Desiree

by Roberta Gellis

  “Are you excluding me from ordering the men and women in my own keep?” Desiree asked sharply.

  Alex started as if he had not noticed her standing there before she spoke, but he bowed politely. “No, not at all, madam. The servants are yours to command, of course. I would be grateful, however, if you would pass your orders to the common men-at-arms through either Godric or my man Byford…except in an emergency, of course.”

  “And my own movements?”

  Alex blinked. “Are completely at your own discretion, madam. Although I do hope that you will consent to take a guard with you if you travel outside the keep—a guard of your own choosing, naturally, but…”

  “Ah, then I hope you will not forget that Exceat is mine?”

  “I…I…” Alex looked helplessly at Simon.

  But Simon was staring at Lady Desiree with raised brows, the left corner of his lips quivering. The lady did not intend to fade into nothing again. In the next instant the incipient smile disappeared and a frown creased his brow.

  To Desiree he said, “Alex is responsible for the defense of Exceat Keep, Lady Desiree, and also for the safety and well-doing of everyone within its walls. Thus, I hope most sincerely that you will work together with him toward that goal and see that your servants are obedient to him.”

  “Obedient to—” Desiree had begun when Elias reappeared in the doorway to the room beyond. He nodded at her and smiled, and she folded her lips together tightly, swallowing down the angry words, “—a man who does not notice I am alive.” She gestured Simon and Alex toward the door and said, “My husband is ready to see us now.”

  Chapter Three

  In the thin light of a just-breaking dawn, Alex stood beside Simon, who was preparing to leave. Around them the men-at-arms who would accompany Simon rushed to and fro, shouting to one another about the loading and disposition of the pack horses, checking their own mounts, running back to the lodging to fetch forgotten trifles or to say farewell to a friend. Cedric Southfold came out of the stable leading Simon’s horse, which was snorting and pawing the ground.

  Alex felt tears sting his eyes and blinked them back as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wanted to beg his uncle not to leave him, which was utterly ridiculous. He was not afraid of the task put into his hands, he was sure he could do it. It was being alone he feared, lacking the warmth and the caring he had enjoyed while he served Simon. It was his uncle’s love he could hardly bear to lose.

  He had nearly wept when leaving Roselynde too, and that was even more ridiculous. Lady Alinor was his age or likely younger, yet he felt as if he were parting from his mother all over again. Lady Alinor had the same kind of concern for him as his mother had, examining him with minute attention when he had come back to the keep splashed with the blood of battle, salving and binding his small wounds and scolding him venomously for not being more careful.

  “My lord,” he said desperately, “I cannot like the division you have made of the men. You have left to me all the more experienced fighters. I am safe here behind walls. You will be traveling abroad. Should we not switch troops?”

  Simon laughed aloud. “I have left you all the older men too, the ones who will groan and complain if one drop of rain falls upon them.”

  That forced a smile from Alex, but he shook his head. “Still, my lord, if aught ill should befall you…I think I would die of grief.” He hesitated and then added, “And if I do not, Lady Alinor would skin me alive.”

  Simon had started to look concerned over Alex’s great anxiety for him, but the last sentence made him laugh again. “You need not fear that, but I pity the lands and towns near where I was attacked. She will leave no stick or stone standing until the guilty are delivered to her, and I would not be surprised if she did skin those alive…and rub them with salt too.” He was still grinning, but his eyes were sad when he added, “See what you can do to keep her from setting all England ablaze if I am lost.”

  “I would be more likely to help her than try to hinder her,” Alex said, more grimly than appropriate to a jest.

  “To die by the sword is not so terrible a fate,” Simon remarked dryly, “when one considers poor Sir Frewyn.”

  Alex drew breath to make a sharp answer but Simon turned away to answer a question, and the memory of their interview with Sir Frewyn came vividly to Alex’s mind. He had been prepared to see a man made utterly helpless by a fit. He had braced himself against showing any expression of pity or disgust—which was just as well because he was assailed by both when he followed Simon into the lesser hall and saw the man propped by pillows in the high-backed chair.

  In one way what he saw was not as terrible as what he had expected—a man in his prime brought low by an evil fate, perhaps by witchcraft. Sir Frewyn was a far more natural victim to be felled by a fit—an old man with a few wispy hairs around a bald head, veined, brown-blotched hands, hooked nose and chin, drooping jowls, a soft sagging belly. What was not natural was the fresh, young face of Lady Desiree bent close to his, speaking softly but clearly.

  Instinctively, without even looking at her expression, Alex rejected Sir Frewyn who, he believed, had forced a child into marriage, into his bed. However, he was aware of the gentleness, even tenderness, with which Simon was addressing the old man. He assumed it was because of Frewyn’s terrible condition and resolved to follow his mentor’s lead and add no further pain to one whom God had already punished so severely.

  Still, Alex knew he had not been able to infuse warmth into his voice when he acknowledged his willingness to serve as castellan of Exceat. He was aware of Simon’s use again of the term sister’s son and realized it must be of importance because Sir Frewyn’s drooping eyelids had opened wider to examine him with a sharper attention.

  The old man’s hand had twitched as he accepted Alex’s service, as if Frewyn would have raised it to take Alex’s had he been able. Inwardly, Alex recoiled, but he told himself that no matter how greedy or lustful Frewyn had been in the past, he could do no more harm now. And it was his duty, laid upon him by his beloved uncle, to serve this man. He went down on one knee and took the cold hand in his.

  “I will do my best, Sir Frewyn,” he remembered promising, “to protect Exceat. If it is your will, I will tell you each day what I have done and listen to your orders for the next day, or I will make any other arrangement that you desire. You have only to command me.”

  “Th-thank…you, S-Sir…Alex.” The slurred words creaked out, propelled by a desperate will. The old man’s gaze shifted to Simon. “B-bl-bless…you, Simon. Ta-take care…of my…girl.”

  Oh, yes, Alex thought sourly, remembering Simon bending over Sir Frewyn, patting his shoulder, assuring him that Lady Desiree would be protected. Simon, and he at Simon’s order, would do his best, but if Sir Frewyn had not taken so inappropriate a wife, the problem would not have arisen. Then he started as Simon’s voice brought him back to the present.

  “Do you have some further question about your duty here?” he asked, seeing Alex’s frown.

  “No…except…you called him poor Frewyn. Do you not think the fit and what followed was God’s judgment upon him for lust and greed?”

  “Good God, no!” Simon exclaimed. “Fool that I am, I did not think to tell you.” And then he explained to Alex the threat from Nicolaus of Lewes and Frewyn’s rescue as Desiree had described it the previous day. “In fact,” he concluded, “as far as lust goes, Lady Desiree is a clean maiden. Frewyn never touched her. And for the sacrifice of her company for a few years, he paid a handsome dower. He did far more also. He taught her to manage her lands and husband her cattle. You need only see to the defense of Exceat.”

  “Thank God for that,” Alex said heartily, not quite sure whether he was more grateful that he would not need to try to oversee planting and harvesting or that he need no longer think of Sir Frewyn as the disgusting old man he imagined mounting a screaming child.

  Simon sighed and his lips twisted wryly. “Yes, I am glad she is compet
ent also, but her ability is rather a mixed blessing. You will need to take great care not to damage Lady Desiree’s reputation.”

  “Damage her reputation,” Alex echoed, horrified. “Uncle, how can you say such a thing to me? Can you believe that I would force my attentions on a woman utterly in my power? How could you entrust—” He stopped when he saw that Simon was laughing heartily.

  “No, no, I never suspected you of intending to force the lady,” he said when he could speak, “but in my own experience I have found that force is often not the least necessary. Ah, sometimes, indeed, the force is exerted in the other direction.”

  “You suspect Lady Desiree of seeking to cuckold her husband? But she seems so attentive to him, so caring.” Alex’s eyes were round with horror.

  Simon laughed even more. “Oh, no. I do not presently suspect Lady Desiree of any such intention. I have no doubt she loves Sir Frewyn dearly.” Then the laughter faded into worried concern. “But she is young and you are young and propinquity…”

  “Then I shall avoid Lady Desiree with all the skill I can muster. I had intended to sleep in the wall chamber near the forebuilding stair, but I shall arrange a place for myself in the men-at-arms’ quarters. We need hardly exchange a word.”

  Not laughing now, Simon interrupted him again. “Unfortunately, avoiding her is not an option you will have, that was why I said her ability to manage the estate was a mixed blessing. You are charged with her protection as she rides about the lands and you will need to confer often about many things. In truth, I believe both of you to be honest and good-hearted. What I am warning you about is not any failure in your chastity or hers but about what rumors may arise if you are often together in private.”

  “Oh.” The high color faded from Alex’s face. “That is not so hard to manage. I can make sure the priest or the steward is always with us when we have business together, or if Sir Frewyn does improve as his wife hopes, that we meet in his presence.”

  Simon looked down and sighed. Lady Desiree and Alex were the only two young people in the keep, as he and Alinor had been when he came to Roselynde. It was because he and Alinor worked so well together, laughed at the same jokes and felt concern for the same troubles that they had come to love each other. Simon clenched his teeth. That Alinor! That was what she intended when she urged him so strongly to send Alex to Exceat—she intended to get Alex a well-endowed wife…and for the girl a good, kind husband when her old man died.

  His uncle’s sigh puzzled Alex, but it was a very minor puzzle and Alex was easily distracted when Simon loosened a fat purse from his belt and pressed it into his hand.

  “Here. You will need this.”

  “For what, my lord? Do I not have bed, board, and stable rights as part of my fee?”

  “Yes, indeed. As castellan you are to have your food at the lord’s table and lodging where you will and your horse’s upkeep. You will also take a share of the income of the estate. That is custom. However, the first payment of your share will not be until the start of the new year, in March, and then quarterly thereafter. Until then, you must not look a beggar.” He saw Alex’s mouth open to protest and added, “Do not be a fool. You will repay as you can.”

  Alex hesitated one moment longer and then nodded. “Thank you. I do not know for what I could need money, but life is full of surprises.” He tucked the purse into his tunic and seated it firmly under his belt.

  “So it is, and most of them unpleasant.”

  They laughed together, and Simon mounted his horse. Alex stood well back. Although Simon had pulled the horse’s head almost back into his neck, the great gray destriers had a tendency to test their riders at each mounting.

  Anturio, which Alex had been told meant Hazard in Welsh and thought an extraordinarily appropriate name, stood as still as the meekest little mare. Then, Simon touched the horse with his heels and the animal shot skyward, as if his legs had been severely compressed springs. He came down on his front legs, kicked backward viciously—only the area had been vacated rapidly, since all the men knew his antics—brought his rear legs down and rose on them shaking from side to side.

  In the saddle as solidly as if he had been fastened in place with bolts, Simon sighed loudly. The sigh betokened bored patience. The horse’s ears twitched and he came down to earth on all fours with a terrible jar. Simon sighed again. Anturio shook his head violently, but that only made Simon tighten the reins even more.

  By now the whole troop was mounted, waiting for Cedric’s signal to move out—only none of them was watching Cedric. All eyes were fixed on Anturio, who suddenly leapt forward in a series of gigantic hops. The guard at the gate hastily pulled it open.

  “Farewell,” Alex shouted, laughing, as Simon bobbed through the gate. “God go with you.”

  He stood for one moment longer watching the men-at-arms depart and then turned back toward the forebuilding, still smiling. One thing old Lord Rannulf’s gray destriers ensured was that there could be no long drawn-out leave-takings, at least not once one was mounted.

  No tearful farewells, either, Alex thought, mounting the stair. He still felt rather hollow inside, but the moment he opened the door he began to laugh aloud. He had forgotten that although Simon had eaten—which was the reason for the cold meat and pasty and other viands being set out on the long table adjacent the hearth rather than a simple offering of bread and cheese—he had not. He had been busy making sure Simon’s supply train carried all he would need. Hollow he was. He was starving.

  Seeing Alex enter the hall laughing, suddenly Desiree felt worried. Why should he be so glad to see Sir Simon go? Was he planning some less than honorable act? Sister’s son or own blood son, doubtless he expected to have his villainy overlooked by his doting father-uncle. She watched Alex stride to the table, pulling his eating knife as he came, and lean forward to fold over and spear a slice of cold beef. He took a healthy bite and she decided to try a test.

  “Good morrow, Sir Alexandre. I hope you were comfortable and slept well.”

  Alex started so violently that he almost lost his slice of beef. He grabbed for it with his free hand—a habit from the days when what he got was often enough the last slice or a piece from his mother’s trencher and losing it meant doing without. Then he felt ten times a fool, the platter on the trestle table was heaped with juicy slices. He should have let what was on his knife fall to the dogs—and whatever else lived in the old rushes covering the floor.

  “Am I not worthy of any reply?” Lady Desiree asked with poisonous sweetness.

  “Pluurggle,” Alex said, trying desperately to swallow what was in his mouth and succeeding only so far as to get the half-chewed beef partway down his throat.

  He coughed, choked, tried to bring his hand to his mouth and nearly slapped himself in the face with the piece of meat still impaled on his knife. His other hand was greasy with gravy. With a superhuman effort that brought tears to his eyes, he swallowed, gagged, and swallowed again.

  “Please forgive me,” he gasped. “My mind was full of what must be my next duty and I did not see you.”

  “Ah. Yes. This is the second or third time that you have confused me with one of the pillars. You must try to remember that the pillars are set closer to the walls. I am usually nearer the center of the hall, or near the hearth.”

  Alex stared, eyes wide open with shock. He was utterly terrified but not by the rudeness. He was accustomed to being the butt of rudeness and in a sense he was a servant in Exceat and open to such treatment by the lady of the manor. What turned Alex’s bowels to water was the sense of Lady Desiree’s statement, which implied that she wanted him to notice her. No, he told himself. He must have misunderstood. It was not possible that Simon’s warning should already be needed. His mouth opened, closed.

  “I beg your pardon,” was all he could get out.

  Desiree looked at him, her brows rising toward the edge of the light veil she wore over her braided hair. She had begun to regret her sharpness. Sir Alexandre plain
ly intended no threat to her or he would have struck her for her offensive words. Her father would have.

  He annoyed her because she did not like the role of “only a woman,” but she should not have let her temper get the better of her because she had once been in truth only a woman, and had spent much of her life feeling like a worn-out dishclout that no one wanted or needed. Her darling Frewyn had saved her, taught her that her father’s treatment of her was his failing, not hers.

  Frewyn had made her feel that she was fine, lovely, clever, and worthy of the respect of the best man in the realm. And it was true. Sir Simon had treated her with courtesy and respect. She was not going to give that up, not going to allow a young fool whose eyes passed right over her every time they spoke to make her nothing again.

  Meanwhile, Alex’s glance had been flitting desperately around the hall seeking anyone who could come between him and his lady, whose tongue was as sharp as Lady Alinor’s. Just as he was considering snatching up a slice of the pasty and retreating to eat it in the stable with Lothaire, the door to the lesser hall where Sir Frewyn sat opened and Father Harold stepped out.

  “Father!” Alex called, seeing salvation.

  His eagerness must have been betrayed in his voice, because the priest smiled and quickened his pace. “How may I help you, Sir Alexandre?” he asked.

  Since he could not cry aloud “Save me from this woman!” Alex had to think of something else to say. Only his mind was a total blank. He played for time by asking, “First, if you would just call me Alex, Father, I would feel more at home. Sir Alexandre is a much grander and more important person than I am.”

  Father Harold laughed and nodded agreement, but instead of replying to Alex, it was to Desiree that he turned and spoke. “Frewyn is sleeping, Lady Desiree, so you may eat at leisure. After I assured him that Sir Alex—” a nod and a swift smile noted the compromise, “—was indeed here, that he had not, out of his need, ‘dreamed’ Sir Simon’s coming and bringing his sister’s son to protect Exceat, he heard Mass and actually ate well of the broth and minced chicken. Then he sighed with a kind of contentment and fell asleep.”