By King's Decree

by Shari Anton

  Corwin’s arms folded around her, pulling her close. “Damn you, Ardith,” he said softly, with no trace of rancor.

  She returned the hug. “My thanks, Corwin.”

  “Too early for thanks. I may yet come to my senses and change my mind.”

  Several heartbeats later, Corwin pushed her away and looked her over. “You might fit into Thomas’s clothes.”

  “Thomas’s clothes? Whatever for?”

  “If you are set on making this journey, then we do it my way. Understood?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A young novice, whom Ardith thought too fair of face for a girl contemplating vows, waved Ardith and Corwin into a sparsely furnished, musty sitting room. Bristling under the disapproval in the girl’s large, thickly-lashed brown eyes, Ardith whipped off the cap Corwin had insisted she wear and uncoiled the braid pinned to the top of her head.

  “I will fetch Sister Bernadette. Who shall I say wishes to see her?”

  “Corwin of Lenvil and his sister, Ardith,” Corwin stated.

  The novice again glanced over Ardith’s attire: the rough tunic that stopped short of Ardith’s knees, the hose held up by crisscrossed leather garters and barely covering her calves, the ankle-high felt shoes. Ardith’s humiliation rose another notch when the girl said, “We are of a size, milady. Mayhap I can provide more appropriate attire before your audience with Sister Bernadette.”

  “My thanks,” Ardith managed.

  As the young woman closed the door behind her, Ardith spun, throwing the cap at Corwin. “I told you this was a foolish notion. Did you see the way she looked at me?”

  Corwin circled, looking her up and down. “I think you look rather fetching in Thomas’s clothes.”

  “The male clothes did not fool her for a moment.”

  “Up close, no. But from a distance the disguise works well. Have done, Ardith. You are here, about to speak with Sister Bernadette. Just get it done quickly so we can get back ahead of Gerard. If he rides in and finds you gone…” Corwin shuddered.

  The novice returned, a dove-gray linen robe to match her own draped over an arm.

  “I apologize for the delay, but Sister Bernadette is at prayer and cannot see you until after terce.” She held out the robe and a rope belt. “’Tis not elegant, milady, but will be more comfortable, I think.”

  Noting the lessening of the girl’s censure, Ardith took the robe. “Please, call me Ardith. You are?”

  “Judith,” she answered, smiling slightly.

  “I thank you for the loan of your robe, Judith.” Ardith glared at Corwin. “I do feel most uncomfortable in this garb.”

  Corwin followed Judith out into the passageway. Ardith quickly changed. She rolled the hose and laces in the tunic and put the bundle in the corner. Judith returned with a pitcher of water and goblets. Corwin carried bread and cheese. Judith left them to partake of the repast. As the minutes dragged on Ardith privately questioned the wisdom of talking Corwin into bringing her to an abbey filled with holy women.

  Nonetheless, she was determined to see this through. She picked up the bread and took a healthy bite, washed the bread down with a swig of water. The lump sat hard in her stomach.

  Ardith started when the door opened. A woman of middling years, richly gowned in silk, swished into the room. Corwin swiftly rose from his stool, smiling broadly. Ardith followed his lead.

  Corwin took the woman’s outstretched hand, bowed over it saying, “Your Majesty. How nice to see you again.”

  Queen Matilda! Ardith had heard that Matilda had retired to the abbey, but, caught in her own turmoil, hadn’t given the royal presence a second thought. A plain-faced woman of noble Saxon birth, Henry’s queen had fled London and the Norman nobility who held her in contempt. Her intelligence, lack of beauty, devotion to the church and a desire to minister to the poor and sick had made her an easy victim of the court’s sharp tongues. Ardith empathized and liked the woman instantly.

  Matilda smiled at Corwin, a gentle, sincere smile that lit her brown eyes. “Welcome, Corwin of Lenvil. Rise and let us look at you. Now we see why Judith is all aflutter. We believe you have made a conquest, Corwin.”

  His brow furrowed in question. “The little novice?”

  “Judith is our niece, not destined for vows. But we digress. We came to meet your sister.”

  Corwin regained his poise and presented Ardith to the queen of England. Ardith dipped into a low curtsy.

  “So you are the one,” Matilda said, motioning Ardith to rise. “We have heard much about you.”

  “I fear to ask what you have heard, Your Majesty.”

  “We daresay more than you would wish. Henry and I correspond regularly. He wrote at length about your unusual betrothal to Gerard of Wilmont He thought his decree a stroke of great statesmanship, until recently. Diane de Varley’s betrayal and Basil of Northbryre’s escape sits hard on Henry’s mind.” Matilda smiled wryly. “Lady Diane was always a strong-minded wench. Henry should have known she would do something foolish.”

  Matilda waved a dismissing hand. “But what intrigues us is the reason for your visit. Judith tells us you wish to see Sister Bernadette. We can think of only one reason a woman would ask to see a midwife. You do not, however, look ready to give birth.”

  Ardith put a trembling hand on her stomach.

  “I hope, Your Majesty, that Sister Bernadette can determine whether or not I am truly barren.”

  Matilda cocked her head, studied Ardith for a moment. “Baron Gerard chose well. You are not only beautiful, but wise. Come, my dear. We will await the good sister in our chambers. Corwin, you may stay in the priest’s hut, outside the walls. Ask one of my guards to point it out. We will send for you when we are finished.”

  “I refuse to condone her immorality.”

  Ardith’s heart sank as Sister Bernadette pulled up to her full, dominating height and thrust out her ample chest. In black robes and veil, the nun looked like a dark angel.

  “Now, Sister,” Matilda cajoled. “How can you refuse this poor girl? Think of her anguish.”

  “She ruts with a man not her husband. If she suffers anguish, ‘tis God’s punishment for her waywardness.”

  “Wayward? This sweet child? None of this is of her doing. She only obeys her overlord and her king. Baron Gerard and King Henry bear the responsibility for her dilemma.”

  Ardith turned away and walked across the stone floor of the chamber to the window shuttered with oak.

  She noted the simple yet rich furnishings—an ornate bed with a thick mattress, a desk cluttered with parchment and quills, an oak table on which sat two gold goblets. Friendly, warm and inviting—as was the queen, who argued Ardith’s case with the nun who refused to help the whore of Gerard, baron of Wilmont.

  “I sense no remorse for her plight,” Sister Bernadette countered. “She beds with a baron, a man of wealth and rank. She is no different from the other sluts who use their bodies to obtain worldly goods.”

  “Sister Bernadette,” the queen said in an exasperated tone. “Ardith seeks neither wealth nor rank, but a marriage she cannot have unless she proves fruitful. If she cannot conceive, the baron will have no choice but to cast her aside, take another as his wife.”

  At the rustle of silk, Ardith turned from the window to see Queen Matilda rise from her chair and put a fragile hand on Sister Bernadette’s arm.

  Matilda smiled slyly. “And imagine. Sister, you would promote a love match.”

  Sister Bernadette harrumphed.

  “’Tis true! Gerard of Wilmont asked for this marriage because he cares for Ardith—so Henry says. We also believe that Ardith cares for Gerard. Of the countless women you have attended at birthing, Sister, how many of those women loved the man whose child they bore?”

  “’Tis a rare occurrence.”

  “Aye, rare indeed. Think, Sister, of the many women who suffer the marriage bed and the pain of childbirth out of duty. How many babes enter the world sickly or maimed because the fathe
r beat the mother? And but a few days ago, a man gave an infant girl to Abbess Christina to raise in the church because he suspected the child not of his loins. Ah, Sister, if more marriages occurred because of love than duty to family or state, would not this world be a happier place?”

  Sister Bernadette fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “Nobles do not marry for affection. If the baron asked for the marriage, he does so for an alliance or wealth.”

  “He gets neither, only Ardith.”

  The nun’s brow furrowed, and for the first time she spoke directly to Ardith. “Is this true, child?”

  “Aye, Sister,” Ardith answered.

  “No alliance? No dowry?”

  “My father offers no dowry. Wilmont holds Lenvil in vassalage, so Baron Gerard gains no lands or alliances.”

  “And you are Saxon?”

  Ardith nodded, knowing if she spoke she’d betray her rising hope. Though concentrating on the nun, Ardith was aware the queen had resumed her seat by the table and raised a goblet to smiling lips.

  “A most peculiar noble,” Sister Bernadette observed. “Were he a peasant, would you regard him as highly?”

  “His rank and wealth have helped shape the man,” Ardith replied. “He is Norman, with a Norman’s arrogance and pride. He wears his rank as naturally as a bear wears his fur. Were he not noble, he would not be Gerard. What you ask, Sister, is if all his possessions were taken from him on the morrow, would I still want the man as my husband? Aye, I would.”

  “And he cares for you?”

  Ardith couldn’t help a small smile. “I fear he cares more than he thinks prudent. He has said as much.”

  “How often does he beat you?”

  Ardith had to admit that her insolence might have brought on a beating from a lesser man. Gerard might shout till the beams shook, but she’d never feared the back of his hand.

  “Never.” At the nun’s obvious disbelief, Ardith quickly added, “Gerard may be forceful, but he is never cruel. I have only seen him lay a hand to someone in anger but once. Truth be told, he need not. ‘Tis sometimes a great aggravation, Sister, that when Gerard raises his voice to give an order, everyone jumps to do his bidding.”

  Ardith endured the nun’s stare, tamped down the tension palpitating through the deepening silence.

  In a quiet voice, the nun said, “Take off the robe, child, and lie down on the bed.”

  Startled by the nun’s acquiescence, Ardith couldn’t move. This was what she wanted, why she risked Gerard’s wrath in coming to the abbey. She panicked. What if Sister Bernadette agreed with Elva? What if the twin link had led Corwin to believe falsely? Sweet Mother!

  “Quickly, child, before I change my mind.”

  Ardith stared at the bed, the bed belonging to the queen of England! She swallowed hard.

  “’Tis only a bed, Ardith,” Matilda said, somehow understanding her reluctance.

  After glancing from Matilda to Sister Bernadette, Ardith stepped out of her felt shoes, tugged off the robe and eased onto the coverlet.

  Sister Bernadette loomed over her, ran an icy finger over the scar. Ardith shivered slightly.

  “’Tis a thin mark,” the nun said, frowning. “What do you remember of the mishap?”

  “I will never forget the boar’s charge, the sound of ripping cloth, the gouge of its tusk.”

  “And of after?”

  “Very little. I fainted. I learned later that my brother killed the boar and carried me home. I woke to Elva hovering over me, to my mother sadly shaking her head. I thought I would die. Then the fever took hold and I slept for several days. ‘Tis said I am fortunate to be alive.”

  The nun poked, prodded, and pressed on Ardith’s midsection with a heavy hand.

  “Who is Elva?”

  “My father’s sister, Lenvil’s herbswoman and midwife.”

  Sister Bernadette nodded, staring at some spot on the wall as she repeated the manipulation. Then she rolled up a sleeve.

  “Open your legs, child.”

  As the nun’s intention became clear, Ardith wanted to die. Right here. Lying naked as the day of her birth on the queen’s bed. Humiliation stiffened her spine and sent a heated flush through her body.

  Only for Gerard would she suffer this degradation. No, she quickly admitted. Not for Gerard, but for herself, her peace of mind, her need to put behind the uncertainty. She closed her eyes and obeyed.

  The intrusion came swiftly.

  “Relax.”

  The nun pushed up with the offending hand, pushed down with the other.

  “This Elva, ‘twas she who declared you barren?”

  “Aye,” Ardith breathed.

  The nun’s hands came away. Ardith closed her legs.

  Sister Bernadette rolled down her sleeve. “The woman is either inept or she lied to you deliberately. Your wound did not go deep enough to harm your female parts. Should God see fit to bless you with children, your body is quite capable of bearing the burden.”

  Ardith sat beside Queen Matilda at the trestle table, surrounded by nuns, forcing down the evening meal.

  …lied to you deliberately.

  Inconceivable. But the phrase resisted attempts to push Sister Bernadette’s words aside. Elva wasn’t inept Could Elva have erred, misjudged the depth of the wound?

  “I had thought you would be pleased,” Matilda said.

  “I am, Majesty.”

  “Yet you frown and pick at your food.”

  Ardith abandoned all pretense of eating. “I have believed for so long in my barrenness, ‘tis hard to accept otherwise.”

  “Take heart, Ardith. Sister Bernadette would not raise your hopes if there were doubts.”

  Elva hadn’t doubted either. Elva had treated a girl’s wound and fought the resulting fever. Then she’d declared Ardith unable to bear children, thus ruining the betrothal to Gerard—a Norman, the heir to Wilmont, Elva’s hated enemy.

  Judith’s hasty entrance, the horrified look on her face, interrupted Ardith’s disturbing thoughts. The girl dipped a quick curtsy to the queen.

  “Auntie Maud,” Judith said, nearly breathless. “The abbess requests your presence in her chambers when you have finished your meal. Lady Ardith, you are asked to come now.”

  “Surely the abbess will allow Ardith to finish—”

  “’Tis not the abbess who requests Lady Ardith. A man has come to fetch her.”

  Ardith smiled slightly. “Corwin grows impatient”

  Judith shook her head. “Not Corwin, milady. This man is huge, and he is—”

  “Arrr-dith!” boomed down the passageway and bounced off the stone walls, startling the dining nuns.

  “—most displeased.”

  “Gerard,” Ardith whispered. She struggled briefly with the desire to stay seated, safely ensconced next to Queen Matilda. She swung her legs over the bench, intending to halt him in the passageway. She almost accomplished the feat.

  Gerard burst into the refectory, his hard footsteps beating a cadence in rhythm to the sword clanging against chain mail. No helm covered his tawny mane of hair, nor did gauntlets cover the huge hands curled into fists. Anger radiated from the stern expression on his face, an anger so fierce Ardith pulled up short.

  He, too, stopped, within a few steps inside the entrance. His green eyes glittered emerald as he looked her up and down, the novice’s garment clearly offensive.

  Ardith took a fortifying breath. She’d never cowered before Gerard’s flash-fire temper. She wouldn’t start now. She closed the distance between them with firm, unrushed steps.

  “My lord, the queen,” she whispered, hoping to divert the tirade she knew inevitable.

  He tossed a curt nod in Matilda’s direction. “Maud.”

  So much for diversion. “I can explain,” Ardith said softly.

  “I wish to leave here,” he growled, putting his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs resting at the hollow of her throat. Gently, with a tenderness that belied his expression and stance, his thumbs
stroked, evoking a familiar and welcome shiver of response to his touch.

  “’Tis almost nightfall, Gerard. Surely ‘tis not safe—”

  “Now she worries over her safety.”

  Ardith curled her fingers in the rings of his hauberk. His expression had softened, the flaming anger nearly spent. Soon, she knew, the inferno would cool.

  He wasn’t so much angry that she’d come to the abbey as that she’d come without his permission and protection. At times, it seemed, Gerard’s peace of mind depended upon knowing where she was, whether she stood within his sight or if they were leagues apart. At one time she’d thought he shielded her as one would guard a prized possession. Having come to know Gerard well, she now knew otherwise. When Gerard loved, he loved with his whole heart and took care of those he loved with equal passion.

  He worried needlessly. She’d come to no harm. If ever he found her otherwise, hurt or endangered…Ardith suppressed a shudder. Gerard’s fury would scorch all within his reach.

  “Corwin brought me to the abbey. He would let no harm come to me,” Ardith said, trying to ease his mind.

  “Corwin,” he huffed. “The lad has much to answer for. Imagine my surprise when I rode in and found Corwin sitting in the doorway of the priest’s hut”

  “Then he explained why we are here?”

  “I did not speak to him. I had another matter to attend first. ‘Twas the abbess who informed me you were also here.”

  “What other matter?” Ardith asked before hearing the swish of silk that signaled the queen’s approach.

  “Baron Gerard, you might wish to hear Ardith’s news before you throttle her,” Matilda admonished.

  Gerard tilted his head, perplexed.

  Ardith then noticed the silence. She turned her head slightly to see several pairs of worried eyes. The nuns thought…oh, dear. Ardith pressed lips together to stifle a giggle. The urge quelled, she squeezed Gerard’s hand between her shoulder and cheek.