dressed in a gown of green embroidered with gold thread, and her trunks crammed to brimming with the gowns she had selected to wear during her stay in Bordeaux. Her jewel case had been packed, locked, and set upon the mound of luggage awaiting the servants to load them into the conveyances. Alyse surveyed the work with satisfaction. They would be ready when Geoffrey came for them. Again, she plied the women with wine and praised the swift completion of their tasks.
“Too swift, in truth,” Alyse muttered, suddenly aware that with nothing productive to occupy their minds, their thoughts could not but return to the uncertain plight of the household.
She returned once more to the window, willing the sun’s earliest streaks to present themselves. But the night remained dark except for the moonlight still touching the gardens outside the princess’s chamber with an eerie silver light. Fighting to stifle a yawn, Alyse wished desperately to hear Geoffrey’s knock at the door. ’Tw
ould only come when God granted, however, so she resigned herself instead to the task of entertaining or distracting the small knot of women gathered around Princess Joanna’s chair.
On the verge of inquiring if the princess had had any message from her betrothed or his family since she had arrived in Bordeaux, Alyse glanced up when Lady Anne rushed back into the chamber from an errand to the kitchens.
“Oh, we are all doomed!” Anne burst into tears and sent up a wail that could have been heard halfway across the castle. “Fifty-eight souls dead this morning alone! And such a swift and painful death. Lord, have mercy! We all shall die—”
Wretched girl!
Alyse drew back and slapped her late bedfellow across the face, a blow that cracked in the sudden stillness of the room. The wailing abruptly ceased. Anne’s head snapped back, and a shocked silence ensued before the girl dissolved into weeping.
With a firm hand on Anne’s elbow, Alyse forced her to the chamber door. “I suspect you are in need of fresh air to calm your spirits. Go take a turn in the garden lest your words alarm the princess. Do not return until you can comport yourself as you should.” Alyse fairly bit off the words in her fury at Anne.
All her work to soothe and reassure the princess banished in an instant by this unthinking creature. She shoved the disagreeable Anne, who still held her cheek, out the door and pulled it shut. When she turned back to the princess and the other two women, their eyes had widened and terror seemed to threaten to overrun them. Thrusting aside her own fears, Alyse affected a calm demeanor and set about repairing the damage Anne had wrought.
“Highness, be not afraid of Lady Anne’s words. She has overheard rumors in the kitchen or wild tales from the servants. I had it straight from Sir Geoffrey himself that fewer than thirty of our company have succumbed thus far, and only six courtiers of that number, including Sir Robert.” Alyse knelt at the princess’s feet as she tried to quell the rising fear in Joanna’s face.
