by R. R. Vane
Non sans droict. Not without right. She saw her husband raise his helmeted head from the field to look upon her, but she could not help but cast an anguished glance in Haughton’s direction. She did not want her husband’s victory to cause the downfall of two men. And she fervently hoped Haughton had recovered enough to prevent more prying eyes upon his distress.
“Young Haughton seems to take Sir Erec’s defeat so very hard. I wonder why.” She heard Lady Edith’s hateful, venomous voice behind her.
She made up her mind quickly, knowing there was a way to help. She fervently hoped Sir Erec was not grievously wounded, and he would immediately send word to his lover he was hale. Yet she had no way of knowing. So she decided to slip away, unobtrusively, to look upon her husband’s vanquished opponent. Since everyone had already gathered around the victor, it was easy to do so, and she made her way, without seeking to hide her intent, to the tent where Sir Erec’s squires had helped carry their lord. It would have looked suspicious if she’d gone stealthily, so she did not go for stealth. She intended not to hide what she’d done from Bertran, and she already knew he would not object, because she’d vowed to him she was unquestionably his. He would certainly approve of her concern for a vanquished opponent, since he no longer had any cause for jealousy.
She breathed in full relief when she saw Sir Erec was now on his feet, out of his hauberk, wearing his padded tunic. He was nursing a bumped head, but there seemed to be nothing more grievous than that.
Sir Erec instantly dismissed his squires when he glanced upon her.
“Milady?” he asked in a concerned voice.
Alicia spoke urgently.
“It’s Godfrey. You need to tell your squires to reassure him as soon as can be. Otherwise… I fear people have started casting suspicious glances. He seemed very distressed when you fell… and he looked as if he might faint.”
Sir Erec cursed under his breath.
“The fool!” he muttered. “He may well have been the cause of my last fall. I knew he was fretting over me during the joust, and I could not help but glance at his distress.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“You are more valiant than he is. After the first joust, I looked upon you to make sure you were well. You did not even bat an eyelid when your husband fell. That is the right way to behave when one’s beloved is in a joust. One needn’t show fear.”
Alicia suppressed a smile. She had been, in fact, mortally afraid for Bertran. Yet she’d known it would serve nothing if she showed her fear. She did not look down upon Haughton for his tender heart.
“Send word to Godfrey somehow! Right now!” she said in haste. “I’m glad you’re well. I must go to my husband.”
Sir Erec nodded and smiled somewhat begrudgingly.
“His lance hits like a hammer, I’ll give him that. Less skill than I have, yet more strength. You should tell him I don’t begrudge him his victory. We had a fair fight. It was my own fault my mind was elsewhere.”
Alicia cast Erec a hasty smile, and hurried to leave the tent, hoping in the cheering for her husband’s victory no one had paid much mind to her. She was reassured when she came upon a crowd of people surrounding her husband, who had yet to shed his hauberk and helmet, as well as the rest of his armour.
“Make way,” she called, making her voice unconcerned and letting the joy she felt slip through it. “I need to see my lord.”
She glanced upon Sir Bertran in full relief when she could get near him. His posture indicated he had sustained no wound from his earlier fall. Her heart skipped a beat because he looked just as formidable in his full knightly armour as he had looked upon his horse when he’d wielded his lance. He was a valiant knight, and she was proud he was her husband. She had been truly afraid he would get hurt, but now relief and elation were taking hold of her. He was hale. And he had done what his liege had asked of him. All was well then, and she could put her arms around him when they were finally alone, away from the prying eyes of the crowd.
She wanted to speak to her husband, yet she saw King Henry was by his side, beaming.
“A fine beginning for the tournament!” the king was saying. “And it is only the first joust. There’ll be the melee the day after tomorrow and we’ll have occasion to see even more of your prowess, won’t we, Sir Bertran?”
“Yes, my liege,” her husband acquiesced.
She caught his glance upon her, and she smiled, a brilliant smile meant to show him the relief she felt that he was safe and sound, and all had gone according to his wishes. He did not return her smile, but Alicia knew he must be weary and still somewhat battle-frenzied. She retreated, knowing they would have the chance to talk at length later when they regained their home. And she steeled herself against ever showing her husband any fear she felt for his safety. She understood why Sir Erec had been angry with Godfrey. A knight had to focus on the task ahead, without any distractions. And this was only the first joust of the tournament. Her husband would face more challenges, and she knew he held his tourneyer skills very dear. She did not want to distract him by sharing her fears with him. So she decided to show herself calm and smiling, so she would not be a burden for him in the days ahead.
Bertran had never thought that place in his body could ache so fiercely. It was, he understood, the place where his heart was. Yet there shouldn’t have been any ache in that side of his body. His flank and hip hurt, from the fall he’d taken when de Jarnac had unhorsed him, yet his heart should be fine. It wasn’t though.
She had not come. She had not come running to him when he’d had his victory, and he’d had to stand in the crowd around him, with no sign of his lady wife to rejoice for what he’d done in order to prove himself worthy of her. Instead of Alicia’s sweet face, he’d had to put up with a crowd of strangers who did not genuinely care for him. And he did not care for crowds. He cared for his wife, yet his wife had not been there.
He replayed in his head Lady Edith’s hurtful words before the joust. They couldn’t be true, could they? And even if they were true and his wife still harboured tender feelings for De Jarnac, he had been able to show her, on the jousting field, he was the better man. Hadn’t he? Now she would no longer care for her former, vanquished lover.
Bertran chased away these thoughts, disgusted with himself. It was as if he was begging for his wife’s regard. He strived to appear unconcerned, and to curve his lips into a victorious smile, as he began to head for the tent where his squires would assist him in the removing of his armour.
From the corner of his eye, he could now perceive Lady Edith casting him mocking glances as she was conferring with a couple of ladies by her side. For some moments, it seemed they were already laughing at him, but he pretended not to notice.
It was in some relief he saw his lady wife was already waiting for him in the tent, standing by as his squires helped him remove his helmet, hauberk, chain mail muffs and chausses, until he was left only in his padded gambeson and braies. Alicia then helped him strip off his gambeson and presented him with a fresh tunic. When Bertran dismissed his squires, he was finally alone with his wife, and he allowed her to embrace and kiss him on the lips passionately, although he still felt very cross with her for not being there when he’d wanted her by his side.
“Where were you?” he asked tersely, when they finally disentangled from each other.
She looked into his eyes levelly.
“I went to Sir Erec’s tent,” she told him, confirming his fears. “I had to make sure he was not grievously wounded. You know well it is only the proper thing to inquire after a vanquished opponent. I wanted to be gracious.”
He nodded, hiding the deep pain that pierced his chest upon the words. Her words were proper. It was indeed the courtly, gracious thing to inquire after a vanquished rival. Yet he knew too well who this vanquished opponent was. She’d once thought to marry Sir Erec. And if one was to believe Lady Edith’s hateful words, his wife cared deeply for this man.
Lady Alicia was no
w smiling at him, and he noted she was not telling him she’d feared for his safety. He recalled his mother, who always tried to hide her anguish and failed, whenever her husband or sons fought other knights for a prize. But all day Lady Alicia had looked calm and composed, and had seemed to harbour no anguish for him whatsoever. Perhaps Lady Alicia did not truly care for him.
He did not know what to say to her at this time, and felt the hollowness of his victory. It seemed he had not vanquished Sir Erec. Not when his wife had sought to inquire after Sir Erec’s health before she’d gone to look upon her own husband.
“I am mightily glad this is done and over with,” Lady Alicia muttered. “Still, there are more jousts and the melee to be had, and more tournament days ahead of you.”
He searched for any kind of anguish in her voice, yet he could discern none. And then his friends burst into the tent, to give him effusive tokens of admiration, and he saw Lady Alicia step aside as they began to talk of the lance charges with him.
The tournament days that followed went on in a sort of daze, and he strived hard not to think upon the pain in his heart or upon his wife. He did well. Yet he was wise enough to let the king’s son, Young Henry, rob him of the prize that should have been his. He sensed that Young Henry had more need of the prize than he did, and he also sensed Henry’s royal father, while he despised tournaments, was not entirely blind to his eldest son’s accomplishments. So he downplayed his own skill in the melee fight, in order to let the young king win. He felt his own triumph was less important than the future of the entire country. Young Henry would be appeased by this prize at least for a while. And perchance his improved humour might lead to a reconciliation with his father.
De Jarnac came in third place for the tournament, having managed to defeat most of his opponents. It was a very close third to his second, and Bertran had already begun to suspect that, like himself, Sir Erec had downplayed his own skill in order to let the young king win.
It was in the last day of the tournament that Sir Erec came to speak to him, holding out his hand. Bertran took the hand that was offered, begrudgingly, because he had naught to reproach his opponent on the field. The fight had been fair and honourable.
“Next time, Sir Bertran,” Sir Erec said with an infuriatingly handsome smile. “Next time I swear the outcome of our encounter will be different.”
Bertran narrowed his eyes at his rival. He measured him, knowing the fiend was handsome. He’d heard all the ladies at Court were swooning over him. And, unlike his own face, Erec’s face was unmarred by a battle scar. It was the first time in his life that Bertran had ever cared about his own appearance. He nearly cursed under his breath. The fault lay entirely with his wife, who still carried a torch for this man.
“I think not. I mean to always be the victor,” he growled in response to Sir Erec’s teasing tone.
If things had been different, he would have answered Sir Erec’s teasing with good humour and a pat on the back, but things were not different.
“Mark my words, if I as much as see you glance again upon my lady wife, I’ll have your blood,” he added softly, lacing menace inside his voice.
It seemed to him Sir Erec’s eyes widened in surprise and he saw him open his mouth. Yet what Sir Erec had meant to say was cut by a call from King Henry who was standing behind them. They both stood to attention, since it was their sovereign who was calling upon them, so Bertran never found out what Sir Erec had meant to say. Besides, he told himself with an angry sneer, he had no wish to know what Erec would have to say.
Chapter 14
During the first days after the tournament, Bertran had been mostly absent from home and he’d spoken little to Alicia when they were alone. He had not touched her at all during those days, but in the beginning she had assumed he was weary after the fighting, and she had decided to be wise and just let him be. She had told herself he would soon become her passionate and mischievous husband again, and the light and laughter were bound to return to his hazel eyes after he let go of his weariness. Yet it had not been so. For two weeks now, Bertran had been behaving coldly towards her. And she’d felt puzzled and hurt by this new behaviour.
It did not help that they were still both tethered to the court. There were days when they barely saw each other. Often, he got back well after midnight, and there was no time to exchange true talk. He often left at dawn, before she roused.
At last it became plain to Alicia that he’d truly changed towards her. Gone was that mischievousness in his gold flecked hazel eyes, gone were the teasing and the lingering caresses. He barely looked at her now, and when he deigned to make love to her, it was as if she were coupling with a stranger. She was, as always, wet for him when he thrust inside her, but he didn’t seem to rejoice in her willingness. She’d tried to use sweet words and caresses, but he’d shrugged them away. And she’d tried to talk to him, inquiring if she had offended him somehow. But he’d cut her short whenever she’d tried to confer with him. She’d then, on purpose, behaved discourteously, only to attempt to get some sort of response from him, yet he had not seemed to care about her behaviour.
And today, when at last they were both free from Court to spend their day as they pleased, she’d utterly lost her temper, and she’d started shouting at him in anger, demanding to know why he was treating her with such disdain.
“You’d better hold your tongue, my lady. There’s nothing I wish to hear from you at this time,” he told her and his voice sounded cold and weary.
Again she tried to get him to tell her why he was acting as if she’d done something wrong.
“Why are you behaving so, my lord? What have I done to deserve this treatment?” she demanded, deciding it was high time to end this strain, which had lingered between them for two weeks.
He said nothing, just stared away from her.
“Is there a woman you’ve found at Court who pleases you better than I? Is that it?” Alicia asked, resolving to voice the fears, which had been plaguing her ever since he’d become cold towards her.
He gave a short, bitter laugh, but did not answer her. So, was she right? When she’d wed, Alicia had not expected her husband to keep faith with her. Men were fickle, and her father had always considered it his right to bed other women beside her mother, while his wife had kept faith with him. Alicia’s own mother had not seemed distressed by it. Men have their urges, she’d told her daughter with an unconcerned shrug. As long as the husband is courteous and does not flaunt his women, doing this quietly, wives have naught to complain about. Her father had been courteous and had behaved affectionately to her mother, yet Alicia had always known there’d been other women.
She took a deep breath, understanding that, unlike her mother, she could never be complacent about it. She didn’t want another woman touching her husband. She just wanted him for herself. She loved him. And now he was casting her a bitter, angry glance. Even in his anger, he looked comely, but, she understood, it was not only that he was comely. He was valiant and honourable and level-headed. He could be mischievous and even harsh, yet he’d never been unkind. And until this strange coldness had seized him, she’d begun to think he’d truly grown to care for her. But perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he now cared for some lady love at Court.
“Husband,” she spoke in anger, giving him a stormy look of her own. “Tell me what it is. Let us talk. Perchance you’re cold to me because you’ve found another?”
“I wish it were so,” he told her harshly. “That way I wouldn’t be the only one who’s faithless in this marriage.”
Blood rose within her temples. Did he think her faithless?
“Have I ever given you cause to think I’ve been unfaithful?” she asked in an indignant voice.
He was calling her honour into question, and she would not stand for it. She might love him, but she would not let him treat her with disdain. She’d been loyal and true to him and had tried to be a good wife. It angered her that he could think she was otherwise, and her eyes blazed
when she looked upon him.
“I shall not stand for hurtful words, husband! I have never been faithless! You need to take back what you’ve just uttered!”
Again, he laughed bitterly.
“Maybe not in deed, but I’m certain you’re faithless in thought. You dream of the fop, Erec de Jarnac. I’m certain you think of him whenever I thrust inside you. It was, after all, him you wished to marry.”
She stared at him. Was that why he’d been so cold and bitter to her? Did he still think she cared for Erec? Hadn’t he been able by now to tell how she burnt for him when she was in his arms? Hadn’t her loving behaviour to him been proof enough? It seemed incomprehensible. So Bertran’s coldness to her had not been prompted by the love for another, but by sheer jealousy. She felt blazingly angry with him for doubting her so, yet she attempted to let go of her anger, because her love burnt brighter than her anger. His words meant he had not broken faith with her, and things could be mended between them.
She opened her mouth to set him at ease.
“I…”
He did not let her finish.
“Don’t speak to me if you mean to tell me a lie. I could not bear it,” he told her between gritted teeth.
She stared at him in wonder. He was furious with her. And it seemed his fury went deeper than mere offence that she’d dishonoured him. The anguished look he was casting her now meant he cared for more than that. And, suddenly, it was plain. He’d come to love her – just as she’d come to love him. She cast him a brilliant smile, and he scowled at her darkly. Of course, he was still furious with her, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any more anger towards him. He was furious with her because he loved her. What had Master Reed’s wife said? That lovemaking after a harsh punishment felt more wondrous than anything in this world. That the bond of love felt truer and deeper after chastisement and reconciliation had taken place.
