Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Jessamyn still wasn’t satisfied with her sister’s answer. She harped away at her as they crossed the great hall and headed to the spiral stairs that would take them down to the vault. Once down in the cold, darkened vault where the wounded were grouped, Jessamyn continued to pick at her, following her into the little alcove they shared. Emera had finally had enough of the woman, putting up a hand to silence her as she put her purse away, burying it for safety in one of the two satchels.

  “Enough, Jessamyn,” she hissed. “If something was occurring between me and any man, I would tell you. I have told you that I spend time with de Royans out of necessity and you will do me the courtesy of believing me. I do not want to hear any more about it!”

  Jessamyn frowned but she kept her mouth shut. It was difficult, but she did. She had spent the morning alone, listening to the wounded gossip, and then heading into the hall to hear de Royans’ men doing the same. Rumors were flying fast and furious that de Royans had his eye on her sister and she was frustrated that she hadn’t seen it before. Emera had never said a word about it. Even in Emera’s denial, she knew there was a grain of truth. She knew her sister too well not to see it.

  But she didn’t press, at least for the moment, because Emera’s relationship with de Royans had, indeed, provided them with privileges that they probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Perhaps in some way, she was jealous. She was the lady of the castle, wasn’t she? Surely de Royans should have looked at her first, but that was the story of her life – men always looked to her beauteous younger sister before they ever looked at her.

  Such had been her curse, always.

  As Jessamyn pondered her lot in life, Emera finished securing the money and removed her cloak. She intended to check on the wounded personally and then head to the kitchens to see about the plans for the next meal. She knew her sister wouldn’t have done it because Jessamyn didn’t normally see about things like that, so Emera left their little alcove and began to check on the men, making sure they were warm and healing, taking the time to speak with them.

  She noticed one thing right away – that, indeed, some of the wounded seemed to have recovered well enough to sit up and even move about. It was gratifying to see that they were healing, giving her a sense of satisfaction in that everything that had happened to them since the arrival of de Royans – namely, putting them out in the icy weather on that first terrible night – had not had overwhelmingly horrific consequences. Certainly, they’d lost some, but most had survived. She felt very good about that.

  But she also noticed something else – either men would smile rather knowingly at her or they would not look at her at all. Remembering what Jessamyn had said about the men gossiping about her and Juston, she struggled not to be embarrassed by their reactions. It simply made her move faster among them, eager to be away from the leering, sneering men.

  Once she’d made the rounds, she stopped to speak with Tristan and the older soldier Jessamyn had indicated, Cowling, as they sat huddled near the spiral stairs. Tristan was telling the man all about their flight from town. With Cowling now saddled with the chatty child, she continued back up the spiral stairs and into the great hall.

  As she entered the vast chamber above, she found herself hoping she would see Juston. Perhaps that’s why she had really come back into the hall and why she was planning on going to the kitchens – she was hoping she would see Juston at some point. The man was heavier on her mind than he’d ever been, especially after hearing that the soldiers were gossiping about her. She simply couldn’t tell Jessamyn what had happened at Gainford, the kissing and the touching, because Jessamyn would condemn her and probably rightly so. Therefore, she would keep that information to herself, memories that made her heart race with excitement.

  Kisses that made her tremble.

  Passing through the great hall, she could see that Juston wasn’t there and she was disappointed. She didn’t want to look as if she was obviously seeking him out, so she tried not to look around too much or look too anxious as she continued through the hall and into the forebuilding.

  Once in the inner bailey, she had to fight off the urge to look about anxiously again, seeking out Juston. She knew he was out here, somewhere, so she merely pretended as if she was focused on her duties, which meant heading to the kitchen. If rumors were already flying about that Juston had his eye on her, then she didn’t want to give those rumors more fuel. Heading around the north side of the keep where the well and the kitchens were located, she caught sight of Gillem and Erik as they went about their duties.

  Emera’s gaze lingered on the pair, just for a moment. Erik was very young, perhaps just a little older than she was, but he was very handsome and seemed pleasant enough. Gillem was a little older, with lovely red hair, but she thought had had kind of a nervous energy about him. But she forgot all about the knights as soon as she saw the cook and discussed the coming meal with the old woman. According to the one-eyed cook, they were nearly down to the last of the pork that de Royans’ army had brought with them. No other meat was on the horizon, at least not for the day, and Emera left the kitchen, disappointed with the idea of more pork. She was nearing the keep once again when she heard someone call her name. Turning in the direction of the hail, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the weak sun.

  Gillem was heading in her direction and he held up a hand when he saw he had her attention, calling her name again. Emera paused, waiting for him to catch up to her since he clearly wanted to speak with her. She even smiled politely.

  “Sir Gillem,” she said. “I believe that is your name, is it not?”

  Gillem nodded. “It is,” he said. “We have not been formally introduced, but these are peculiar circumstances. I hope you will make allowances.”

  “Of course.”

  “I also hope you will forgive me for boldly addressing you, my lady.”

  “There is no need to apologize. May I help you with something?”

  Gillem was looking at her rather strangely, and Emera sensed that nervous energy from him again. There was something edgy in his eyes.

  “I… I was wondering if I might have a word with you, my lady,” he said. “In private, if that is possible.”

  Emera didn’t sense anything odd other than his edginess. She nodded. “Where would you like to speak?”

  Gillem scratched his head, looking around. “I suppose there really isn’t anywhere that could be considered private,” he said, “and I suppose it would not be proper, anyway. ’Tis simply that I have something very important that I need to speak with you about and I pray you will not be offended.”

  Emera cocked her head. “Why should I be offended? You may speak your mind to me, my lord.”

  Gillem ran his fingers through his hair. This was the moment he’d been contemplating, that very moment where he would rid de Royans of his temptation. When he saw the lady moving from the kitchens to the keep, alone, he knew he had to take the chance. It had been an unexpected opportunity, really, but one he would grasp. However, if de Royans saw them together, he knew the man would wonder what was being discussed and he didn’t want to explain himself, so he knew that whatever he said would have to be swift. But he had to ensure he made some sort of an impact. Therefore, he spoke quickly and, he hoped, sincerely.

  “I am not entirely sure how to approach this subject so I will simply come out with it,” he said. “My lady, I have a sister, Sybilla, whom I love dearly. She is a good lady, kind to the poor and generous to the church. It is because of my sister that I must speak to you about Lord de Royans.”

  Emera wasn’t sure what he was driving at so she kept her manner neutral. “As you wish,” she said. “I am not entirely sure why such a conversation would affect me, but you may continue.”

  Gillem was very serious. “But it does affect you, my lady,” he said. “Has… has Lord de Royans made you any promises? Has he tried to lure you in any way?”

  Now, Emera was feeling somewhat defensive, shocked at his qu
estions. “You will forgive me, my lord, but that is none of your affair. I am sure you understand.”

  Gillem sighed impatiently. “That is not what I mean,” he said. “I only ask because he made promises to my sister also. My lady, forgive me for being blunt, but he has a child with my sister and he refuses to marry her. I would not wish to see you fall into the same despair that my sister has fallen in to. Lord de Royans, while he is a fine knight and a great commander, has a less than savory reputation where women are concerned. He will tell you things you wish to hear and when he has had his way with you, he will refuse to marry you. Please, my lady… learn from my sister’s mistakes. Do not fall prey to de Royans. And please do not tell him that I told you these things, for he will only take it out on my sister and their child. I only seek to warn you about him, I swear it.”

  Emera stood there, looking at the man in astonishment. Nay, more than astonishment; shock. She was shocked to the bone. Her mouth became dry and she realized it was because her mouth was hanging open. Closing her mouth, she swallowed hard.

  “He… he has a child with your sister?” she repeated, her voice sounding weak. “How old is the child?”

  “He is three years of age, my lady,” Gillem replied. Then, he looked around. “Lord de Royans must not see us together because he will know that I have warned you. Be wise, my lady – stay away from Lord de Royans before he ruins you as he has ruined my sister. If I were you, I would leave Bowes. I would return to wherever you were born or wherever your family lives. If you stay here, you will end up like my sister – with a child to support and no husband. That is not how you should end up.”

  With that, he slipped away, heading back in the direction he’d come from and leaving Emera standing, stunned, where he’d left her. Like a statue, she simply stood there, digesting what he’d just told her. She couldn’t even summon the will to move. Was it a lie?

  Was it truth?

  Sweet Mary… she couldn’t think straight. Her mind was overwhelmed with the idea that de Royans had done this kind of thing before… sweet and kind to a maiden until she gives herself over to him, and then he moves on after he has his way with her.

  Oh, God… was it really possible?

  An avalanche of emotion suddenly spilled over her, breaking her from her unmoving stance. Unsteady, she turned for the keep, feeling shame and embarrassment that cut deep, deep enough to bleed. Had she been so foolish that she hadn’t realized de Royans was simply playing a game? Having no experience with men, she wouldn’t have even known what to look for. That was the truth. De Royans could tell her anything and, because she was attracted to him, she would believe him.

  She had believed him.

  Now, she felt like a fool.

  The keep loomed before her and she disappeared into the forebuilding, taking the stairs up to the great hall and emerging into the stale warmth of the chamber. She started to go down to the vault where the wounded were but something stopped her. Perhaps, it was knowing that those men had been discussing her, speaking of her and de Royans in the same breath. They knew she’d been a fool. Evidently, everyone knew she’d been a fool by allowing de Royans to charm her. Nay, she couldn’t go down to the vault and face those men. She was too embarrassed to do that.

  The spiral stairs led up to the second floor of Bowes where her old bedchamber was. It was still there, as she’d left it, because de Royans hadn’t let any of his knights sleep there. He’d kept it just the way it was and she entered the chamber, shutting the chamber door and bolting it. She needed to be alone in her chamber, surrounded by her beloved possessions. She was too ashamed to face anyone at the moment and, in particular, her sister. She couldn’t even tell Jessamyn what a fool she’d made of herself.

  Depressed, despondent, she went to the dark hearth, with just a few glowing embers at the bottom, and put a few pieces of wood into the ashes and piled some dead rushes around them. Using a flint and stone, she lit the rushes and, soon, a nice blaze was developing. An iron arm jutted out from the side of the hearth, used to hang pots so water could be heated, and that was exactly what she did – put a few ladlefuls of water from a bucket in the chamber into a small stone pot and then hung that on the arm to boil the water. She wanted some hot water to wash her hands and face and, perhaps, even use a rag on her body if she could find a bit of soap. She was going through the motions of being busy, trying to work through the heaviness of what was on her mind.

  The water heated and she managed to locate a small piece of soap in her trunk that smelled of rosemary. Using the scrap of soap and a rag, she stripped down to her shift and proceeded to wash her arms, feet, hands, neck, and face. The heated water felt wonderful, soothing her body and her mind, just a bit, because all the while she considered what the knight had told her about Juston. He had asked her not to tell Juston what he’d said, but Emera was a forthright person. She spoke the truth and she wanted the truth. Juston had led her to believe that he was very interested in her but if it was an act, she wanted to confront him with it. Perhaps he would be truthful about it, perhaps not. There was only one way to find out.

  There were still some of her garments and things left in her trunk that Juston’s men hadn’t packed up in the satchels she’d been given. A fresh shift was rolled up at the bottom, made of lamb’s wool, and she put that on. Over it went a dark blue wool surcoat that had what were known as angel’s wing sleeves – long sleeves that draped over the hands, keeping them warm. She put another surcoat over the blue one, this one green and with shorter sleeves, and the result was warm layers of clothing that looked quite fetching on her. Running a comb through her long, black hair, she braided it and tied it off at the bottom.

  Warmed, and now with a sense of determination when it came to Juston, she left the chamber and returned to the vault. She knew that the soldiers would still be looking at her, knowing she’d made a fool of herself over de Royans, but she firmly decided to ignore them. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that she knew they knew. Until she spoke with Juston and he explained his side of things, there was still hope she hadn’t made a fool of herself, after all.

  “Do you really believe he will come?”

  The question came from Marcus, who hadn’t been in town to see the encounter between Christopher, David, and the Durham knights. But it was clear that the encounter had concerned all of the knights who had gone into town and that was why he’d asked the question. It was Christopher who answered.

  “If I were de Puiset, I would come,” he said. “When an army lays siege to a fortress and manages to capture it, that is one thing. But when that same army sends men out into the neighboring towns and villages, that is a threat to everyone in Durham. De Puiset would be foolish if he did not act on this. The man needs to protect his bishopric.”

  Huddled at one end of a feasting table in the great hall, Juston and his men were in intense discussions about how they should react to the potential of a de Puiset attack. Marcus, as well as Maxton and Kress and Achilles, on the outside of what had happened in town, were trying to make sense of it.

  “So he will come,” Maxton said, leaning on his big arms as he faced the table. “It was only a matter of time, anyway. We had been expecting this since the messengers went out from Cotherstone. This is not any great shock, I would say. We will be prepared.”

  Juston, at the head of the table, listened to his knights go back and forth. Usually, they did all of the talking and he did all of the listening, only speaking to make the final decision. But in this instance, he had questions himself. He looked at Achilles.

  “You have been overseeing the rebuild of the wall,” he said. “Has the mortar set up sufficiently?”

  Achilles shook his head. “It has not,” he said. “There is too much moisture in the air still and the sun, although shining, has not been enough to help the mortar cure. I fear that wall will not hold should it be put to the test. However, the defenses are fortified with the pike sticks that de Lohr put up. The perimeter
, I feel, is secure.”

  Juston sat at the table, hands folded, listening seriously. He began to shake his head. “This is not as I had hoped,” he said. “I do not like being bottled up in a castle whose walls will tumble at the first bombardment.”

  Achilles lifted his big shoulders. “We have the moats to protect us,” he said. “It will still be an extremely difficult task breaching the castle.”

  Juston sat on that statement for a few moments. It was clear that his mind was working. “Mayhap,” he finally said. “Mayhap not. My instinct tells me to secure the fortress as best we can and then take the army out to meet de Puiset on open ground.”

  The knights were looking at him in various stages of puzzlement. “Leave the safety of the castle?” Kress repeated. “I must disagree, Juston. We remain inside and withstand de Puiset’s attack. When he sees that he cannot breach the fortress, he will leave.”

  Juston looked at the man. “Keeping my army trapped within the walls of a compromised fortress would be foolish,” he said. “Moreover, why should de Puiset leave when he is on the outside with unlimited resources? He will have the patience and the supplies to wait until the wall fails and the fortifications can be breached. He can be resupplied time and time again, while we remain inside with our supplies dwindling, simply waiting for that wall to crumble and for de Puiset to overrun us. Nay, I will not do that. If the walls were solid, that would be one thing, but they are not. If we remain here in a siege, it will be our deaths. We will meet the man on the field of battle.”

  Kress was in disagreement. He sighed faintly and sat back, unwilling to argue with Juston when the man seemed so convinced. A few of the other knights, Gillem and Erik included, seemed inclined to agree with Kress. It was Christopher finally who spoke up.

  “I must agree with Juston,” he said, directing his conversation not only to Juston but to the rest of the men. “We will have heavy patrols between us and Auckland. When they see the army approach, they will notify us and we will be prepared to move out. We’ll secure the fortress and take most of the army out to fend off de Puiset. We’ll chase the man away before he can reach Bowes.”