Brides of the North

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  A knock on the chamber door distracted her and she set the embroidery aside to open the panel. A male servant was standing there, an old man who usually tended the lower floors of the keep, and he was holding a small painted box in his hands. When Diamantha looked at him curiously, he thrust the box at her.

  “One of de Bretagne’s men brought this, my lady,” he said. “He told me to tell you that de Bretagne has sent this to you as a gift. It used to belong to his wife.”

  Diamantha stared at the old man a moment, her brow furrowed in both curiosity and displeasure, but because her dear friend Helene had been mentioned, she reluctantly took the box.

  “Is that all he said?” she asked, eyeing the pretty box colored in shades of pink.

  The old servant nodded. “Aye, my lady.”

  With that, Diamantha dismissed the man and softly shut the door. Her serving women had paused in their packing to watch the exchange, curious about the gift, but when their lady turned around and glanced at the gaggle, they quickly went back to work and pretended they weren’t the least bit interested. Diamantha had known the women a very long time, including Sophie’s nurse Annie, so she smirked at their seeming disinterest. They were all liars, the lot of them.

  “Very well, you nosy hens,” she said, pretending to scold them. “You may come and see what the man has sent me.”

  The women, all five of them, immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed over to the great bed. Diamantha sat on the edge of the feather and straw mattress and carefully opened the lid on the box.

  The serving women strained to see the treasure inside, gasping with awe when Diamantha lifted the jewelry out. It was a spectacular necklace comprised of a great silver collar, intricately woven, with a massive silver cross hanging from it. As she inspected it, she noticed that the shape of a heart was interwoven into the fine silver chains at the head of the collar and the cross hung just below the heart. It was an absolute masterpiece of craftsmanship. Diamantha was impressed with it as she gazed at the truly spectacular piece.

  As she continued inspecting it, she seemed to recall seeing Helene wear the piece at one time. Helene was a little woman and something this big and fabulous clearly overwhelmed her small frame, so it was indeed memorable. She also recalled that Helene told her that her husband had given it to her for their wedding. Now, he was giving it again to seal another marriage.

  Something in that knowledge irritated her. Irritation turned to anger, and anger to outrage. So he was purchasing another wife, was he? Did he actually think to buy her with pretty gifts? She could think of no other reason for the offering. She certainly hadn’t done anything to earn it. The man was trying to barter for her! Putting the jewelry back in the box, she slapped the lid closed and charged from the chamber.

  The serving women watched her go with some dismay. Lord only knew what their mistress was going to do. Anger like that usually came to no good end in their world.

  Clad in only a dark gray linen surcoat with a soft wool sheathe underneath, Diamantha ignored the cold of the keep as she took the narrow spiral stairs down to the entry level. Throwing open the heavy entry door, she gathered her skirts and marched out into the damp night. Fog had rolled in from the sea and the kiss of moisture was on everything. Visibility was greatly reduced, leaving everything cloaked and eerie. As she walked, she realized that she only had soft doeskin slippers on and they were already soaked and slick. She ended up sliding in the wet earth as she made her way towards the lower bailey. As she approached the upper gatehouse that separated the upper from the lower ward, she was met by two of her husband’s sentries.

  “Lady Edlington,” one soldier said as he rushed to her side and grasped her arm to keep her from slipping further on the wet incline. “How may we be of service?”

  Diamantha pointed to the enormous gates, lit by torches that struggled against the mist. “Open the gates, please.”

  The sentries looked rather surprised by the request but dutifully yelled to the men inside the gatehouse. Lady Edlington’s orders were not meant to be questioned or disobeyed. Men appeared and threw the big iron bolt that secured the panels. Diamantha moved towards the gates as the men lugged them open, slipping through the gap when it was big enough for her to pass through. As she charged towards de Bretagne’s encampment, shoved down into the far south section of Corfe’s massive bailey, the pair of sentries that had greeted her filtered out after her. They weren’t entirely sure about Lady Edlington being alone in a camp full of strangers, so their sergeant sent them after her.

  It was a fast walk, however, for Lady Edlington was evidently very determined. Her skirts were hiked up almost to her knees, keeping the linen free of the wet earth as she moved, but her shoes were soaked through and starting to come apart. She ignored the shoes that were only meant for delicate travel, however. She was clearly on a mission. On and on down the wet, misty bailey they went until she barked at the first of de Bretagne’s men that she came across.

  “Where is your liege?” she demanded.

  The men were slow to move, looking rather puzzled that a beautiful woman had emerged from the darkness and was now demanding audience with de Bretagne. While one man openly leered over her, another went for his superior officer, who immediately recognized Lady Edlington. Peter Merlin happened to be the superior officer and, jolted by the surprise appearance, he made haste to her side.

  “My lady,” he greeted pleasantly though it was with a hint of concern. “How may I be of service to you?”

  Diamantha was in no mood to be kind or sociable. “Where is de Bretagne?”

  Peter could hear the edge in her tone. “In his quarters, I would assume,” he said, increasingly concerned by her manner. “May I escort you?”

  Diamantha merely nodded and followed the red-haired soldier deep into the cluster of tents, men, and animals. It smelled heavily of smoke and urine, the smell of a camp that was now saturating the ground of the lower ward. She hated it. In fact, she hated everything about de Bretagne and his men. She had been building a righteous fury all the way from the keep and by the time Merlin announced her to de Bretagne, she was fairly steaming with it. The rather smug look on de Bretagne’s face when he realized she had come to visit him only threw more fuel on the fire.

  “Dismiss your man,” she told him.

  Cortez’s smile faded somewhat as he caught the growl in her tone. Quietly, he dismissed Peter and the man quit the tent, closing the flap behind him. Alone with Diamantha in his dimly lit shelter, Cortez set aside the dagger he had been sharpening. Something in the expression of her face told him this was not a social call.

  “How may I be of service, Lady Edlington?” he asked politely.

  Diamantha was literally quivering with rage. She thrust the painted box containing the jewelry in his direction.

  “You can take this back,” she said, her voice tight with fury. “I do not want it.”

  Cortez’s smile vanished completely. “My lady, I assure you that it is a gift,” he said. “It used to belong to my wife but I am sure she would not mind if you have it.”

  Diamantha tossed it onto the pallet nearby because he would not take it and it landed harmlessly. Both hands free, she faced Cortez with all of the ire and emotion she had been feeling since the moment he had entered George’s solar with news of their betrothal. The events of the day had only stoked the blaze of indignation and rebellion. She had reached her limit and everything was about to come bursting out.

  “Nay, I am sure Helene would not mind, for she was a sweet and gentle creature, and I miss her very much,” Diamantha said. “But I do not want it. In fact, I do not want you, either. You burst into my home, tell me I am to marry you, present gifts with which to purchase my compliance, and show kindness to my daughter so that I may soften towards you. Well, I will not soften. I do not wish to marry you. I wish to remain here with my daughter and I wish to live out my life in the same room that my husband and I shared, sleeping on a bed that still smells
of him, and dreaming of the hopes and wishes we shared together. You are not a part of that life. I want you to return to Sherborne and leave me alone.”

  Cortez kept his cool in the face of her angry words. He wasn’t surprised by them but he was very disappointed. In hindsight, he supposed he had been expecting this reaction all along no matter how hard he had tried to diffuse it. With a sigh, he reached over and picked up the painted box, turning it over his hands as he inspected it. His manner was pensive, his mood somber.

  “I cannot say I blame you for what you feel,” he said quietly. “I have been widowed for three years and you have been widowed for a mere three months. I understand how you feel.”

  Diamantha had expected him to fly at her. She had been geared for a battle. Instead, his quiet response had her off balance because she wasn’t sure how to counter it. Was he trying to manipulate her again?

  “Then why do you push?” she insisted. “If you understand my feelings, why in God’s name do you push?”

  Cortez was still staring at the box. He sighed sharply. “Because I see something I want very badly,” he murmured. “I see something I am ready for – marriage and a family. But you… you are not ready. You only see someone who seeks to erase your life with Robert and that is not my intent.”

  “What is your intent?”

  “To create a new life with you,” he replied, lifting his head to look at her. She was so hauntingly beautiful in the weak firelight from the open brazier and he felt a strange tugging at his heart as he gazed at her. “When… when Helene died, I was much like you. I was filled with grief because not only had I lost my wife, but my daughter as well. I was so torn with sorrow that I would not allow them to be buried. For three days, I stayed with my wife, holding the baby, cursing God for his cruelty. I was drunk beyond measure. My knights finally put something in my wine to drug me so they could take my wife and daughter away for burial. I was so distressed that I refused to go to the mass. I stayed in our chamber, the chamber she died in, and drank myself into oblivion. It took me months to pull myself together enough to function like a normal man. So, indeed, I do understand your pain. I understand it all too well.”

  By this time, Diamantha’s rage was nearly gone. His sorrowful words were like water on a fire and she stared at him, her hand unconsciously moving to her chest as if to cover her broken heart. She couldn’t help it.

  “I can still feel pain from you,” she confirmed as if surprised by the realization. “I can feel it in your words. I remember attending Helene’s funeral and you were nowhere to be found. Robert went looking for you, do you recall? When he returned to me, he said that he had found you and that you were mad with grief.”

  Cortez nodded, not particularly wanting to relive those horrible memories. For the first time since his arrival at Corfe, he was genuinely not trying to control the situation. He was trying to show some understanding.

  “I was,” he agreed. “I still cannot go into the church where her body lies. I was to go into it for the first time since her burial when I married you. I thought… I thought that mayhap Helene would like to see our wedding for herself.”

  Diamantha completely lost her anger. It was sucked right out of her by Cortez’s lingering grief, something that was still with him after all of this time. It was something they shared, a common ground they both understood. A common ground that left them both empty and hollow. At that moment, her strength seemed to leave her and she pitched forward onto her knees. She simply hadn’t the power to stand any longer because all of the fight had left her. Cortez rushed to help her but she waved him off. Not unkindly, but she waved him off just the same. She wasn’t angry with him any longer but she didn’t want him touching her; not yet, anyway. She tried to speak but there was a lump in her throat. Before she could stop herself, the tears began to come.

  “I miss her,” she wept quietly. “I miss her and I miss Robert. But at least you know where your wife is. You know she is safely buried with your daughter in her great stone crypt in Sherborne’s abbey, but I have no such comfort. I do not know where my husband’s body is and every night when I go to sleep, I pray for his soul. I am so afraid that it is restless, that he is restless, and I pray that God comforts him. I ask God to tell Robert that I am sorry that his body is lost and his soul has no rest. I pray that same prayer every night and feel so helpless that there is nothing I can do for him. For a man who was so loved, it destroys me to think that he was lost and abandoned in death.”

  Cortez eased himself down onto his bum next to her, watching her weep with pain. It was heartbreaking. This woman, who had lost so much, with grief that was still raw and agonizing. In that realization came a great deal of guilt for him even though she hadn’t meant to cause it. He had been with Robert in his last moments. He had allowed the man to fade into oblivion, to die alone and abandoned. It was his fault.

  “I wish I could have done more,” he insisted softly. “I remained with him as long as I could. I swear to you that I did not intentionally abandon him.”

  Diamantha nodded, wiping at her nose. “I understand that now,” she said. “But he is missing all the same. I will never have my husband to bury as you had your wife to bury. I cannot visit his grave and know that his remains are safe. The only place I can see him now is in my dreams.”

  There was a huge amount of anguish in that statement and Cortez turned away as she wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. He was coming to realize that his inaction of bringing Robert home for burial had caused a great deal of her pain. The woman had no closure. With no body to bury, she was still expecting a miracle and hoping that Robert would return home someday. But Cortez seemed to be the only one who knew that was not to be.

  Furthermore, he was beginning to understand something else – even if he married the woman, Robert Edlington would always come between them because in her mind, he wasn’t truly dead. No body, no death. Cortez had to right that wrong, if for no other reason than to pave the way for a new life and a new marriage with Diamantha. He wanted the woman’s adoration but if not that, at least her respect. He was coming to see he was going to have to earn it. He couldn’t bully her into submission. She had made that clear. He was going to work for it.

  “My lady,” he finally said. “May… may I make a proposal to you?”

  Diamantha sniffled, swallowing the last of her tears. “You already did last night.”

  There was a surprising tinge of humor to the statement and he looked at her with a glimmer in his eye. “Not that kind of proposal,” he said, “although I would like to make one that would mayhap see both of us satisfied. May I continue?”

  Diamantha looked at him dubiously for a moment before reluctantly nodding. “You may.”

  He smiled faintly. “During the course of this conversation, it has become evident to me that I hold a good deal of responsibility for your grief,” he said. “I was with Robert in his final hours and I should have been more diligent in my care of him. I know that you do not understand the dynamics of battle so I will not bore you with them. The reasons behind my perceived carelessness do not matter. All that matters is that I am a knight of noble character and to leave a comrade behind was inexcusable. I should have done everything in my power to locate him. That being said, it is therefore my duty to return for the man and bring him home.”

  An expression of shock crossed Diamantha’s face. “Return for him?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

  He lifted his eyebrows in a resigned gesture. “I mean exactly what I said,” he replied quietly. “My proposal is this… if I bring Robert’s body home for burial, will you consent to marrying me without reservation upon completion of this task?”

  Diamantha’s astonishment deepened. “But… but you told me last night that my father had already given you permission to marry me,” she said, although she genuinely wasn’t trying to be combative. “What does it matter if you have my consent or not? You told me this morning that you were going to take me back to Sherborne an
d marry me immediately.”

  He nodded, appearing rather contrite. “I was doing the only thing I knew to do,” he said. “I was issuing a command. My lady, I have nearly twelve hundred men at my disposal and I am not accustomed to asking permission from anyone. I see now that my approach to you has been incorrect. I should not have made such demands. I should have at least tried to gain your agreement in a more polite manner but I fear I am very out of practice with such things.”

  She was genuinely surprised to see that he seemed like a man who had realized his arrogance had overwhelmed his better judgment. It was quite astonishing given all she’d ever heard about Cortez de Bretagne. The man she had heard tale of never backed down from anything, or anyone. Inevitably, she could feel herself softening towards him just the slightest but more than that, he had offered to bring Robert home. That fact alone had her very interested in what he was saying.

  If agreeing to a betrothal would bring her husband’s body home for good, then perhaps she should consider it. Perhaps she should use de Bretagne for that purpose alone and if she ended up married to the man then at least it was for a good cause. She wanted Robert home and Cortez had offered to do it. As much as she professed to pray to God for Robert’s soul, the truth was that she was willing to make a deal with the devil if it would see her husband returned to her. Aye, she was willing to do anything. She studied the man a moment, his dark beauty and glittering eyes, before replying.

  “When will you do this?” she asked.

  He was hopeful that she hadn’t refused him outright. “Immediately,” he told her. “I will go tomorrow morning.”

  “All the way to Scotland?”

  “All the way to Scotland.”

  She pondered that a moment. “It will take weeks at the very least,” she said. “Probably months.”

  “Probably.”

  She fell silent a moment, contemplating. “What happens if you cannot find him?”