She had woven a spell that snared his heart in truth these past days. Each night, he fetched her from her lady’s chamber and she came merrily to his bed. Each night, they shared a repast in his chamber and talked of the day. Each day, he strove to see the light first, as she had bidden him. If one of them was required to eat with master or mistress, still their hours were companionable. Duncan usually managed to procure some wine, for Valeroy was affluent and the butler was fond of Radegunde. He oft found that a measure had been set aside for them as a result.
Gaston and Ysmaine retained the outward sign of their dispute, letting all see that there was dissent between them. The book remained untouched in Lady Ysmaine’s trunk, for Radegunde’s checked regularly upon it as instructed. It had not even been moved by her accounting. Duncan could only conclude that the villain had no spies in this hall, or that he or she awaited a chance.
Perhaps matters would be more clear at Gaston’s home estate.
The hall of Valeroy had been a whirlwind of activity, for Gaston and Amaury had resolved to ensure Gaston’s entry to his father’s keep with a display of pageantry. Men and squires from Amaury’s holding fell to one knee to pledge themselves to Gaston’s service, and all of them were to be garbed in Gaston’s colors. Gaston himself would arrive already wearing his inherited insignia, and Ysmaine garbed to match her spouse. The needles flew in the chambers of Lady Richildis and the lanterns burned late with so much embroidery to complete. Gaston would have a banner, as well, and Lord Amaury would accompany him along with a number of warriors and knights.
More guards and sentries had been posted at Valeroy after the second attack upon Duncan, but there had been no more incidents. It seemed the culprits might well have been brigands, and that they were deterred by the increased defenses. Duncan was not the sole one intending to be vigilant when they rode out, and he suspected that Lord Amaury had augmented the number of men who accompanied him. The walls of Valeroy bristled with sentries when the party gathered in the bailey on the morn of their departure.
Of course, they secretly carried the reliquary of Saint Euphemia, as well, and could not risk its theft.
Duncan heard all the plans, yet still he was awed when the company departed from Valeroy. The insignia that Gaston had decided upon was striking in itself. He had chosen a deep sapphire blue, graced by a single golden lion rampant to represent his alliance to the Plantagenet kings, who favored three such lions on their insignia. The background, though, carried the mark of Breton, in the silver symbols of ermine traditionally associated with that county. The insignia showed Gaston to be balancing the concerns of both realms, with perhaps a greater reliance upon Henry II. Duncan thought it perfectly expressed the diplomatic balance the new Lord of Châmont-sur-Maine would be required to strike, time and again.
The garments for both Gaston and his lady had been made of silken velvet of that hue of blue, and Lady Ysmaine’s long cloak was both trimmed and lined with ermine. The ermine spots were embroidered upon the blue with silver thread and a line of golden lions guarded the hem. It was a glorious garment, all the more splendid when she appeared in a silken kirtle worked with blue upon silver. There were lions upon her girdle and embroidered on her red slippers and her golden circlet caught the light.
“The new lord brings home a prize of a bride,” murmured one man in the bailey when Gaston lifted Ysmaine to her saddle. Gaston himself looked no less fine, his cloak similar but much shorter, his tabard trimmed with ermine as well. Two squires preceded the party, banners with Gaston’s insignia held high before them, followed by Gaston and Ysmaine on his left. Her father, Lord Amaury, rode with them and took the place at his daughter’s left hand.
Behind them rode Fergus and the six Templars who journeyed with their party. Behind this group rode Duncan, Radegunde, and Bartholomew, Radegunde granted such a position because she would have to aid her lady with that cloak when she dismounted. Duncan’s position was won by the precious burden he carried in his saddlebag. Radegunde had a new kirtle herself, cut also in the blue of Gaston’s colors but wrought of wool instead of silk. Though it suited her well, particularly the line of gold around the edges, Duncan could not help but consider that Lady Ysmaine expending coin upon her maid might have implications for the future.
They were followed by the knights who would swear to Gaston and those who accompanied Amaury. Then came the mercenaries and warriors, and squires of great number. Laurent and the other boys who served Fergus, as well as those serving the Templars, were fated to ride in that group. A falconer was in their party, his services and two of his birds a wedding gift from Lady Richildis to her daughter. The birds fluttered their wings, one on that man’s fist and the other on the fist of his assistant. At the rear were the carts with baggage and provisions. Four deer had been hunted in Valeroy’s forests and sent with the party to ensure that there was meat enough for all once they arrived.
The company streamed long on the road, though they rode closely together at Gaston’s dictate. It was a fine sunny day, the air crisp with the promise of winter. Duncan liked the echo of the horses’ hooves, the cheers of those in the village of Valeroy as they passed, but liked better when the horses sped to a canter and the miles slipped away with greater speed.
He rode alongside Radegunde, which satisfied him indeed. How soon would Fergus lead them north? He did not wish to think about a departure, not when he had such joy in the moment.
“Did your mother ever surrender more of your father’s tale?” he asked, for he knew that mother and daughter had met that morning before the party’s departure.
Radegunde sighed. “She insists still that the tale is not hers to share, that he must tell me if he so desires. Indeed, she seems somewhat irked with him.”
“There is some matter unresolved between them, it appears.”
“Aye.”
“And they must find a solution themselves.”
Radegunde smiled. “You speak aright, of course, but I am impatient to see them both happy.”
“But not your curiosity satisfied?” Duncan teased and she laughed, her eyes dancing with familiar merriment.
“You know me well, already.”
“And still he comes to her?” Duncan asked.
“Less oft than before.” Radegunde’s eyes sparkled that Duncan might misunderstand. “I will tell you a secret,” she mouthed. She nodded at Lady Ysmaine and, beneath the shadow of her cloak, she laid a flattened hand across her belly.
Ah, the lady had conceived.
Duncan wished Ysmaine well but hoped that did not mean that she would refuse to release Radegunde from her service.
Or that Radegunde would refuse to leave her.
“You are displeased?” she asked, her gaze fixed upon him.
“I wonder whether you will ride to the wedding, then.”
Radegunde’s eyes lit with laughter. She counted on her fingers then granted him a pert look. “You can be certain, sir, that I shall procure a nursemaid with all haste come May.”
Aye, Duncan could well imagine that Radegunde would see matters resolved to her satisfaction. He was less convinced that Lady Ysmaine would be readily bent to her maid’s plans, but said naught.
Radegunde had sobered, either guessing his doubts or thinking of the inevitability of their parting. She considered the silhouette of the keep before them. “Do you know when Fergus will ride north?”
Duncan shook his head. “You will be the first to hear of it when I know.” He reached out and took her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “Until then, we can only make the most of each day.”
“And night,” Radegunde added in a wicked whisper that made his heart skip. They shared a smile that heated him to his toes, then a cry rose from the lead of the party.
“Châmont-sur-Maine!”
“Send a runner to announce our arrival,” Gaston commanded.
“He sent one yesterday,” Radegunde said softly.
“And so he will not be accused of sparing any cou
rtesy to the widow Marie,” Duncan replied in an undertone. He knew full well the scheme that Gaston had planned, for both Radegunde and Fergus had told him parts of it in confidence. It seemed that Gaston’s experience would serve him well in this arrival and that he thought of every detail. It would be an artful performance, and Duncan could only hope it would succeed.
The keep itself was wrought of stone and old enough to be weathered. It appeared to be an island in the river, which was wide and as smooth as a mirror in this area. Its walls rose from the water and surrounded the tower of the keep. Duncan noted a gate high enough in the walls to avoid flooding, and there was a bridge from it to the shore.
Breton was on the far side of the river, the river being the boundary between the two territories, and he wondered if there was another gate on the far side. He could discern a road approaching the keep on that shore, the twin of the one they rode. The land was fairly flat, which would give those in the keep a long view, and was clearly fertile, judging by the area that had been tilled.
A pennant snapped in the wind above the tower, and to the south, he could see the city of Angers, not half a day’s ride away. The curtain wall of Gaston’s inheritance bristled with sentries and archers, and it was clear that the holding defended the frontier. On this side, the Norman side, there was a small village, a chapel, and fields of grain being harvested. More than one villein halted to watch the party and several cheered when they evidently identified Gaston, perhaps by his colors.
By the time their group reached the bridge, it was clear that Gaston’s arrival was well known and much anticipated. Peasants pressed forward to call a welcome to him and he responded in kind. He had removed his helm and dismounted to walk beside his destrier, pausing to shake the hand of more than one man and clearly recognizing many. Lady Ysmaine had been granted a sack of pennies to distribute and Radegunde helped her to cast them to those who came to greet them. The combination of these favors prompted many smiles amongst the villagers and, again, Duncan admired Gaston’s foresight.
Lord Gaston’s homecoming would be recalled by these souls as a happy occasion, to be sure. Duncan knew that the knight intended to host a dinner for those from the village, as well. He was generous, but also meant to reassure them as to his intent as lord.
“I thank you for your greeting,” Gaston said to the villagers, raising his voice so all could hear. “I would celebrate my return home with my new lady wife, and do so with all of you. You are invited to share in the repast in the great hall three days hence, on the feast day of Saint Euphemia.”
The villagers cheered at these tidings, and Gaston mounted his steed once more. Duncan watched the gates of the keep, hoping the welcome from that quarter was as warm.
The portcullis was yet down. Gaston gave no indication of being irked by this, though Duncan knew that he could not have failed to note the gesture. His destrier stepped first onto the end of the bridge and Gaston sat alone, still without his helm, his cloak lifting in the wind. He looked splendid and virile, an armed knight in magnificent garb, astride a fine destrier caparisoned in his colors.
“Good morrow, my lady Marie!” he called. “It is Gaston returned from Outremer, the son of Fulk and the brother of your lord husband, Bayard. I thank you for your summons and request both admission and a welcome home.”
The villagers cheered, though Duncan noted that he did not claim his legacy outright.
Gaston continued, as if he had anticipated the silence that followed his words. “I am joined by my wife, Ysmaine of Valeroy, and have the honor of the company of her father, Lord Amaury of Valeroy.”
Again the villagers showed their approval.
Gaston reached back for the reins of Lady Ysmaine’s steed. He granted a single look to the archers who had escorted them at Lord Amaury’s assistance, then began to ride across the bridge. Bartholomew had loaded his own bow and aimed at the archer visible above the gates. Duncan heard a rustle in the company and knew that the other archers had done the same.
Lord Amaury was fast behind the couple, both he and Gaston scanning the high walls. The bridge was wide enough for three warhorses to ride abreast, and doughty indeed. Gaston made a spectacle, though, ensuring that he and his lady were clearly first—and far from undefended.
Duncan knew they had argued about this strategy. Gaston saw it as imperative to appear confident that his claim would be surrendered. Amaury had feared for his daughter’s safety. Ysmaine had insisted that her husband’s scheme be followed, to the point of threatening not to welcome her father at their abode if he did not cede. The argument had been long, but in the end Gaston had prevailed, not in part because of his lady wife’s view.
Duncan watched the walls and hoped Gaston was right.
The portcullis was raised when Gaston reached the middle of the bridge. Radegunde sighed with evident relief, but Duncan was not yet convinced of the good will of those within. He escorted her across the bridge as planned, his knife blade free of its shaft as he watched for any motion.
“God in Heaven but you are wary,” she whispered.
“It is a learned habit and you know it well,” he replied in an undertone.
“Gaston!” a man cried in apparent pleasure, and Duncan saw that a knight of an age with Gaston had appeared in the open gates. “You are welcome indeed!”
“Lord Gaston is not a guest,” Duncan murmured beneath his breath as Radegunde watched avidly. He wondered how Gaston would correct the tone of the exchange.
“I should think so, Millard,” Gaston said, his voice low enough that few beyond the lead party could hear him. He halted his steed and put out his hand, his expectation clear as he raised his voice anew. “I would welcome the seal to my inheritance.”
The other man smiled. He was handsome, to be sure, and trim, with no shortage of confidence. “Will you not enter the bailey first?”
“I will pass beneath these gates when I know that all within the walls are answerable to me alone.” There was a vigor in Gaston’s voice that Duncan admired. He was decisive and firm, and Duncan guessed that the other knight had only a whisper of Gaston’s experience. Gaston continued when the other knight did not move. “I would have them know it, as well.”
Millard hesitated. He considered. Then he smiled and retreated, clapping his hands for a clerk and dispatching him to the hall. The party waited in the autumn sunlight and Duncan did not think the delay overlong.
“He was not prepared for this,” Radegunde whispered.
Duncan scoffed. “Nay, for he did not desire to do it.”
“You already dislike him.”
“I already sense little good of his intentions. I believe Gaston planned aright.”
She nodded understanding.
The seal was evidently fetched and it was placed in Gaston’s hand by the other knight. Gaston held it high and looked back to the shore. “The seal to Châmont-sur-Maine is in my possession, as my father decreed it should be.”
The gathered villagers greeted this with applause.
“And now the ring,” Gaston said to Millard. Something gleamed upon the other man’s hand, and Duncan realized it was the signet ring for the holding. Millard again hesitated for a moment, then removed it and offered it to Gaston with grace.
As if he would put it on Gaston’s finger.
Duncan smiled. Radegunde glanced his way. “He does not bestow the holding,” he murmured and she nodded again.
“Nay, not thus,” Gaston murmured to Millard. “Understand well that you do not make me lord of this holding, Millard. My father has done as much with his legacy and only the king can grant the holding otherwise. You will simply give the ring to me.”
Duncan could feel the force of Gaston’s will. He saw Millard suddenly avert his gaze, as if compelled to do Gaston’s bidding when he might have wished otherwise. His gaze flicked over the company, now strung along the shore.
Gaston left his saddle and stood before the other man, extending his hand, palm up. It was a comman
d. Millard took a breath, then offered the ring. Gaston shook his head and nodded toward the ground.
This displeased Millard, to be sure. His lips tightened for a moment, then he dropped to his knee. He bowed his head and offered the ring. Gaston put it upon his own hand, then turned, raising his fist so the sunlight glinted off the ring. “The son of Fulk is returned and my legacy is claimed!” he cried.
He could not have seen the resentment cross Millard’s features and quickly be disguised. Duncan took that as a warning.
“All hail the new Lord of Châmont-sur-Maine!” Lord Amaury bellowed.
“All hail!” repeated the company and the villagers.
Gaston nodded at Ysmaine’s father and they entered the keep on either side of the lady’s steed, Gaston yet leading his destrier. Gaston strode into the bailey and dropped the creature’s reins, continuing to the doorway to the hall. A boy raced from the back of the company, one liveried in Gaston’s colors, and took custody of the steed.
Three steps there were before the portal and Gaston climbed them, then turned to face the company. He looked imperious and regal.
Lord Amaury aided his daughter to dismount. Radegunde slipped from her saddle and hastened forward to straighten the hem of the lady’s cloak. Gaston had been particular about how the matter should be done, and Radegunde had confessed to Duncan that she and Ysmaine had been compelled to practice this as he watched. The cloak was spread to its widest measure and more than one breath caught at its magnificence. Lady Ysmaine was escorted to her husband by her father and fell to her knees before Gaston.
She was first to make her obeisance.
All within the bailey watched transfixed as she pledged to serve his will, her voice resonant and filled with resolve. That cloak of blue edged with ermine spread behind her, the silver embroidery shining in the sunlight. When she had kissed his ring for the second time, he lifted her to her feet and held her hand in his as she climbed the steps to take her place at his left. Their hands remained clasped, Gaston holding her hand at his left shoulder.
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