Lion Triumphant

by Philippa Carr

  I felt the fear grip me again.

  “I have brought you here,” he said, “before taking you into the castle—for this is but the guard-room. I fear that on our first meeting I made a bad impression on you. It lingers, does it not? Well, I want to say to you if you would rather go from here, I have no wish to detain you. I wish you to think well of me. If you would care to go now, please say so and I shall not attempt to stop you.” He opened the door of the guard-house and left it open. “It is for you to decide,” he added.

  I was silent. I could do nothing, I knew, but stay here, rely on his help and long for the morning.

  I said, “I will stay.”

  He smiled. “A wise decision,” he said. “Now I will have you shown to a room which is being made ready for you. Then you shall be refreshed. You may rest in the room provided for you or where you will. Castle Paling is at your service.”

  I thanked him and reproached myself for my churlishness. It was true he had behaved in a swaggering manner, but he had given up the room to us; then he had called me from my bed when he had tapped at the window. Perhaps that was the most disturbing thing of all. But wasn’t it what any high-spirited man might have done? Should I blame him too much? After all, when I had returned to my bed he had gone away and he had amply repaid any discourtesy on this night. It was hard to reconcile this man who was so anxious to calm my fears with the arrogant bully who had come to The Traveller’s Rest. Had I built up an image of him in my mind which was exaggerated and therefore false? I was apt to do that. My mother often pointed it out to me.

  “Now we will leave this grim place,” he said, “and I will take you to my sanctum. A small room where I entertain my friends now and then. There food will be brought and we shall eat. But before that I doubt not that you would wish to wash and perhaps take off your cloak.”

  He pulled at a bell rope and I heard a clanging. A serving-girl appeared at once.

  “Take this lady to the room which is being prepared for her,” he said.

  She bobbed a curtsy and I followed her. We went up a staircase and along a gallery. A door was thrown open. Candles flickered in their sconces. There were two women in the room making the bed. They turned and curtsied as I entered.

  The room was elaborately furnished. The bed had four posts which were intricately engraved. It was a large bed furnished with heavily embroidered curtains. I wanted to stop them for I had no intention of sleeping there. I should spend the night listening and waiting for some news.

  One of the women brought warm water and a basin in which I washed my hands and face.

  Removing my cloak and my bonnet-shaped hat I shook out my hair. It was my greatest beauty, my mother said. It was a darker shade than my father’s, a lightish brown with golden tints in it, heavy hair that was difficult to dress and looked its best in disorder.

  I was too anxious to be interested in it now but it was a relief to have it loose.

  The woman was waiting to take me to her master, and holding high her candle she conducted me to a room which was close by the bedroom. Here candles had been lighted and a table laid.

  There was hot soup in pewter bowls, and although I did not feel like eating I realized I was faint with hunger.

  He was waiting for me. He bowed and led me to a chair.

  “Allow me to help you to this good capon. I am sure you will enjoy it. I can see that you are hungry and thirsty though you feel disinclined to partake of food and drink. Come, there is no good in abstaining. I have already sent men out to scour the countryside, to inquire at inns far and wide. I doubt not that ere long your mother will be here … or at least we shall have news of her. That will satisfy you.”

  It did. I found the capon good and there was no doubt that my strength was reviving.

  “Here is a good wine which will put heart into you. Drink it. It will make you feel better.”

  He helped himself to the great pie which was on the table and ate hungrily. He drank of the wine.

  “Now there is some colour in her cheeks,” he said. “Come, more wine. Tell me, do you not feel better?”

  I said I did.

  “Tomorrow you and your mother will be laughing at this adventure.”

  “I think we shall always shudder with horror to recall it.”

  “It was a bad moment when that knave galloped off with you. I never doubted that I would catch up with you though. My great regret is that I was unable to give him his dues. I might well yet.”

  “You would not recognize him if you met him again.”

  “Masked as he was mayhap not. I should know his horse though.”

  He filled my glass. “It is enough,” I said.

  “Oh come, your spirits must be revived by the time your mother arrives.”

  “Do you really think they will find her?”

  “How can they fail? There are four of them … all going in different directions … they must find her for she will either be on the road or in one of the inns.”

  “But there was only one—the Roses. She was not there.”

  “Perhaps she went there later.”

  “I should have stayed there.”

  “Nay, you are better here …”

  I was beginning to feel a little light-headed. It was the shock, I supposed, and then the wine. His voice seemed to grow somewhat faint as though it was coming from a long way off.

  He was saying: “Let me give you some of this partridge.”

  The room swayed a little. I thought: God help me, the wine was potent.

  He was watching me, smiling at me, cutting the partridge with his knife.

  I could not see his face clearly. It was becoming more and more blurred. I heard myself say: “I think … I think I should go …”

  I stood up. He was there beside me.

  I felt the room, everything, slipping away and was only aware of his face near me … his eyes were enormous … there was nothing but those great black pools of eyes … I felt as though I was trying to swim in dark pools and I was sinking.

  I felt myself caught up suddenly. And I knew that he was holding me.

  I heard his voice, strange, lilting. “All is well. All is very well.”

  I started up. Something had happened to me. I did not know where I was. I was shut in a green prison. There was light somewhere shining from outside on the walls. I was different. Something had changed me. I gave a little gasp, for I was naked. There was a light sheet over me and nothing more.

  I sat up. I was in a bed … I knew instinctively that it was the four-poster I had seen last night, for in those seconds memory came back. I had come to Castle Paling. My mother and I had been separated. I had sat down to eat and drink and that was all.

  But I knew. Horrible knowledge was tapping on my mind. Did I remember something of it? What had taken place during the night? It could not have been. And yet I knew it. Some hazy memory came back to me. It was the wine. It had dulled my consciousness. It had changed me in some way. I knew this was so. Edwina had told me there were herbs which drug your senses and make you oblivious of what was happening … and yet …

  I must be dreaming and yet I was aware of the changes in my body.

  It was impossible. Gingerly I knelt on the bed and drew aside the curtains. It was the light of day I saw which had fallen against them and lightened them. I stepped out of the bed. My clothes lay in a heap on the floor. I looked at my body and saw the bruises on it.

  I knew then.

  He came through a door of what must have been an ante-room to this chamber. He had a robe round his body beneath which I guessed he was naked. I snatched up my gown and held it against me.

  “Such modesty is becoming,” he said.

  He laughed and he was the man at the inn then, in all his arrogant triumph. If I had had any doubts before I could no longer do so.

  “I must know what happened,” I said.

  “Do you not remember?”

  “What was in my wine?”

  “A little o
f my special … tonic.”

  “You must be possessed by the devil.”

  “It is not unlikely.”

  “You … you arranged this.”

  “It happened.”

  “My father will kill you.”

  “I believe him to be a man who is very handy with the sword. I have a similar reputation.”

  “Do you think you will be allowed to do … what you have done and not be punished? You will die for this.”

  “I was very gallant. Nothing was done against your will.”

  “I had no will.”

  “Then how could it have been done against it?”

  “What have you done to me?”

  “Made a woman of you, Linnet. What a foolish name. A little bird. There is nothing of the bird about you. You are a very tigress in your passion.”

  “My passion …”

  “Oh, it was there. You were not displeased to be so taken. Believe me. It was a great experience for us both.”

  “Will you go away. I wish to dress and leave this place at once.”

  “That’s a pity. We were so happy together … you and I. And I have news for you. Your mother is at your home. I sent messengers there last night reassuring her that you were safe …”

  “Safe!”

  “Safe indeed. I said you would be returned to her this day.”

  I turned away from him. “Oh God,” I murmured, “what shall I do?”

  “There are several courses open to you. I will tell you the most attractive first. I am in need of a wife and having tested you I find you well enough.”

  “You are insulting and I would rather be dead.”

  “You are impetuous. You were not so very unhappy last night. You responded very happily.”

  “I remember nothing and at least I can be grateful for that!”

  “You will remember. Memory will lurk in the dark places of your mind. The little virgin that you were does not want to remember. But you have forgotten you are no longer that little virgin. You were eager enough, I tell you, and who was I to deny a lady whose needs accord with my own?”

  “Be silent!”

  “You must not speak so to your lord and master.”

  “That you shall never be.”

  “Why not? We may well be an impatient couple who have forestalled our marriage vows.”

  “This is a nightmare. It can’t be true.”

  “It is and a simple enough story. You came here. You drank too much wine and that released your natural impulses. As I have told you, I am not the man—nor would you find many—to refuse what was so charmingly offered. You will never find a lover such as I. Nor one who gallantly offers you marriage after what many would call your wanton behaviour. Come, do not be shy. I have seen you naked, remember. And beautiful you are, and will grow more so. What is it to be? How would you like to become the châtelaine of Castle Paling?”

  “Go away,” I said. “I wish to go. I will not stay a moment longer than I need in this place.”

  To my surprise he stood up and bowed.

  He said: “You must eat before we leave. I will have something prepared for you. Then I shall take you back to your home.”

  I was alone. I looked at the bed, the curtains drawn back at one side. I shuddered. What a fool I had been. I should never have come here. How clear it all was now. I should have seen it. What a cruel trick of fate to have been delivered into his hands. He had said that I would remember. Did I? Could I recall strange sensations which frightened me and fascinated me … as he himself did.

  I dressed hastily, anxious to cover up those bruises.

  One of the women servants came in with a tankard of ale and a piece of cob loaf and meat. I could not eat but I did drink a little.

  Out in the courtyard my horse was saddled. So was his. He looked fresh and vital.

  He himself helped me into the saddle. He took my hand and looked up into my face, as though he were pleading with me, yet I saw the mockery there.

  He said: “We have a long ride ahead of us, Mistress.”

  “I wish to go with all speed.”

  We did not speak as we rode along and took the road along the coast.

  “It is some fifteen miles,” he said. “You see we are not such distant neighbours.”

  “More’s the pity,” I retorted.

  My mother was safe. I believed that and because I need not fret about her I could think of the enormity of this thing which had happened to me.

  I was not the first who had had such an experience. Many men such as he was did not bother to drug their victims first. At least I had been spared consciousness. Whatever he might say, I could not remember what had happened. There were only those vague uneasy stirrings of sensation within me … only the knowledge that I had changed.

  The day was bright and sparkling. The wrong sort of day for my mood. It should have been grey, sombre. He broke into song once or twice—they were hunting songs. It was as though he were so pleased with life and himself that he could not suppress his pleasure.

  I said nothing except when he spoke to me and then I replied as curtly as I could.

  When we had ridden some miles he said our horses should be refreshed and so should we be.

  We found an inn and stopped there. He rode into the yard in his bombastic manner which, however, brought him immediate attention. Then while the horses were being looked after we went into the inn parlour, where ale and great pies were set before us.

  We were alone in the inn parlour, a fact which did not please me. I would rather someone had been there so that I did not have to talk to him.

  “Do not be so downcast,” he said. “A girl should not mourn the loss of her virginity. It’s not all that precious, you know. It is only those who fear they are never going to lose it who have such a high regard for it.”

  I was silent.

  “You are foolish, my girl. I will not call you by that ridiculous name.”

  “I am no girl of yours.”

  “But indeed you are my mistress. You know that.”

  I rose to my feet and lifted my hand to strike him. He caught it.

  “Steady,” he said. “We do not want to make a noise, do we? What if mine host came in? What should I say? She shared my bed last night and now regrets it.”

  “You lie.”

  “It is you who lie. I speak the truth. I’ll say more. I have a fancy for you … a fair fancy. I’ll marry you.”

  “I would never marry you.”

  “You might find it right to do so.”

  “Right to marry you!”

  “’Twas such a night,” he said, staring into his ale, “a rare night. What if you should be with child?”

  I stared at him. “It is not possible.”

  “We shall see. ’Twould not surprise me. I’d say you were a lusty wench. You’ll breed … you and I together. I’d swear that we had started already.”

  “No,” I cried shrilly. “No. Let us go now. I cannot endure any more of your company.”

  “Then we shall go. I will take you back to your father’s house.”

  “The sooner I am rid of you the better.”

  As he went out he said: “Do not hesitate too long. Who knows, I might find someone else to my taste. I am ready for a wife and I am not known for my patience.”

  “I shall commiserate with her when the time comes.”

  He laughed. “Let us hope it is yourself. Commiserating with oneself is a more frequent habit than with others. My little bird. Pah! Linnet! More like an eaglet I’d say. To me you shall be Girl until you become Wife.”

  “I am of the opinion that after today you will never have an opportunity to call me anything.”

  “We shall see,” he said.

  We rode onward and I was never more pleased to see the familiar portico with the lions on either side. My mother had heard our approach and came running out of the house. Jennet was with her and so was my little sister Damask. I jumped from my horse and threw myself into her a
rms.

  “Dearest child,” she murmured. “Oh my darling Linnet. What a terrible night it has been.”

  It was so wonderful to see her before me that I forgot everything else but that we were together. She kept looking at me and I knew what terrible anxieties she had suffered until she had word that I was safe. I trembled to think what she would suffer still further when she knew what had happened to me.

  Then I was aware of him. He stood there, his legs wide apart, watching us with an almost benign expression as though he had given us to each other. I wanted to run into the house and hide myself. I saw that he was watching me sardonically. Was he waiting for me to denounce him as my seducer that he might tell them that I had offered no resistance? Did he think they would believe him in preference to me?

  Those moments in the courtyard seemed to go on for a long time. It was as though time was waiting for me to act. I could denounce him. What then? My father was not here but when he came back he would kill Colum Casvellyn. Or he might be killed himself. There was no sense in that. What was done was done.

  I was amazed at myself. Was I reconciled already? I longed to get away from him and think what I must do. I must wait, brood on what had happened, ask myself what I should do about it.

  My mother was saying: “It was good of you to send word that my daughter was safe and again to bring her home as soon as was possible.”

  “I only did what any gentleman would do,” he said, inclining his head.

  I was hard pressed not to shout at him and denounce him for the wicked creature he was, but I saw that it would only upset my mother more.

  “Come into the house and refresh yourself,” said my mother.

  She led him into Lyon Court. He complimented her on the charm of the house. “So modern,” he said, “compared with Castle Paling. They built spaciously in the old days but without the same view to comfort. Of course we improve on the Castle from time to time but it is not the same as doing it all in the best possible way first.”

  “Old houses are so fascinating though,” said my mother.

  “Oh yes. So much has happened in them. When I contemplate the villainies of my ancestors I begin to think the castle must be populated with evil spirits.”

  My mother took him into the small room which led from one of the galleries. Damask looked up admiringly at Colum Casvellyn. He must have seemed like a giant to her. He lifted her up and held her high above his head. I was annoyed that she showed her adoration so blatantly.