Hellion

by Bertrice Small

  “I will not whore for any man!” Belle hissed angrily.

  “I will not argue with you further on this matter,” he retorted. “You damn well know that your first duty is to Langston and Hugh. If that means personally serving the king, you must!”

  “Hugh would hardly be pleased to find Henry Beauclerc lusting after me, Rolf, and well you know it. I will avoid the king’s attentions as best I can, I assure you,” she said firmly.

  “And when you can no longer avoid the king?” he demanded.

  “Pray that time does not come,” Isabelle replied. Then curtseying to her stepfather, she found her way from the hall to her own chamber.

  “Were you much admired?” Agneatha asked eagerly as Isabelle entered the room. “Did you see the king? Was the queen there? Is she pretty?”

  Belle laughed at her serving woman’s enthusiasm. “Of course I saw the king,” she said, “and the queen, too. She is certainly pretty, but she looks so tired. I imagine I looked the same way when I was carrying young Hugh. The meal, however, was horrendous. I will be so glad to get home. The venison in the stew was tough, and the meat, I suspect, had hung a bit too long.”

  Agneatha carefully helped Belle remove her beautiful tunic. The maidservant then examined the garment thoroughly. “Not a single spot,” she announced triumphantly. She brushed the tunic with painstaking care, gave it a shake, and folding it neatly, packed it away in the storage trunk. She followed a similar procedure with Isabelle’s long skirts while her mistress removed her soft shoes, setting them aside. Agneatha filled a small basin with warm water, and Isabelle bathed her hands, neck, and face. Then she scrubbed her teeth with a small, rough cloth and a paste made up of finely ground chalk, propolis, and mint. Rinsing her mouth, Isabelle next undid her tresses from their caul, and sat down so Agneatha could brush the long red-gold hair.

  “Lady Mavis’s serving wench tells me they’ll soon be hunting in the New Forest,” Agneatha said. “There is a royal lodge where the king and his guests stay; and the other great lords have lodges there as well. Do you think we’ll be invited, lady?”

  “I expect so,” Belle said. “Lind should be here soon with Couper, and Sir Rolf’s falcon.” She sighed. “I wish we were home, Agneatha. Oh, how I wish my lord husband were here and we were all home!”

  “Ohhh, lady, I think it ever so exciting to be visiting here with the king and his court!” Agneatha enthused. “When we go home, I shall have traveled more than anyone of my station in memory at Langston. I like it here. Langston is boring, with its humdrum everyday life.”

  “Yet I prefer it,” Isabelle replied.

  The door to the chamber opened suddenly and the king entered, smiling, as Agneatha, open-mouthed, dropped the hairbrush. “You know who I am, wench?” he asked her in jovial tones.

  Agneatha nodded, struck dumb, stumbling clumsily as she curtsied.

  “You will wait outside your mistress’s chamber with the guardsman, and not enter here or allow anyone else entry until I tell you it is permissible. Do you understand, girl?”

  “Yes, my liege!” The maidservant’s voice was strangled. Then she backed from the room, eyes wide.

  Going to the door, the king bolted it behind her.

  “How dare you intrude upon my privacy,” Isabelle said in icy tones. She held herself straight, but her heart was hammering wildly.

  He turned. “I thought you very beautiful this evening in your new gown,” the king said, ignoring her obvious anger, “but I think you more beautiful now in just your smock, your lovely hair loose and shining.” Reaching out, he fingered a silken lock. “It is like silk to my touch.”

  “My liege, you insult me,” she rejoined angrily. “Worse, you betray a friendship my husband treasures.”

  “To be bedded by your king is counted an honor, Isabelle,” he told her, and moved closer to her, snaking his arm out to capture her.

  Belle moved even more swiftly, avoiding that proprietary grip. “I count it no honor to be forced into whoredom, even for the king,” she said coldly. “You are a man, my liege. No less. No more. An accident of birth has set you higher upon the ladder of life than others, than my Hugh; but it should not give you the right to force yourself upon me!”

  “If you were a man, I should set you to argue the law for my benefit, Isabelle,” the king told her, amused. No woman had ever defied him as openly or as cleverly as she was now defying him. He had been intrigued from the first, but this new side she was showing him set him aflame. Isabelle of Langston was a magnificent creature. He wanted her now far more than when he had first entered her room. This would be a seduction such as he had never known. It would take every ounce of his skill as a lover, and skilled he was.

  His shrewdest adviser, and good friend, Count Robert of Meulan, believed Henry’s passions were driven only by political concerns, and said so; but Robert was wrong. Henry Beauclerc’s passions were driven by his love of beautiful women. He could not, it seemed, get enough of them. No two were the same. Their variety was infinite. They were fascinating, charming, adorable creatures made for a man’s pleasure. Women were treasures to be kissed and caressed, to be filled with a man’s seed. His blue eyes glittered dangerously. Then quickly reaching out, he captured her.

  “Let me go!” she said furiously, struggling, fists futilely drumming his chest.

  Instead, with a single finger he traced the outline of her full lips. “Lips such as these, Isabelle, are surely better employed in kissing than in contentious speech,” he told her. “I am fully prepared to woo you, sweetheart, but if rape is more to your fancy, I am equally skilled in that art as well.”

  “I am going to be sick,” Isabelle said abruptly.

  “What?” The king’s grip loosened slightly and he looked nervously at her. Certainly he could not have heard her aright.

  “I am going to be sick!” she repeated, swaying. “Ohhh, God!” She broke free of his grasp, and grabbing up the basin, spewed the contents of her stomach into it. The pungent stink of vomit quickly filled the room.

  Henry Beauclerc was startled by this sudden turn of events. All thoughts of seduction fled him as he stood there gazing upon Isabelle of Langston, who was now pale and continuing to sway slightly.

  “The venison stew was overripe,” she moaned. “I knew it, yet I ate it, for I was hungry.” She doubled over, groaning piteously.

  “I will fetch your servant,” the king said, swiftly backing away from her, unbolting the door and hurrying out of the chamber.

  A moment later Agneatha entered, looking very anxious. “Lady, was it the stew?” she asked, concerned. Putting her arm about Belle, she helped her to her bed. “The king says he will visit you another time,” the girl told her mistress.

  “Is he gone?” Belle half whispered.

  “Oh, yes, lady! No man can stand the sight of a woman disgorging her guts. Takes the bloom right off romance, it does,” Agneatha declared.

  Belle jumped from the bed, giggling. “Give me some wine to rinse my mouth out with, Agneatha,” she said. The color was already flowing back into her cheeks.

  Sudden comprehension dawned in the servant’s bright eyes. “Ohh, lady, you made yourself sick!” she said low.

  “I used to do it when I was little and my mother would not give me something I wanted,” Isabelle said. “It’s really quite easy for me to do.” She grinned. “The stew was overripe, but it had been settling. Now, however, I shall be able to avoid the court for a day or two while I recover from my indisposition.” She took the goblet Agneatha gave her, swishing the wine about in her mouth and spitting it into the offensive basin before swallowing the rest to settle her now roiling stomach.

  Agneatha grabbed up the basin. “I’ll get rid of this down the garderobe, lady. Open the windows to air out the stink, or we’ll never get to sleep here tonight.” She hurried from the room.

  Isabelle unbolted the shutters over the window, flinging them wide. Outside, an almost full moon silvered the roofs of the houses b
elow in the town. She leaned upon the sill, breathing in the cool night air. Was Hugh, wherever he was, seeing this moon tonight? If indeed he was, then the moon was a bond between them. She prayed that it was so, and that he would come back to her quickly. Her interlude with the king tonight had frightened her. How long would she be able to fend him off before he became offended? “Hugh,” she whispered, “come back to me, my love!”

  For the next two days, Isabelle played the invalid, keeping to her chamber, having Agneatha bring her dainty little delicacies from the hall. Mavis came, and Isabelle told her of her encounter with the king. Mavis couldn’t help but giggle.

  “I should have loved to have seen the look on the king’s face when you threw up your dinner, practically at his feet. I doubt any woman has dared to do such a thing before,” she exclaimed. “Well, you did hold our lusty monarch off, at least temporarily.”

  “I do not know what I shall do when he approaches me again,” Belle confided worriedly. “If only Hugh would come home!”

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to escape the king’s advances again,” Mavis said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never heard of him to lose interest in a woman before he had satisfied his desires on her body. You would need to be very, very clever to escape his attentions, Isabelle, without offending him. I do not think it possible.”

  “Nor do I,” Isabelle admitted softly. “Ohh, none of this would have happened if I had not insisted upon coming to court!”

  “Praise God that I’m a virgin!” Mavis said. “He never compromises virgins of good and noble families.”

  “You’ve never been married?” Isabelle was surprised. Mavis was surely at least her age. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen,” Mavis responded cheerfully. “I’ve been betrothed three times now, and they’ve all died of boyhood complaints. I almost got the last one to the altar, but he got the pox a day before the wedding, and was dead two days afterward. My family is making another match for me now. This one is a widower about Hugh’s age. Fortunately, he has no offspring, so my children will be his heirs. They’re planning to have the wedding around Martinmas.” She grinned at Isabelle. “Let’s hope this groom survives to enjoy our wedding night.”

  Isabelle couldn’t refrain from giggling. “You are really quite dreadful, Mavis,” she said.

  “Well,” Mavis responded, “having three prospective husbands die on a girl doesn’t make her look exactly like a good luck charm. If I don’t get this one to the altar and into bed, I shall be gossiped about by the more kindly—and thought to be bad luck by the not-so-kindly, who unfortunately are in the majority. Besides, I am getting old, and I want children.”

  “Ahhh,” Isabelle said, her face unguarded and soft for a moment. “I do miss my wee Hughie. Sometimes when I am most afraid, I close my eyes and think of him. I can just imagine him toddling on those fat little baby legs of his after my little brother, Christian. How I wish I could go home!”

  “There is to be a hunt tomorrow,” Mavis told her. “Nothing big, just outside the town in the fields. The king is growing restless and longs to hunt stag in the New Forest, but it’s too early for it yet. Will you ride with me?”

  “Am I expected to attend the hunt?” Belle wondered.

  “Two days is all you can hope to gain from an unsettled belly,” Mavis said in practical tones. “You’re part of the court now, and if you do not show up, it will seem odd, particularly if the king sends after you, which he’s bold enough to do. I expect you seek to keep a liaison with him a private matter.”

  Isabelle nodded. “I do,” she admitted, and then asked, “What will I wear? Certainly not one of my good new gowns.”

  “Nay, one of the gowns you brought from home will do very well,” Mavis said, “but of course you can wear a pretty headpiece.”

  Agneatha bustled into the room, brimming with excitement. “Lady, Lind has arrived from Langston with your merlin!”

  “Then that settles it,” Mavis told her friend. “Your hawk is here. You must hunt tomorrow. I’ll come by for you, and we’ll attend the mass together before we go off.” She then departed.

  The next morning, before the first light even began to stain the horizon, Isabelle arose, washed, and dressed herself with Agneatha’s help. She chose a dark green skirt and a tunic top, which she belted with a twisted rope of green silk and copper metallic thread. Her soft leather boots felt cold to her feet as she slipped them on. She braided her hair, looping the plaits up, affixing them with tortoiseshell pins and covering them with a copper embroidered veil over which she set a copper circlet decorated with malachite.

  “Give me the leather gauntlet,” she instructed Agneatha, and then tucked it into her belt, where it would remain until it came time for her to take Couper upon her hand.

  Mavis came, and together the two women squeezed themselves into the back of the royal chapel to hear the mass. Afterward Mavis pulled Belle along into the Great Hall, where they snatched up bread, meat, and pears. They gobbled their meal, washing it down with cider, then hurried to the stables to find their horses. Mavis mounted a delicate white palfrey.

  “I call her Daisy,” she told Isabelle, who was in the act of mounting her gray gelding. “Holy Mother, that is a big beast!”

  “He’s quite sweet-natured,” Isabelle informed her.

  “What do you call him?” Mavis was fascinated to learn her friend rode such a large horse.

  “Gris,” Belle answered, settling herself atop her animal.

  “Lady.” Lind stood by her stirrup. “I have brought you Couper.”

  “Thank you, Lind,” Isabelle said, drawing the gauntlet from her belt and sliding it onto her hand. Then reaching out, she took the merlin from the falconer. “Greetings, ma petite,” she cooed at the bird, who ruffled her feathers at the sound of her mistress’s voice.

  “She traveled well,” Lind remarked.

  “Were you given shelter and food?” Isabelle asked him.

  Lind bobbed his head. “Aye, lady. There’s plenty like me here from other places. Your lady mother says to tell you that little lord Hugh thrives in her care, but she hopes to see you home soon.” Then seeing the horses stir restlessly as the hunt began to move off, he said, “I’ll be here to take Couper from you when you return, my lady.”

  The hunting party rode through the town and across the fields to the nearby river. The dogs were set loose in the marshes to flush out any waterbirds nesting there. It was a disappointing day, however, for few if any birds could be found, which was unusual, given the location and the season. Isabelle had no chance at all to allow Couper to fly. The king was in a bad humor, she could see. Henry didn’t like being disappointed.

  They returned to the castle, where all afternoon and evening Isabelle listened to talk of a bad year. The crops were not growing. The hay had been scant. There was little fruit on the trees in the orchard, and what was there was small. It all portended a bad harvest. And now no waterfowl to hunt! Others, however, said that the spring had merely been later than usual. As for the lack of waterfowl, it was easily explained. The nesting season was past, and the birds had probably gone upriver for the summer.

  The queen had not gone hunting that day. Her advanced state of pregnancy forbade it. She sat at the high board that evening, pale and obviously very uncomfortable. Watching her, Belle suddenly had a clever idea. It was obvious that the queen was not hungry, or could she simply no longer tolerate the rich diet provided by the king’s kitchens? When the queen departed the hall with her ladies, Belle arose and, pulling Mavis along with her, followed.

  “Where are we going?” her companion demanded. “Don’t you know that the king’s been eyeing you all evening like a sugar comfit?”

  “That’s why we’re going to hide ourselves in the queen’s chambers,” Belle said with a naughty little smile. “The lady looks very uncomfortable, and just possibly I can be of service to her instead of to her husband.”

  Mavis shook her head, but she was laughing.
r />   “Well, would you want to be in my position?” Isabelle demanded.

  “Nay,” Mavis replied, “I would not, but you cannot hold off the king forever, Belle. He always gets his way in the end.”

  “Not this time,” came the firm declaration.

  They entered the queen’s rooms in the company of the other women. Not long after, the queen said, “If this child is not soon born, I shall die! I have never been more uncomfortable in all of my life. I am swollen like a grape and can hardly walk anymore.” She paced her day chamber nervously.

  “Perhaps I can help you, Your Majesty,” Belle said, coming boldly forward and curtseying. “Your Majesty may not remember me, for I am newly come to court. I am Isabelle of Langston, the wife of Sir Hugh Fauconier. I had many of Your Majesty’s symptoms when I carried my own son. May I share with you my mother’s remedies that helped ease them?”

  “Ohh, pray do, Isabelle of Langston!” the queen begged.

  “Your Majesty is too much upon her feet,” Isabelle said, taking the queen by the hand and leading her to a settle. “Mavis, bring some pillows for the queen’s back and to prop her legs up with.” She knelt before Queen Matilda and gently removed her shoes. The woman’s feet, ankles, and legs were badly swollen. “I do not know why,” Isabelle said as she stood up again, “but keeping your lower extremities raised seems to help the swelling, my mother said, and it did help mine.” She tucked pillows beneath the queen’s legs and behind her back.

  “There could be something to that,” the queen said slowly. “In the morning when I arise my legs are not swollen at all.”

  “Perhaps instead of walking about during the day,” Belle suggested, “Your Majesty might be carried in a litter. After all, you are in a most delicate condition right now. You carry England’s heir, and should be treated gently. The king, God bless him, is a most active man, as we all know, but it is not he who is having this child. It is Your Majesty who is bearing the burden of new life.”

  “The lassie speaks good sense,” said Mary Malcolm, the queen’s old nursemaid who had come with her to England. “Keep her by yer side, my lamb. She’ll be of more use to ye than yon giggling group of fine ladies. The younger know naught of birthing, and the older hae forgotten.”