“Therefore nothing can surprise him?” Elizabeth asked.
“Nothing.”
“You make my husband sound most predictable, Roger.”
“It is a compliment I give him.”
Elizabeth did not agree that describing her husband as predictable and rigid was a compliment. Rigidity left little room for spontaneity. No, it was no compliment, she decided. In truth, it sounded quite dreary.
“And do all follow his rules, Roger?” she found herself asking.
Roger looked surprised by her question. “Of course,” he said. “He would have it no other way. Nor would we! He is our lord, our leader.”
“Do not frown so, Roger. I was not discrediting my husband or your loyalty. I merely wish to learn as much about my husband as I can.”
Her explanation placated the knight and he relaxed his scowl.
She decided to change the subject and said, “Roger, I wish to thank you for your guard over my brother. I know you do this because my husband ordered it, but it must be a hardship and I—”
Roger coughed and Elizabeth guessed it was with embarrassment. “I do my duty,” he muttered, “and would give my life to protect the boy.”
Elizabeth smiled and knew that what he said was true. “My worry is lessened because you are in charge of him,” she admitted. “Tonight—”
“He will be well guarded,” Roger interrupted. “Have no fear concerning him.”
“With you about, I have no fear. Thank you, Roger.”
He was about to say that he did only what his lord ordered, but recognized the lie. He would protect the boy whether he was ordered to or not. Had not his new mistress helped him in his hour of need? When his lord lay near death and he had no notion as to what to do? And now he had an opportunity to lessen her fear. He could not refuse, nor did he wish to. She had captured his loyalty.
He nodded, indicating that he had heard the remark. Compliments make him feel awkward, Elizabeth decided. For that reason she did not smile or make a jest about his discomfort but changed the subject once again. “I fear my parents’ room will be overrun with rats.” She sighed and continued, “It must be made ready for my grandfather, and I am sure he has no liking for their company.” Her chattering ceased when the only reply she could get from Roger was a recognizable grunt, telling her that he was not interested in mundane household matters, she surmised.
They reached the doors and Roger escorted her into the hall where her husband waited. There were several of Geoffrey’s men in the room, all wearing serious expressions. There was tension in the air and Elizabeth knew the talk was concerned with grave matters.
Later she would excuse her behavior on her nerves, the tension that was building up inside her over the coming encounter with Belwain, but that was only half the truth, she admitted. He just looked so forceful standing there, so rigid. And those hands, those velvet hands he held in such iron fists upon his hips, as if he was just about to let go with some great wrath. Oh, he was predictable, this new husband of hers, she thought as she stood at the entrance and waited for his attention. Predictable indeed. And that, she later told herself, that was the other half of the reason. He was so sure of everyone’s reactions, and yes, their behavior too. He was too sure!
She was through waiting. She knew he saw her out of the corner of his eye as he listened to what one of the knights was saying. She tried to listen too, but the distance was too great and the knight’s voice too low.
When Geoffrey nodded to his vassal, Elizabeth took that as his dismissal and started across the hall. He turned to watch her, his expression well hidden, as usual. Could he read the determination in her eyes? She hoped not, and suddenly increased her pace until she was almost running. She threw herself into his arms. Geoffrey’s reaction was instinctive; he placed his hands on her waist to steady her, a most surprised look on his face. She saw it and was immensely pleased. I am not so predictable, she wanted to shout, not so easily molded, husband.
She was not done. Before he could mask his reaction and stand her away from him, she clasped her hands behind his neck and stretched up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Good evening to you, my lord,” she whispered. She let go when she felt his intake of breath but continued to smile. Taking a step back, she tried to assume what she hoped was a subservient and obedient stance, though she had no previous practice in the art of docility, and said, “You wished to speak with me?”
The lilt in her voice, the sparkle in her eyes . . . Geoffrey felt as if the sun had just penetrated the walls, amazed at the joy she brought into the room. He glanced around and saw the soldiers watching and smiling.
He could not allow it, of course, should not, this independent streak in her, this need to disobey his most explicit order to behave in public with absolute decorum. Why, she was openly defying him! Aye, that was the truth, he decided. She wished to irritate him, but for what purpose? What was her game?
Her manner told him she awaited his reaction. He was about to chastise her with hinted threats he would carry out later, to give her what she expected. The teasing challenge in her eyes stopped him. It is what she expects, he realized.
His expression had turned back to the mask and so Elizabeth was quite unprepared for what happened next. Without saying a word, Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. Her reaction pleased him, and he favored her with a smile of his intent seconds before his mouth settled on hers. It was no gentle kiss, not from start to finish. His mouth opened on hers, demanding a response. She felt overwhelmed and quite embarrassed, felt his hands holding her hips against his in a most intimate way. She tried to pull away but could not. He was too strong.
How dare he? she demanded as she tried to push his tongue away with her own, how dare he maul her like this?
Her anger kept her from responding for a time, but then that too dissipated, and the warmness of remembrance, last night’s passion, filled her. She found herself responding in spite of her intentions. And that was more humiliating than being kissed so passionately in front of an audience.
Geoffrey found her resistance fade and relaxed his hold. He continued to take his fill but stopped when he found himself more affected than he wished. The taste of her was intoxicating, he decided.
He kissed her once on the forehead after releasing her lips and chuckled out loud at the dazed expression on her face.
“You forget yourself,” she whispered in a furious voice, pushing at his hands, which still lingered on her hips.
“I never forget myself,” Geoffrey answered, grinning. “You have indicated by your embrace that you have a desire to be treated as a—”
It was as far as he got. Elizabeth’s foot came down on his with a gasp of outrage. “Whore?” she interrupted. “You were going to say whore? Well, you are very mistaken, Baron. I wish for affection and you give me a mauling.”
He continued to smile and her temper exploded. “Fine, lord and master! I have learned this lesson. In future there will be no display of affection. None! I will give you the cold indifference you seem to wish.”
It was a wonderful exit line, Elizabeth thought, but found that her husband disagreed. He wouldn’t let go of her.
“I have heard of your temper, mistress,” he said. His voice was gentle and soothing, the exact opposite of the anger she had thought her words would have caused. “Perhaps later we might find time to discuss this unladylike bellowing of yours. You are lucky that you find yourself married to such a mild-tempered husband.”
She could only listen to his words with an open mouth, could not think of a single retort to his ridiculous analysis of his temperament.
And then he was gone, exited from the room, and only the echo of his deep laughter remained.
Elizabeth shook her head with despair. So much for predictable, she thought. Aye, she repeated. Predictable indeed!
Chapter Seven
WHEN ELIZABETH HAD FINISHED HER DUTIES HELPING TO clear the varmint and the clutte
r from her parents’ room, she went to her own bedroom. More dust had settled on her than the dustbin. She washed and changed into a gown of pale green, with an overtunic a shade darker and decorated with silver threads circling the top. Sara helped her fix her hair into a coronet atop her head, saying it looked quite lovely, even with the wisps of curls that kept slipping out.
Elizabeth waited until Sara had left the room before tying a second knife to a piece of ribbon and securing it under her gown around her thigh. She then clipped the silver chain that went with her overtunic, her bliaut, around her waist, letting it ride low, just above her hips, and slipped the other dagger in place there. She would use it to cut the meat, as it was the only utensil used and each carried his own, and no one would consider it unusual for her to carry it. But I could also use it to kill Belwain, she considered, if there be a need.
Little Thomas and Geoffrey’s main squire, Gerald, were waiting in the hall when she opened the door. Behind them stood three soldiers, all holding drawn swords. “With your permission, we are to wait in your room until the visitors have left,” the squire announced. “I am to keep your brother company and they,” he said, motioning to the guards with a tilt of his head, “they will watch the door.”
Elizabeth took a step back and allowed the two to pass by. She patted her brother on the top of his head and said to Gerald, “There is a chess game and checkers too, in the chest next to the fire-place.”
“I am quite good at both games,” the squire boasted.
“I do not know how to play,” her brother answered.
“Of course you do, Thomas,” Elizabeth replied. “You have just forgotten. In time you will remember.”
She shut the door behind her and slowly walked to the landing. From the sounds coming from below, she knew Belwain and his men had arrived. She hesitated at the top step, felt her courage try to desert her, and admitted that she honestly did not know if she would be able to see the evening through without trying to kill her uncle.
She touched the dagger at her side, patted it as if it had life, and whispered, “Our time will come.”
“Who are you talking to?” her grandfather asked from behind.
Elizabeth turned and tried to smile. She was relieved to see him, knew that he would help her get through this evening. “My dagger,” she said. “I console my weapon. You do not think me crazed?”
“I do not,” he answered, shaking his head. “And does your dagger have a name?”
“You tease me,” Elizabeth said. The smile was more natural now for her grandfather.
“I do not tease,” her grandfather answered. “It is most common to name your sword or your dagger.”
“I thought only kings named their swords.”
“They also, child. Do you remember the tales of the mighty king Charlemagne?” With her nod, he said, “There are songs about his love for his sword, named Joyosa. Truly.”
“Roland’s name for the sword at his belt was Durin-dana, and there are songs about it,” she volunteered.
“So you are not so daft to talk to your dagger, Elizabeth,” her grandfather said. “I wager your husband talks to his,” he added.
Elizabeth doubted that but said, “I know he places great pleasure on his weapon but I do not think he talks to it.” She found herself chuckling over their ridiculous conversation. “Knights are filled with superstition, I think. To name their weapons, to—”
“It is most serious, this work of killing or being killed. The knight knows that without his weapons he is powerless. That is why he honors his equipment. Every item in his stock has its significance.”
“You are making fun of me,” Elizabeth said. “I do not believe you.”
“Your education is lacking, Granddaughter,” her grandfather answered. He took hold of her hand and started down the steps. “Take the knight’s spear,” he said. “Now, that is a most useful weapon, is it not?”
“Aye.”
“The straightness of the spear symbolizes truth to the knight’s way of thinking and its iron head suggests strength.”
“So a curved spear would never do,” Elizabeth said, smiling at her absurd remark.
“Of course not,” her grandfather answered, “and it would be most ineffective.”
“What about the other ‘stock’?”
“The helmet indicates modesty, and the spurs diligence.”
“My husband does not always wear his helmet so he is not modest?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“Do not bait me when I try to teach you something.” Her grandfather’s voice was full of laughter.
They had reached the bottom of the steps and started into the great hall. He felt his granddaughter increase her pressure on his arm and knew her stress. Still, his voice continued in the same light tone as he said, “Now, the shield is almost as important to the knight as his sword, though he does not have it buried with him, of course.”
“And what does the shield remind the knight of?”
“That by using it he has saved his body and therefore remembers to use his body to protect his lord. In your husband’s case, his lord is King William.”
“What about the bow and arrows that you made for me? What do they represent?”
“You know that the soldiers do not use the small bow,” her grandfather chided her. “They are fitting for a knight’s use.”
“My father thought my new weapon—”
“Ineffective?”
“Actually, he called it stupid, useless.”
“Enough! You wound me, for I carved the arrows myself, and well you know it!” He laughed then and added in a whisper, “Why do you think I gave you such a bizarre present?”
“To irritate my father, of course,” Elizabeth answered, smiling. She was looking into her grandfather’s sparkling eyes and hardly noticed that they stood in the center of the room, surrounded by Geoffrey’s men and Belwain’s soldiers.
“I admit it,” he answered, chuckling.
“And that is why you gifted me with the dogs. They were so small when I first began to care for them, but you knew, didn’t you? You knew how huge they would become.”
“I did, indeed,” her grandfather immediately answered. “Though I did not share the information with your father.”
“I am surprised he did not challenge you.” Geoffrey’s statement turned her grandfather’s attention to him. He stood to Elizabeth’s side, a smile of greeting on his face.
“It was all a game we played,” her grandfather explained. He took Elizabeth’s hand, resting on his arm, and placed it on Geoffrey’s. “Thomas not only looked forward to my visits, but he demanded them.” Elizabeth showed her surprise and her grandfather nodded. “It is true. He would send for me. Did you think I just appeared when the fancy took me?”
She nodded and he continued, “Thomas would send word to me that I was being remiss in my duty as father to his wife. I would then travel to Montwright and he would act as surprised as everyone else when I arrived.”
Her grandfather winked at her and turned back to Geoffrey. “I have gotten her down the steps, my lord. I leave the duty of removing her dagger to you.”
Geoffrey nodded and pulled Elizabeth close to his side. “You have no wish to offer me a greeting this evening?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I do not,” Elizabeth replied. “And I will keep my dagger at my side.”
“Only if I allow it,” her husband said in a mild tone. “I do not like your hair twisted like that on top of your head. Wear it down when we are together.”
Elizabeth’s hand automatically went to her hair. Then she realized his aim. “You are as bad as my grandfather, my lord. You confuse me with nonsense when more serious matters need be discussed. You truly do not like my hair this way?” she couldn’t help but ask, and almost bit down on her lower lip for her foolishness.
“I do not,” Geoffrey answered. “And your garments do not please me much either,” he added. He saw his wife’s back arch in protest and did
his best not to smile. “Tomorrow we will see about having new chainses and new bliauts fashioned for you.”
“Is there anything you do like about me?” Elizabeth asked. She let her irritation show by jerking her hand from his arm.
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey answered. “I will have to think on it and advise you later.”
His strategy was working. He was forcing his wife to think of other matters and hoped, when she came face to face with Belwain, she would not have had time to build her rage. She was like a small fire now, and as long as he and her grandfather continued to throw bits of water in her direction, she could not grow in intensity, becoming an inferno of emotion, out of control.
Elizabeth looked around the room and saw that Geoffrey’s men were being friendly with the new soldiers. Everyone held cups of ale and already a free atmosphere prevailed.
“Where is he?” There was no inflection in her voice when she asked the question.
“Outside,” her husband informed her. “He is seeing what repairs and changes have been made.”
“Perhaps it would be best if I went outside to greet him,” Elizabeth suggested in a flat voice.
“I think not,” Geoffrey replied. At her questioning look, he continued, “I have your word that you will not try to harm him, and I know you will keep it.”
“Then why—”
“Come with me to the table,” he said, dismissing the subject. “You are not to leave my side this eve.”
Elizabeth nodded and once again took hold of Geoffrey’s arm. The crowd parted as they made their way to the long table and sat down. Geoffrey leaned toward his wife and whispered, “Look about you, wife. Do you recognize any of the men?”
“Not yet,” she answered, turning her face so that she was just inches from her husband’s. She felt very safe sitting so close to him, and that gave her the courage to look around the room, to study each newcomer. “So many wore hoods,” she reminded her husband in a whisper.
When Geoffrey took hold of her hand and casually wrapped his arm around her waist, she knew that Belwain had entered the hall. She felt her husband’s hand rest on the hilt of her dagger.
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