His Enemy's Daughter

by TERRI BRISBIN

  There was the heart of the matter—as Soren had said, her father’s blow had torn his body and his life apart.

  ‘Stephen chatters like an old woman.’

  Sybilla and Gytha gasped at the interruption and the invasion of their private discussion. Guermont had heard at least part of it.

  ‘Guermont, my thanks for coming at my call,’ Sybilla said, ignoring the rest and standing as she did. ‘Am I permitted to leave my chambers now?’

  ‘Aye, my lady,’ he said from closer now. ‘May I escort you somewhere?’

  Sybilla held out her hand, waiting for him to take it.

  ‘To the yard, if you please? I would like to speak to Maurin and Wilfrid.’ She tried to say their names with the ease of familiarity, as though old acquaintances.

  Guermont did not answer immediately, but paused as though considering this request. Then he took her hand and placed it on his arm, his heavily armoured arm. The coolness of the metal startled her at first, but then she grew accustomed to it.

  ‘Remember that there are a score of steps, my lady.’

  His easy manner and subtle guidance made it easy to forget that this was only her third time traversing the stairway and hall. When they reached the landing and she did not have to worry over falling headlong down to her probable death, she decided to seek more information from him as well. Being blind, she needed to know as much as she could that sight usually provided.

  ‘How long have you served Lord Soren, Guermont?’ she began. An innocuous question, certainly.

  ‘We have fought together for the last six years, in various skirmishes in our homeland of Brittany when we served Gautier of Rennes and then here in England under the flag of Alain Fergeant, distant cousin to Gautier. I have only sworn service to Soren these last two months.’

  Since he received his grant from his king to her lands.

  Sybilla tried to think up another question, when Guermont stopped her with his own.

  ‘Why do you not ask Lord Soren if you would like to know about his homeland?’ He drew to a stop just before, if she’d estimated correctly, the door leading out to the yard. ‘Do not rely on Stephen for the truth about Soren.’

  ‘I doubt Lord Soren can even speak to me now that he has revealed the truth of my father’s actions to me, Guermont. I wonder how I stand here alive and married to him rather than dead or in chains, considering what happened.’

  Guermont cursed under his breath then and Sybilla was glad she did not understand his language when spoken so quickly. ‘He told you?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye. I asked and he answered.’

  Another whispered curse followed and an equally quiet apology. Someone in front of them opened the door then, for she could feel the soft breeze flow over her. He moved his arm as a warning and then took the first step into the yard. They walked in silence now and she could tell that Guermont was surprised that Lord Soren had spoken of such things as he had. Sybilla heard his voice, even and deep, as they grew closer, then he stopped speaking and they stopped walking.

  ‘Lady Sybilla, may I make you known to Lord Maurin de Caen and Lord Wilfrid of Brougham?’ Lord Soren said as though this was simply a gathering of friends rather than the council of war it must be.

  ‘My lords,’ she said, bowing her head in the direction of the voices.

  ‘My lady,’ one said, coming closer and taking her hand. ‘I have not seen you since you were but a child.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and she felt the slight kiss on her knuckles.

  ‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting you yet, but let me offer my felicitations on your marriage to Lord Soren,’ the second one said as he repeated the actions of the first.

  Sybilla could not tell which one was which. She did not remember either of them, from her father’s discussions or her brother’s. But something about their voices, the underlying tone, gave her pause. All was not right here. Guermont yet stood at her back, which made her feel safe.

  There was a pause then, no one spoke and Sybilla tried to think of something to say. Soren did first.

  ‘Lady Sybilla suffered an injury to her eyes, my lords. She cannot see,’ Soren explained quietly. She began to wonder why he would expose her in this way, but then remembered his promise to her—he would take everything from her, even, it seemed, her dignity before strangers.

  ‘My lady!’ one exclaimed. ‘How terrible!’

  ‘I am certain it is only temporary, my lords. I expect my injury to heal completely and my vision will be re stored to me,’ she responded with much more confidence than she felt.

  ‘We can only pray so, lady,’ Lord Soren added, though his tone did not share her confidence at all. Truly, he seemed to be saying he ‘thought not’.

  Would she ever understand him? Was he ever speaking the truth to her or was it all just part of his plan to destroy her for her father’s actions? Now uncertain of the path she should take, or whether or not she even wanted to, Sybilla waited on Lord Soren.

  ‘Was there something you wanted, lady? Or did you seek to find if I’ve treated our guests well and shared our hospitality with them?’ If someone, if she, did not know the truth of the matters between them, they would believe him to be a kind and caring husband. Instead, his words hit her as though he had struck her. Retreat was the only move possible for her now.

  ‘Just that, Lord Soren,’ she replied, smiling as sincerely as she could force herself to do.

  ‘Guermont, escort the lady back to her chambers,’ Lord Soren said.

  Guermont stepped to her side and lifted her hand onto his arm, without a word. She bowed towards them and turned to go back inside. Confused and angry over his treatment of her, she walked without saying a word, all the way back to her room. Guermont said only a few words, as they approached the doors, the stairs, her doorway.

  As he left her, she realised that he was angry also. She could feel it in the tension of his arm beneath her hand and in the way he walked beside her. And she could hear the words, spoken very softly, as he muttered to himself along the way. Clearly, he did not understand or agree with his lord’s actions.

  Well, that made at least two of them.

  ‘He told her,’ Guermont said as he approached. Larenz looked back to where Soren still met with the two Saxon lords and nodded.

  ‘’Twas only a matter of time, Guermont,’ Larenz said. ‘The truth will out eventually.’

  Guermont and Stephen and several others had been friends with Soren, Brice and Giles for many years, fighting at their side, defending their backs, even through Hastings. He’d watched most of them grow to manhood while serving Gautier in Rennes.

  Though all of them wished to help Soren, none had known the best way to approach him, so none had. The result was that Soren had sunk further into his own world of vengeance and anger and become even more distant from them all. The frustration was beginning to fray the edges of their loyalty and their bond to each other.

  ‘He also told them…’ Guermont indicated the two guests with a nod ‘…that she is blind.’ He shrugged. ‘Why would he expose and shame her like that to outsiders?’

  Guermont had clearly fallen under the spell of Lady Sybilla. ’Twas not a difficult thing to do, considering all these circumstances, but a dangerous thing if left to develop. She was a beautiful woman, and one of remarkable spirit, too. If only Soren would…

  ‘Soren is an intelligent man and a better warrior. He has his reasons,’ Larenz answered, believing his own words to be true. Guermont snorted his disbelief. Before he could reply, Larenz placed his hand on Guermont’s arm to stop him.

  ‘The man Soren was is buried deep now, under layers of hatred and vengeance and pain. But he is there, even now questioning his path. We must have his back in this, Guermont.’

  ‘And the lady?’ he asked.

  ‘The lady is walking much the same path that Soren has. I think she will be the one to call forth the true Soren from within this damaged one.’

  Guermont shook his head. ‘Bu
t she is blind, Larenz.’

  ‘Ah, aye, she is blind. But in this it will be the blind leading the blind.’

  ‘If you say so, Larenz.’ Though he clearly did not agree or understand, Guermont nodded. ‘You ever were able to see the good in people. Lord Gautier said you would make a good priest for you could see into men’s souls.’

  ‘I love women too much to ever make a good priest, Guermont! Doubt it not!’ Larenz smacked him on the shoulder and Guermont returned to his duties.

  As Guermont walked away, Larenz could not help smiling. His ability to read men’s souls came not as something special or different, it came from years of watching those around him and noticing the details of their actions and studying the patterns they created. A good memory and a keen curiosity was how he had developed the skill and Gautier had recognised the talent and brought him into his service.

  His brother had repented of some long-ago sins and Larenz had helped him in his quest. They never spoke of the reasons, only the actions Gautier wanted to carry out and the boys involved. Now, the smartest of the three stood before him, damaged and searching for his soul and for the man he should become and, out of respect and love for his brother, Larenz would continue his work until Soren found his way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The visitors had left long ago, but Soren did not let down his defences yet. He called Stephen to him and gave him orders to follow them. Something was not right, but Soren did not know what. He was suspect of their loyalties for many reasons, but their comments after Lady Sybilla left had made him most suspicious.

  Though they offered their sympathies and promised Masses would be prayed for her complete recovery, their thinly veiled advice about her being flawed and mentions of other wives being put aside for lesser flaws pushed the limits of their new acquaintance. Soren wished he’d had Larenz at table with them, for no one could see people’s true motives as the old man could.

  As he thought about the man, Larenz walked through the yard, with Raed in tow, heading towards the keep. The boy saw him and tucked himself closer to Larenz as though using him as a shield. He wanted to be angry, but there was no man better than Larenz to teach the boy what he needed to learn.

  Except one thing, and that one needed to be taught to him by his lord. Soren called out to Larenz.

  ‘Larenz,’ he yelled. He noticed that everyone within sight or hearing stopped and watched him now. ‘Send the boy to me now.’

  Larenz spoke to the boy and then pushed him towards Soren. Hesitation was clear in every movement Raed made, from his head hung low to the slowness of his steps. Soren waved Larenz off and waited for Raed to arrive. When he did, Soren took him by the shoulder and guided him to the fence. They stood silently watching the horses within this makeshift corral for a few minutes. Then Soren crouched down, bringing him down to Raed’s height.

  ‘Did you see those men?’ he asked. Raed glanced at him and then looked down again. He nodded. ‘I do not know if I can trust them. So I sent someone I trusted after them to find out more about them. I trust Stephen,’ he said.

  Raed still watched his feet, but Soren continued, ‘I need to trust those who serve me, Raed. I need to know that they will carry out my orders or watch my back.’ He paused, fighting the smile that pulled at the untorn corner of his mouth. ‘I need to know they will tell me if they cannot. Me, Raed, not Larenz or one of the others.’

  Raed now shifted from foot to foot in front of him. Soren lifted the boy’s head with his finger and marvelled that this child could meet his gaze without being struck by the horror of his face. ‘Do I have your loyalty, Raed? Can I trust you to guard my back?’

  The boy’s lower lip began to quiver and Soren suspected he was scared close to tears, but Raed nodded. ‘You can trust me, Lord Soren.’

  ‘Good, then, we understand what is required between a lord and his man,’ Soren said, standing back up. ‘Never lie to me, Raed, and own up to your actions, good or bad, and you will make a good squire for me.’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ the boy agreed.

  ‘Seek out Larenz and finish your duties then,’ he directed and watched as the boy began skipping away. Raed stopped after a few paces and turned back to him.

  ‘Lord Soren, who watches the lady’s back if we are all sworn to you?’

  Soren looked around, for he would swear Gautier laughed at him. A child instructing him where others had failed—Gautier would find that humourous. He waved Raed back to his duties and leaned on the fence, watching the horses in the enclosure.

  He could survive on vengeance, but he could not live on it, he knew that now. Though the need for vengeance yet flowed strongly within his veins, he wanted more than that now. After finding this place and working here these last weeks, he knew that this was the kind of life he wanted. ’Twas the life he’d always dreamt of when planning battles and hoping to win enough to finance a peaceful future. ’Twas the life that had brought him and Giles and Brice to these lands and that had enticed them to fight for William’s claim here.

  And the others, too. Stephen and others who would come to fight with him from Brice and Giles would want to stay on, find wives, protect and defend this land. They had plotted and planned and promised it time and time again in their youth and when the call from William had arrived in Brittany.

  Now it was time to fulfil that dream.

  First, though, he needed to consult the priest. He had questions about his marriage and the possibility of ending it. Then he would speak—not yell, not curse—to her and come to an understanding. Just as he had told Raed to take responsibility for his actions, Soren knew he must as well and Sybilla was his responsibility.

  With a clarity in thought and purpose he had not felt in a long, long time, Soren went off to find Father Medwyn.

  Sybilla nodded to allow Guermont entrance to her chambers. A day had passed since the visitors had been here and work around the manor seemed to be getting back to the usual pace of it. At least she thought so from the sounds out in the yard and the descriptions her maids provided of the height and width of the wall.

  ‘My lady, will you accompany me to the chapel? Father Medwyn wishes to speak to you.’ Sybilla hesitated.

  ‘The chapel? Can he not come here to speak on whatever matter concerns him?’

  ‘I am but carrying out orders, my lady. I do not know the subject he wishes to speak about, or the reason for bringing you to him.’

  Guermont sounded aggrieved. And why not, since he carried out many duties and did not have the time to stand here arguing with her. He sighed then.

  ‘Your pardon, my lady,’ he began. ‘I did not mean to take out my ill temper on you.’

  ‘It matters not, Guermont. You but surprised me,’ she said, rising and holding out her hand to him. ‘I am ready. Aldys, you need not accompany me.’

  She did not know Father Medwyn at all, but she did not want her maid milling about if he needed to speak of private matters. All she knew of the priest was that he had arrived with Lord Soren and stayed. He was Saxon, from the west, in Wessex where the Godwinsons’ centre of power lay. But other than that and the fact that he’d performed their wedding, she knew him not.

  Guermont continued his practice of counting each pace they took and he stopped to allow her a moment before they began the terrifying climb down the stairs. This time there was something else.

  ‘Lady, reach out your right hand to the wall next to you,’ he said. ‘Nay, lower.’ Sybilla touched a rope there, hung from a post in the stone wall.

  ‘What is it?’ She slid her hand along it and noticed it descended with the stairs.

  ‘Something to give you support. Lord Soren thought if you gripped it, you would feel more at ease walking down these steps.’

  Startled by his actions, Sybilla tried holding the rope as Guermont guided her down. It did help. Their journey down seemed smoother and quicker than previous ones. When they reached the bottom, Sybilla could not help but smile over such an aid. Though she knew no
t the reasons behind this action, she was pleased by it. Guermont paused then as though they would stop, but they continued on after but a brief hesitation. It took little time to walk to the chapel, for the path had been smoothed and a stone walkway now led to it rather than the one made of packed earth. Guermont led her inside when they arrived.

  ‘Lady Sybilla, welcome,’ a man said. ‘I am Father Medwyn, late of Shildon, but now serving Lord Soren and the people here.’ She heard some piece of furniture scraping along the stone floor towards her as he spoke.

  ‘Here now, lady,’ he continued. ‘Sit here and be comfortable.’ Guermont guided her to the chair, placed it behind her and helped her to sit down.

  ‘Lady, Father Medwyn will call for me when you are ready to return to the keep.’

  With that, she could hear his steps along the stone floor as he left her there with the priest. Sybilla tried not to fidget, but it was difficult not to in such circumstances. She had no way of knowing if they were alone or if others were with them. So she asked, ‘Father, are we alone?’

  ‘Aye, lady, ’tis but the two of us.’

  ‘Did you bring me here to hear my confession?’ It had been many weeks since she’d sought that sacrament.

  The priest laughed—he had a wonderful, warm laugh and she smiled. ‘Nay, lady. But if you wish me to, I will. When we finish.’

  She swallowed deeply. If not for confession, then why?

  ‘Lord Soren has asked me to speak to you about your marriage.’

  Of all the things she thought she might hear, this was not one of them. So, he had realised she was correct in wanting to go to the convent.

  ‘What would he have you discuss with me, Father? Has he decided to contest it?’ An annulment would not take too long, if his king backed him in his request. She could move to the convent now and wait for it there. She felt the priest’s hand on hers, as though trying to comfort her.