For several days Beatrice tossed and turned in the grip of delirious fever. Her wounds had been cleanly dealt with, and now her body fought to overcome the shock and pain. She was hardly aware of anything, yet sometimes through the hot mists she heard voices, the chanting of prayers, and felt upon her brow the touch of cool lips. Her hand reached out blindly, and found a strong clasp, drawing from it the strength and comfort that she needed.
Remy stayed with her, despite the clucking disapproval of the women, who tried to chase him away while they undressed and bathed Beatrice, but he would not go. He feared that if he left her side for a moment, he would never see her again. Lady Alys, taking pity upon the knight and having knowledge of a matter that involved him deeply, allowed him to stay. She ordered a servant to attend to Sir Remy, bring him hot water to wash with, food and wine to sustain him, and all his needs were met within the same chamber where Beatrice lay in a great four-poster bed. She looked so small and fragile within its vast expanse that he, knighted for his valour, trembled with fear.
By the morning of the third day it became clear that Beatrice would survive. The dangerous heat left her body and she fell into a deep, quiet slumber. At last, exhausted, Remy left her and went downstairs to the great hall. He sat in a chair beside the fire and fell asleep.
When he awoke he opened his eyes to find Lord Henry standing with arms akimbo and surveying him with a narrowed gaze. Remy sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his first reaction being, ‘Beatrice? She is well?’
‘Aye—’ Hal nodded ‘—she sleeps peacefully. We have not yet been introduced, but I know who you are. Remy St Leger, the Aquitaine.’
Remy rose to his feet and made his bow. After all, besides being Beatrice’s brother this man was his new liege lord. ‘At your service,’ he murmured, noting that, whilst there were few men who equalled his height Lord Henry was one of them.
Hal smiled, if somewhat grimly. ‘I have heard much about you, not least of which your reputation upon the battlefield. I hear that you won your spurs at the age of sixteen and my father—’ Here he stopped and his frown deepened. ‘When my sister is fully recovered I would speak with you both.’
‘My lord?’ questioned Remy.
‘For the moment it must wait.’
Hal turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Remy to gaze after him with a perplexed expression. A servant touched his elbow then, and he turned to answer him.
‘My Lady Beatrice is awake and asking for you.’
‘Thanks be to God,’ Remy murmured and took a step towards the spiral stairs that would lead him to her chamber, and then stopped.
God had been good indeed, and he must not forget the promises he had made to the Almighty, nor the vow sworn on a Welsh mountainside to spare Beatrice further anguish. With a regretful sigh, he said to the servant, ‘Tell my lady that I am glad she is well, but I have other duties to attend to.’
The servant bowed and went away to do his bidding. Remy stood uncertainly for a moment, a new experience for one always so sure in his deeds. Then he went out to the stables and spent some time with Walther, who snickered a welcome at the sight of his long-lost master.
Beatrice opened her eyes slowly. Her head ached and her eyes were slow to focus as she looked about the chamber. Carefully she stirred, and moaned as pain flooded every part of her. A soft step sounded upon the floorboards and Lady Alys came to her bedside, and leaned down to stroke her forehead with cool, soothing fingers. ‘Welcome back to the world, Beatrice. You had us all worried.’
‘How long—?’ Her voice cracked and Lady Alys brought her a cup of water, which she sipped and then tried to speak again. ‘How long have I been ill?’
‘Three days. Sir Remy did well to remove the arrows as swiftly and cleanly as he did, or I fear you would not have survived. You will have scars, of course, but they will cause you no great inconvenience.’ She smiled then. ‘Boadicea would be proud of you.’
Beatrice smiled weakly in response. ‘I would like to see Sir Remy, and thank him for saving my life.’
Lady Alys signalled to a servant and sent him with a message to summon Sir Remy, but when the maid returned to say that Sir Remy had conveyed he would be unable to attend her, Beatrice felt a keen disappointment.
All that day she drifted in and out of sleep, forcing herself to swallow the nourishing broth that Lady Alys insisted would help rebuild her strength. Her eyes closed wearily and she slept away most of the day. That evening she asked again for Sir Remy, but he sent apologies for his absence and she felt the first stirrings of bewilderment. It was her brother who came to her bedside, pulling up a stool as he sat down and clasped her slender hand between both of his.
‘How glad I am to see you, Hal,’ she whispered, still very weak and tired. ‘We have missed you these many months. How is Osmond? Is he well?’
‘Aye—’ Hal nodded ‘—he is in Chester with the King. I have been given special leave by his Majesty to go home, and see to Ashton now that Father…’ he hesitated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes ‘…has passed on. I am sorry, little sister, that I was not here to help you shoulder the burden of his loss.’
Her fingers tightened in his clasp. ‘You had little choice in the matter, Hal. Your duty was with the King.’
‘Aye.’ Then Hal shifted uncomfortably on his seat, and looked at Beatrice carefully, gauging if she was ready to hear the news that he must impart. ‘Beatrice…’ He hesitated, wondering if he should wait awhile, but eager to have the matter resolved.
‘What is it, Hal?’ Beatrice questioned, with a little frown. ‘Do not fear to speak. My body is greatly weakened, but my mind is as strong as ever.’
He smiled at that, remembering the wilful little girl who would always seek to play with her older brothers. ‘There is a matter, of a delicate nature.’
‘I am listening.’
‘Well, it seems that our father made a new Will before he died. Lord Haworth sent it to me while I was marching with the King, seeking my response. I advised him to keep you here at Carmarthen, and made arrangements for a leave of absence as soon as may be.’
‘Ah,’ said Beatrice, realising now that she had not imagined the efforts to detain her at Carmarthen. ‘And what does this new Will contain that troubles you so deeply?’
Hal took a calming breath, barely able to control the anger he felt about the contents of his father’s Will. ‘I am sure Father meant well, but he was obviously not in his right mind, towards the end.’
‘Tell me!’
‘It seems…’ he hesitated, and then went on in a rush ‘…it seems that Father has left you his estate at Hepple Hill in Wessex, on condition that you marry Remy St Leger within thirty days of his death.’
Chapter Nine
The following morning Lord Henry called a meeting, which he was willing to hold in Beatrice’s bedchamber, but she insisted upon rising from her sickbed. She dressed in a kirtle of maroon, the deep colour accentuating her pale features. Bryony braided her hair and assisted Beatrice with an arm about her waist to make the short journey from her chamber to Lord Haworth’s solar. Here her brother greeted her and together they stood by the window, whispering.
‘We need not tell him,’ said Hal urgently, observing his sister’s profile as she gazed out of the window and down upon the colourful flowerbeds of the pleasaunce.
Beatrice cast him an exasperated glance. ‘What purpose would that serve? He will find out eventually, with Father’s Will registered by the court clerks, and then we would have the King’s sheriff riding upon us with a writ. Nay…’ she laid a hand upon her brother’s arm ‘…I would urge you, Hal, not to be devious.’
The door opened and Lord Haworth and Lady Alys joined them. Beatrice moved to seat herself in a chair before the fire hearth, feeling tired already. She leaned her head against the high, carved back of the chair, flexing her shoulder as it throbbed with pain. They waited for the last guest to attend their meeting, and Beatrice hoped that he would not be so f
oolish as to refuse her brother’s summons, as he had refused her own.
When Remy arrived in the solar, he opened the door cautiously and peered in. He had the distinct feeling he was in for a reprimand, but he could not recall any misdemeanour of late that warranted such. Seeing those already gathered in the solar, and their sombre faces, only increased his wariness and he was ready to be on his guard.
‘Come in,’ called Hal, ‘and close the door.’
Remy did as he was bade and came to stand in the middle of the solar. He glanced at Beatrice, noting how pale and drawn she appeared. She should be resting in bed, and he opened his mouth to suggest as much when Lord Henry turned to him suddenly and said, ‘Sir Remy, do you know of Hepple Hill, my father’s estate in Wessex?’
Surprised at this odd question, Remy nodded slowly. ‘Aye. Lord Thurstan sent me there to assist in the training of a unit of men-at-arms that we brought with us to Wales.’
‘And would you say it is a fine estate?’
‘Aye.’ Remy frowned, puzzled. ‘It has a well-fortified keep with four towers, a moat, and a wide meadow that afforded twenty men to practise their archery, swordsmanship and—’ He stopped suddenly, ‘Why do you ask? Are they under siege?’
‘Nay.’ Lord Henry strode to stand beside his sister and laid his hand upon her shoulder. ‘We are gathered here to inform you of the terms of my father’s Will.’
‘Indeed.’ Remy stood with hands on hips, wondering if Lord Thurstan had been kind enough to bestow upon him a token; he hoped that it was his sword, for it was a fine weapon that he had oft admired.
‘It seems that my father has gifted Hepple Hill to Beatrice, on condition that she marries you within thirty days of his death.’
Remy digested this news slowly, uncertain whether he had heard right, and a little confused as to what reaction was expected of him, or, indeed, what he himself felt. Then Beatrice spoke for the first time, her voice very soft.
‘Tell him all, Hal, for it would be unfair to let him have only half of the whole truth.’
Hal cleared his throat, clearly annoyed. ‘If either of you refuses to consent to the match, then Hepple Hill is yours, for all time, and for all your successors by your lawful wife other than Beatrice. Do you understand what this means?’
Beatrice held her breath tensely while she waited, wondering nervously whether Remy had fully comprehended all the implications.
‘Let me see,’ said Remy, pacing the floorboards, ‘if I have this right. If Beatrice and I marry, she will inherit Hepple Hill?’
‘Aye. And with it goes the title Lord Pensax.’
Remy slanted him a narrowed gaze, wondering if he was funning, but he decided there were more important issues than an oddly named lordship. ‘And what of children born of this marriage?’
‘They will be her successors in title.’
‘And I will own nothing?’
‘As her husband you will own whatever Beatrice holds for her lifetime.’
‘And if I do not choose to marry her?’
‘Well—’ here they came to the crux of the matter ‘—it seems that my father held you in such great esteem that he has gifted you Hepple Hill outright in its entirety, with no entailments. It is yours to pass on to your successors, but only if born of a marriage to another woman.’
Remy stared at Lord Henry, wondering what on earth Lord Thurstan had been thinking of. If he married Beatrice, he would own nothing for his lifetime except what she owned, but if he did not marry her he would be a very rich man indeed! He glanced at the tense faces ringed about the room, at Beatrice with eyes downcast. After some long moments of silence, enlightenment came. If he truly loved Beatrice he would be willing to forfeit all riches, and that was what Lord Thurstan wanted to secure for his daughter. A love match. But after careful musing, he realised that there was a loophole, one that Lord Thurstan had not, apparently, covered. He became aware then that Lord Henry was talking to him.
‘Naturally, I need not point out to you that I do not desire a rich estate like Hepple Hill to be lost forever to Ashton. It has been part of this family since the time of King William. If you are unwilling to wed with Beatrice, then I can offer you compensation, in exchange for the title to Hepple—’
‘I am not unwilling,’ said Remy quietly, his gaze reaching to Beatrice across the width of the room. ‘But what say you, my lady?’
She looked up then, a slight gasp escaping from between her lips. She stared at him in confusion. Perversely, all night she had tossed and turned and wept, certain that Remy would not refuse this chance to gain for himself his own lands. She opened her mouth to speak, and became aware of the pressure of Hal’s fingers squeezing the bones of her shoulder. If she refused to marry Remy, he would be furious, and she did not dare think what her life would be like after that, living under his roof, at the mercy of his dictates, which might well include marriage to a man he chose for reasons other than her happiness.
Remy approached brother and sister with a menacing scowl, noting the hand that clutched at Beatrice’s shoulder and her slight wince as Hal’s lean fingers tightened imperceptibly.
‘Step away from her,’ said Remy curtly. He was not wearing his sword, but his fists clenched.
Hal looked up, neither faint of heart nor intimidated by Remy; indeed, he was the taller of the two. He took a step towards Remy, ‘You dare to speak to me so? I, your liege lord?’
‘I seek no quarrel, but I would have Beatrice free to answer without duress.’
‘She is free, damn you!’
‘Then step away from her.’
The two men glared at one another, and Beatrice feared that they would come to blows. She held up her hand, signalling to them both that she was ready to speak.
‘Hal, I would ask that you allow Sir Remy and I a moment alone, to discuss the matter.’
‘What is there to discuss?’ protested Hal, turning to look at her. ‘You told me last night that you were not averse to the marriage.’
Beatrice blushed, avoiding Remy’s eye. ‘Please, Hal. Just a few moments, ‘tis all I ask.’
‘Come, Lord Henry,’ cajoled Lady Alys, taking him by the arm and leading him to the door, ‘let us arrange some refreshments.’ She beckoned to her husband and the trio left the room.
The silence that followed in their wake was deafening. The only sounds were those of the fire flames crackling in the hearth and Remy’s footfalls echoing across the floorboards as he approached her. She looked up shyly. His eyes searched her face. She had suffered so much pain, he could not bear to be the cause of anymore.
‘What will you have me do?’ he asked her quietly.
‘I cannot say. You must make your own choice.’ She glanced down at her fingers entwined in her lap.
‘I know well enough that you will not have me as your husband. Is that not so?’
‘It is not that I do not want you, but I fear that I would make for you a poor wife. I fear to love again, Remy, you know that well. I am older than you, and I have scars that mark me as unlovely. How could I ask any man to take me as his wife? Now the conditions of my father’s Will only makes it more difficult. And there is too the manner of his death, that greatly concerns me, and your part in it.’ Here she looked up at him, hardening her gaze and waiting for his answer. She prompted him then. ‘Tell me that there was nothing underhand, or malicious, in your dealings with my father, Remy, and I will let the matter rest.’
‘Will you, Beatrice? Is this not another feeble excuse to avoid facing up to your own feelings?’ She flinched at his words, looking away from his steely gaze, but he pressed onwards. ‘I tell you with hand on my heart that I did no more than your father asked of me. He begged me to pour the poppy juice between his lips, but I could not do so. Then he asked that I leave the vial close at hand, so that he might ease himself from the hell of this world to the peace of heaven. How could I refuse the dying request of a man I honoured?’
Beatrice cast her gaze to her lap, nodding slo
wly, believing him at last. ‘Nay, I see now that you could not have done otherwise.’ She was silent for a long moment, digesting this information, releasing the doubts from their harbour in her mind. ‘But…’ here she looked up at him again, before saying carefully ‘…you must refuse to marry me, Remy, and then you will secure for yourself a grand estate.’
‘And your brother will kill me at the first chance he has!’
Beatrice gasped. ‘Nay! I will make Hal promise never to cause you harm.’
‘And what of my family? My children?’ He dropped to one knee and unclasped her fingers, taking one small hand into his large palm, momentarily distracted and enchanted by her delicate white fingers, his thumb tracing the outline of pale blue veins. Then he forced himself to concentrate, and returned to the matter at hand. ‘What of my wife? For I assure you, Beatrice, I will not live celibate until I die. I will take a woman to wife; if you refuse me, then I must choose another. Is that what you want? Do you wish to see me wedded to another woman? Joanna, mayhap?’
At that tears stung her eyes and she shook her head. ‘Please, Remy, do not torture me so. I offer you freedom and riches, yet you are too stubborn to take them!’
She began to cry in earnest then, for she could not bear to think of him with another woman. With a muttered oath Remy put his arms around her waist and drew her into his embrace. She sobbed against his neck, and he stroked her hair, whispering endearments, pleading with her to stop.
‘Shh, sweetheart.’ He held her away from him and wiped her face with his thumb, ‘There is another option, one that your father obviously did not consider.’
Beatrice sniffed and looked up at him, her lashes spiky with tears. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Will states that we must marry within thirty days from the date of your father’s death. Then you will inherit Hepple Hill.’
‘Aye. That is so.’
‘But it says nothing about an annulment. We could marry, but if we do not…’ he hesitated, seeking a polite description for the act that he envisaged with such passion ‘…if we do not consummate the marriage, then we can have it annulled after the thirty days has passed. If that is your wish.’
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