Defiant Love

by Maura Seger

  Brenna had seen how they were worn and thought they added little to a woman's modesty. Made of a single length of linen or wool, instead of the double length she was used to, the mantle covered only the back. Attached by brooches to the shoulders, it was more ornamental than utilitarian.

  Considering the display made of her body, it seemed ridiculous to veil her hair. But even here, the Normans turned propriety into provocation. The veil held in place by a thin gold circlet was transparent. Through it, the luxurious richness of her waist-length tresses could be clearly seen.

  Brenna bit her lip as she considered the courage it would take to so flaunt herself. Only the knowledge that Guyon expected her to dress as a Norman lady made her able to face the inevitable. After two months of marriage, with each day more dazzlingly happy than the last, she wished only to make him proud of her. Perhaps in time, she thought hopefully, she would learn to accept the strange customs of a people who were fiercely possessive of their women even as they didn't hesitate to display their charms.

  At least she could not fault the Lady Matilda's kindness to her. The personal interest of the Duchess assured that Brenna received at least token acceptance. In a court overly supplied with disappointed ladies angered by Guyon's marriage, that was no mean feat. No one other than William's consort could have pulled it off.

  Smiling sincerely this time, Brenna turned to the tiny, bright-eyed woman next to her. In her mid-thirties, and after bearing nine children in thirteen years, Matilda had no claim to beauty. She was so small as to appear almost childlike herself. Brenna, who was of only slightly more than average height, towered over her. The Duchess's features were plain, and her hair, worn in plaits, already showed gray among the lackluster brown strands. Her figure, gloriously garbed though it was, could be best described as dumpy. Though her clothing was by no means as snug-fitting as Brenna's, fashion allowed little concealment of the ravages worked by childbirth and nursing.

  Yet Matilda carried herself proudly and was clearly the dominant female figure in a court filled with beautiful women. In one respect she was very much like Edythe. Her confidence was unshakable, stemming as it did from the absolute certainty of her lord's favor. Duke William loved his tiny, unpretentious wife. If his eye ever did fall on one of the ladies of his court, he never followed that interest to the bedchamber. Perhaps because of his own bastard birth, he was acutely conscious of where licentiousness could lead, and he avoided it like a plague.

  "I cannot thank you enough for all you have done," Brenna said warmly as she regarded the Duchess. "You have made me feel so welcome."

  Matilda brushed aside her thanks good-naturedly. "You are welcome, child. Have no doubt of that. The Duke and I are both delighted that Guyon has finally wed. We both have the highest regard for him, and his happiness is very important to us."

  Perhaps because of the unexpected similarity to Edythe, Brenna felt at ease with the Duchess. So much so that, after glancing around to be sure the serving women were well-occupied, she murmured, "I think, my lady, that there are some here in Falaise who do not share your pleasure at Guyon's marriage."

  Matilda laughed, a surprisingly robust sound to come from so small a woman. Her eyes glowed even more brightly as she nodded. "You seem to be a sensible girl, Brenna, so I'll speak frankly. It would be impossible to count the number of ladies grinding their pretty teeth and stamping their tiny feet over Guyon's defection. To their way of thinking, it's bad enough for him to have been snapped up so suddenly. But the fact that you are English adds insult to injury. You will hear some nasty mutterings, my dear. Do your best to ignore them."

  Matilda was frank indeed, Brenna thought ruefully. Yet she did no more than speak the truth. Barely a day after arriving with Guyon at the Duke's keep in Falaise, Brenna was already well-aware of the outrage and envy surrounding her marriage. For that reason alone, she was determined to prove herself as beautiful, as gracious, and as accomplished as any Norman lady. Even if it meant displaying herself in their immodest clothes.

  "Are your quarters comfortable?" Matilda asked, as she smoothed a last wrinkle from Brenna's veil.

  "Far more than comfortable, my lady. Guyon told me of the magnificence of your home, but I could not quite believe it. Now I find even my expectations are greatly surpassed."

  Matilda smiled at this pretty speech. She liked this English girl. No matter what anyone said—and they said plenty!—she would be good for Guyon. Already he seemed at once more relaxed and more vigorous than ever before. Matilda knew his character well enough to be sure an English marriage would not sway his loyalty to the Duke. That being the case, she saw only good in an event which made the young Lord D'Arcy even more capable and useful.

  Giving no hint of her thoughts, the Duchess said, "I have heard that King Edward's palace at Thorney is extraordinary. Is that not so?"

  "It is beautiful," Brenna agreed. "But neither so large nor so well-designed as Falaise." This was not flattery. The ducal manor was the grandest residence Brenna had ever seen. Rising above a smallish town of largely daub and wattle huts, the immense stone castle dominated the entire countryside.

  Brenna's eyes had widened in astonishment as soon as she and Guyon, escorted by his knights and followed by their train of servants, approached the gatehouse. Set in the center of high stone walls completely enclosing the castle grounds, the gatehouse guarded a drawbridge running over a protective moat. In light of the Duke's vast power and the strength of the garrison maintained within, the drawbridge was customarily left down. Yet Brenna could not help but notice that as they neared alert, hard-faced guards scrutinized them with care. Only when Guyon was recognized did their regard ease into respectful welcome.

  Just past the gatehouse stretched an immense bailey, the open field providing space for the constant military training, as well as room for stables, granaries, barracks, and workshops.

  To her surprise, she saw that the far end of the bailey ended with yet another wall and gatehouse, this guarding the high mount on which the keep itself sat. Here the party dismounted, the horses led off to be stabled, the knights dispersing at Guyon's order to seek their own pleasure, and the servants scrambling to unpack the baggage carts. With her hand in Guyon's, and his reassuring smile warming her, Brenna climbed the three-tiered staircase leading to the keep.

  Any lingering doubts she might have had about the Norman preoccupation with holding what was theirs faded as she saw that the stairs ended in a second drawbridge from which the keep's slit windows offered easy target.

  She breathed a silent prayer of thanks that they came as honored guests rather than enemies. To assault such a mammoth structure would be folly indeed. Only when they were at last inside the keep did the harshness of an armed fortress give way grudgingly to the graciousness of a palatial home.

  "The tapestries are beautiful," Brenna said as she and Matilda left the Duchess's quarters. "Were they made here?"

  The older woman nodded, pausing to gaze fondly at one of the lushly woven wall-coverings depicting lords and ladies at the hunt. "When I first came to Falaise," she explained, "it was very much a fortress and not at all a home. I was determined to do something about that." She smiled slightly. "Fortunately, my lord was willing to indulge me."

  Brenna bit back the impulse to suggest that Duke William's indulgence had a practical purpose. She had seen enough with King Edward and the Earl Harold to know that any man who ruled required a proper setting to impress his followers. The great hall at Falaise was certainly such a setting.

  Surrounded at all four corners by angle towers reached by circular stone staircases, the great hall was roofed in timber and surrounded by walls some ten feet thick. Within these walls were set small, private rooms such as those used by the Duchess and honored guests. At either end of the Hall, recessed windows allowed a small amount of sunlight. Between the windows were fireplaces complete with the chimneys Guyon had described.

  He was right about them, Brenna thought as she and the Duchess ent
ered the Hall. They drew off a great deal of smoke and made the surroundings far more pleasant. Looking around, she noticed other amenities new to her. Along each side of the Hall ran a window gallery which gave a sense of light and airiness to what would otherwise have been a stolid, almost smothering shelter. At intervals throughout the Hall, semicircular arches cut across the space. The arches fascinated Brenna. She could not quite understand what held the wedge-cut stones in place. Each time she walked under one, she glanced up as though expecting it to collapse.

  Noticing her concern, Matilda laughed. "They're quite safe, you know. The architects insist they'll last forever. In fact, I've even heard that these arches may eventually make it possible to roof buildings in stone."

  That would certainly be a vast improvement, Brenna thought. Timbered roofs meant the constant danger of fire. Great keeps that were built entirely of timber, such as Earl Harold's at Winchester, customarily suffered major fires every few years. Edythe had lost count of the number of times portions of her home had to be rebuilt. That was why separate bowers set some distance from the main hall housed the family, chief retainers, and honored guests, as well as most household goods.

  Much as Brenna hated to admit it, the Norman method of building in stone did seem safer. If they managed someday to eliminate timber altogether, their buildings might well endure forever.

  The surprising comfort and graciousness of Falaise made Brenna yearn all the more to reach Guyon's own holding closer to the coast. Only then would she feel fully his wife as she took up her household duties. Well-trained in all aspects of home management, Brenna had no doubt she could add greatly to Guyon's comfort. But such pleasure had to wait. After his long stay in England, extended by reason of his marriage, his presence would be required for some time at William's court. It could be months yet before they were free to at last reach their own land.

  There she fully expected to spend the rest of her life secure in Guyon's love, nurturing their children. Children. A warm glow lit Brenna's gray-green eyes as she considered what it would be like to bear Guyon's child. After only two months of marriage, she already viewed her regular flux with disappointment. She longed to hold a baby made of their love. Considering Guyon's intense virility and her own eager response, such fulfillment could certainly not be too far off.

  Brenna smiled softly as she reflected on the vast change her husband had created in her. Under his careful tutelage, she blossomed into a woman unafraid of either passion or its natural outcome. It had been no small thing to overcome her fear. Exquisite lovemaking alone had not been enough. Gently, carefully, Guyon had helped her uncover the origins of her fears, and by confronting them, banish them forever.

  Sadness flitted across Brenna's lovely features as she thought of her mother's fate. For so long the memory of rape and murder at the hands of marauding Norsemen had haunted Brenna's nightmares. Barely four years old when it happened, she had witnessed the entire atrocity from the stable loft that was her favorite private place. Helpless to aid her mother or any of the other women, she had carried the added burden of guilt from the knowledge that had she remained safely at home as she was bid, her mother would not have gone in search of her and the outcome of that day could have been far different.

  With the King's peace now firmly established throughout England, it was difficult for those as young as Brenna to remember a time when raiders dared to attack even towns as strong as Norfolk. Yet such attacks had once been commonplace, and might someday be again if the King's failing health did not improve.

  Brenna shivered slightly, considering the possible consequences of Edward's stubborn refusal to clarify the succession. Intensely loyal to the Earl Harold, particularly now that she had her marriage to thank him for, she could not understand why Edward hesitated. Harold would make an excellent ruler. He was strong, intelligent, just, and capable of commanding the loyalty of the earls. What more could anyone ask?

  Unaware that she was frowning slightly, Brenna was startled when a young, melodious voice nearby exclaimed, "For Heaven's sake, don't scowl! You look absolutely glorious. All the cats at court will be scratching their eyes out before this day is over."

  Laughing, Brenna turned to greet her sister-in-law. When she considered how worried she had been about meeting Lady Roanna D'Arcy her laughter deepened. Instructed to join them at Falaise, Roanna had customarily disregarded her brother's will and met them at the port of Honfleur. Barely had Brenna disembarked from the longboat that carried them across the Channel than she was confronted by a remarkably beautiful, vivacious, strong-willed young lady who made it clear that her brother had better be happy or she would know the reason why.

  The spectacle of Guyon torn between irritation and pleasure at his sister's unexpected appearance was too good to miss. Pleasure won as he swept her into a warm embrace before proudly presenting his wife. Roanna, Brenna realized at once, was every bit as intelligent and perceptive as her brother. Under the cool scrutiny of large, amber eyes, she flushed slightly before returning the look in full measure.

  Whatever she saw must have satisfied Roanna. After barely a moment, she smiled broadly, her beauty made all the greater by her delight in her brother's good fortune. From that instant on, the two young women were friends.

  "She thinks our clothes are indecent," the Lady Matilda teased as she, too, greeted Roanna.

  "Oh, no!" Brenna insisted, horrified that she might be thought impolite. The amusement of the other women did nothing to ease her discomfort.

  "You're bound to be shocked," Roanna allowed matter-of-factly, "after those loose things you're used to. But you'll adjust. Before very long, you'll wonder how you ever managed without Norman fashion." Eyes twinkling, she twirled gracefully, showing off the full skirt of her dark wine surcoat worn over a tawny silk tunic. Few women could wear those colors successfully. It took the startling combination of Roanna's luxurious golden hair and perfect figure to carry it off.

  "What's wrong with a woman looking like a woman?" her sister-in-law challenged winningly. "At least that way we get the men to think of something other than fighting, if only for a little while."

  Roanna was being too modest, as Brenna well knew. Few gentlemen found themselves able to think of anything at all in her presence. Guyon had confided that he had already turned aside some dozen marriage proposals before Roanna's eighteenth birthday. When Brenna asked why, he grinned sheepishly and explained, "My darling sister is every bit as stubborn and determined as I am myself. I couldn't wish her on any man I wasn't absolutely sure could handle her."

  Beneath the jocular disclaimer lay the very real devotion Guyon and Roanna shared. Drawn to each other by their similar natures, they were also bound by bastardy and all the problems that went with it. Had Roanna been born the legitimate daughter of even a minor noble, she could easily have been betrothed in infancy. But her origins cast a pall over her future, not dispelled until her brother rose to great power and wealth in the Duke's trust. Now many vied for Roanna's hand, but she would have none of them. Brenna sensed she wanted a mate as strong as herself, someone she could share her heart and soul with as well as her life. Having lately come to that most fortunate state herself, Brenna sympathized entirely. She would do everything she could to see Roanna happily wed.

  Gray-green eyes glowed teasingly as she told the other girl, "Thank Heaven you're here. Now no one will notice me and I can slip in unobserved."

  "No chance of that!" Roanna snorted. "You were spotted the moment you set foot in the hall. Why I can see half a dozen ladies right now who are calling down the ills of seven devils on your unsuspecting head."

  "Charming thought," Brenna muttered as, accompanied by the vastly amused Duchess, they made their way to the center of the Hall.

  "My brother was the greatest prize at court," Roanna went on cheerfully. "Rich, landed, not too hard to look at, and reputedly quite expert in bed. What lady could resist?" She laughed at Brenna's blush. Roanna's frankness took some getting used to. But then e
veryone at the Norman court seemed disposed to speak of intimate matters in the most candid terms.

  There was nothing restrained about these people, Brenna reflected as she scanned the great hall crowded with splendidly garbed lords and ladies. Whether fighting, eating, drinking, or pursuing the amatory arts, they lived life to the fullest. She could appreciate their enthusiasm, which she fully shared, even while wishing they would be a little more circumspect in their speech.

  In a less than subtle bid to change the subject,

  Brenna asked, "Do all these people live here? If so, I can't imagine how you feed them, let alone keep them entertained and out of mischief."

  Roanna and the Duchess glanced at each other good-humoredly before allowing Brenna's modesty to sway them. "This is a somewhat larger than usual crowd," Matilda explained. "My lord has called his barons to assembly, and of course they bring their knights, retainers, and so on. Sometimes I do wonder how we feed them. Everyone remembers to bring his sword, but no one ever thinks to bring any food!"

  The younger women smiled, knowing full well that the Duchess would never allow anyone to impinge on her hospitality. However many people her noble husband chose to invite under his roof, she would somehow contrive to feed and shelter them all in a manner that left nothing to be desired.

  Good manners prevented Brenna from wondering out loud what might be the purpose for such an assembly. Certainly it seemed very much like the meetings of the Witan, the ancient Anglo-Saxon council of nobles who met during times of crisis to advise the king. But she knew of no crisis that might have brought the Norman lords to Falaise. If there was any such in the wind, Guyon and everyone else were being very closemouthed about it.