The Maiden Bride

by Becnel, Rexanne

  “I will not stay long at Maidenstone,” the woman went on. “I plan to leave for Caen once Axton is settled here.”

  Henry twisted to look over at Linnea, a wry smile lifting his handsome face. “Caen. How nice. I am often there. My wife periodically resides at Argentan, but a day’s ride away. Mayhap we will have occasion to … to visit upon my return to the continent.”

  Linnea somehow managed a tight smile. “Mayhap we will, milord.” But only if I am not forewarned that you are coming.

  A blast of a horn and the thunder of a heavy horse approaching the pavillion put an end to that dangerous conversation. Everyone turned to watch Sir Eustace’s approach astride a magnificent gray destrier. He was resplendent in gleaming mail and half-armor, and his steed was as handsomely draped in the yellow and green of de Montfort. He saluted the young Duke of Normandy, then everyone else, save for Lady Mildred and Linnea. When Henry rose to accept his man’s salute of honor, Axton’s mother smiled at Linnea, and in that smile was all the reassurance in the world. Win or lose, Linnea had an ally in Lady Mildred. As unlikely as that seemed, she knew it was true.

  Then a second horse cantered up and both women turned to watch Axton’s approach.

  He was dressed in heavy mail and a solid breastplate and had a square-topped helmet perched in his lap. His only ornament was the scarlet bristle that adorned his helmet, that and his weapons. The lances they would use were blunted in the hopes that neither man would be mortally wounded in the joust. But even so, Linnea knew the risk was great.

  He saluted Henry, raising the lance up a long moment before lowering it, then did as much to his mother. The women of de Valcourt, however, he did not favor so generously. Instead he stared at Linnea so fiercely she was unnerved.

  He must think she was Beatrix, she reasoned. He must. After all, it was Beatrix he fought for. That’s why he stared at her. When he turned away and cantered to his end of the jousting run, however, she was not so sure.

  Though the yard was not large and the combatants were not far removed from the viewers, Linnea felt, nevertheless, that Axton was as far away from her as he could ever be. He was near enough that she could detect the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and yet he might as well have been far across the sea, so completely separated were they now.

  Then there was no time for such dismal speculation, for with another brilliant sounding of the horn, the first deadly contest was announced.

  The crowd of onlookers quieted. People circled the yard, perched on walls, and leaned precariously from every window opening. Two boys swung like red squirrels from a mason’s scaffold. Even the castle hounds stood at alert, as if they knew the import of the coming conflict.

  But while all else stilled, Linnea felt as if she’d begun to rattle apart. Her heart hammered; her blood roared in her ears; and her breathing came hard and labored.

  Then, as if at some unheard signal, the two destriers charged, and Linnea forgot to breathe.

  Dust rose in a cloud beneath the animals’ fierce attack. Like maddened bulls they charged one another. Then with a crash they came together.

  One of the horses screamed and veered off. Both men teetered in their saddles, rocked by the force of the impact. But somehow they held on.

  Linnea let out a gasp of relief; so did all the others in the pavillion, except for Henry. He only grinned at the women arrayed around him. “Good show. Good show!” he exclaimed.

  A sharp reply lodged in Linnea’s throat. In her opinion it would be a better show to see the callous young duke drawn and quartered. But there was no time to confront Henry, for at the end of the run, the two knights turned and adjusted their armor. Then with fresh lances in hand, they again urged their steeds forward.

  Linnea caught her breath. The earth fairly shuddered beneath the heavy animals’ hooves and she closed her eyes in terror for Axton. Then again came the crash, and her eyes sprang open.

  A lance splintered. A man toppled and fell. Linnea bit down on her knuckles and a muffled cry escaped her lips.

  Then one of the destriers broke out of the dust storm and Axton emerged unscathed from the fray!

  This time it was Lady Mildred who cried out in relief. But both women caught their breath in renewed fear. For Axton flung himself from his mount before it came fully to a halt and turned to confront Eustace again.

  Stay down, Linnea silently cried out to the fallen knight. Stay down, you fool! But with the help of two of his men, Eustace was set upright and handed a short sword.

  By that time Peter had run forward with a sword for Axton. The two knights then faced one another swathed in steel, yet nevertheless vulnerable to the slicing power of a well-aimed sword.

  Eustace was slower. Linnea saw that at once. He favored one leg and shook his head as if he were not yet clearheaded. He’d taken a hard fall and it clearly left him at a disadvantage.

  Please, God, let this end quickly, she prayed. I will not interfere in Axton’s life again. I will wish him well, and my sister too, if You will but spare his life.

  “Don’t let that beast kill him!” Beatrix cried, and for one foolish moment Linnea thought her sister gave voice to her own thoughts. But in the next moment she knew her error. Beatrix feared for Sir Eustace, not for Axton.

  “Never fear,” Henry remarked. “I have given Axton strict orders not to make a fatal blow.”

  “And have you given Sir Eustace the same instructions?” Lady Mildred demanded to know. Despite her show of composure, the woman’s knuckles were white, she clenched her fists so tightly.

  Henry shifted in his seat. “Would it be a sporting match if I had? Eustace must have some advantage. God knows, Axton has enough of them.”

  As much as Linnea wanted to strangle the conscienceless young man who could set two men upon each other, simply for the sport, she nonetheless knew whereof he spoke. She’d never seen Axton do battle, save against the hapless tilting dummy. But it had been clear to her, from Peter as well as the other men’s attitudes, that he was a warrior of uncommon skill.

  Still, Sir Eustace was not without his own skill, and as the men began their dangerous dance, it was obvious his head had cleared. He attacked Axton, wielding his sword with no sign of restraint, slicing the air with deadly force. Axton parried every strike, but he fell back under the onslaught. The men’s grunts and curses as they fought carried to the silent crowd. Steel rang on steel, an awful clamor that sliced Linnea’s heart to shreds. No, she chanted the prayer with every awful blow that landed. No, no, no!

  Then Eustace lunged and everyone gasped—only Axton was no longer in the path of his blade! He’d spun aside and with the flat of his blade, he struck Eustace hard on the back of his helmeted head.

  Sir Eustace went sprawling and a small cheer went up. But the man scrambled swiftly to his feet and whirled around to once more face his foe. He had clearly lost his momentum, however. He charged as fiercely as before. His blows were as cruel, his advancement as determined. While he struggled to land a killing blow, however, he wielded the lethal blade in wilder and more erratic strokes.

  But Axton repelled each blow, never striking back, only fielding Eustace’s weakening attack. The ugly clang of steel on steel rang across the yard.

  Then without warning, Axton lunged and Eustace went down on one knee.

  A gasp went up and Henry leaped to his feet. As if Axton sensed his liege lord’s presence, he tensed, his sword held just beneath Sir Eustace’s chin, where his throat was exposed between his helmet and breastplate. Axton’s blade dripped blood. Linnea saw that plainly enough. But though Eustace grasped his right shoulder and his groan of pain was clear to all, he had not released his own weapon.

  He held it up, pointed at Axton, though it wavered from the pain of his wounded shoulder. Linnea knew Axton would not strike the man down. Henry had seen to that. But Eustace might still inflict damage on Axton.

  Then to Linnea’s horror, Axton flung his sword aside, stepped within thrusting range of his enemy’s wea
pon, and grabbed the sword right out of the man’s hand.

  An elated cry went up—Peter’s voice, she recognized. At once the whole castle erupted. Cheers from some, curses from others, and the dusty roar of a hundred people rushing the victor and his fallen foe.

  Linnea lost sight of Axton. In the first moments of her enormous relief, she lost sight also of what his victory actually meant. But when she turned, weak with elation, it was to face her distraught sister—Axton’s intended bride.

  Beatrix had collapsed in her grandmother’s arms. Even Lady Harriet looked shaken by this final defeat of her hopes and plans. But the old woman was rescued by the core of iron which was such a part of her. Beatrix possessed no such core, and now, Lady Harriet showed no sympathy for her plight.

  “Do not shame us!” she hissed at Beatrix, shoving her back and forcing the girl to stand alone. “Your sister showed a better mettle than this! Would you do any less?”

  Lady Harriet met Linnea’s gaze, and though she did not reveal her feelings by either smile or scowl, there was yet an understanding between them. They were, the two of them, made of the same stern stuff. They were fighters and survivors. But Linnea would never let herself turn as sour as her grandmother had. No matter what her future held, she would not become cruel and inflexible.

  “My congratulations, madam.”

  Linnea turned at the sound of Henry’s voice. He did not address her though, but rather Lady Mildred, who was trying very hard to rein in her joy, but not succeeding. Relief and happiness exuded from her like heat from the sun. It brightened the interior of the tented pavillion, casting away all shadows, even the one that still haunted Linnea.

  Lady Mildred murmured her thanks to Henry. When he turned back to the field, however, her happy gaze moved to Linnea. Circling Henry, she came up to Linnea and took her hand.

  “I meant what I said.” Her voice was pitched low. “I would gladly have you accompany me to Caen. Peter shall journey there as well.”

  The shadow returned to Linnea’s world. “I … I cannot. I think I must be farther separated from Axton than that.” She shook her head at the hopelessness of it all.

  Then the sound of the crowd changed and when they both looked up, Axton strode directly toward the pavillion. He halted before Henry, his eyes steady on his liege lord. Not until a hush fell over the bailey did he speak.

  “I have bested my rival and, as you requested, I have spared his life. I submit to you now, Henry Plantagenet, Count of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, and rightful king to all of Britain that I seek permission to wed with the daughter of Edgar de Valcourt.”

  Linnea could see his chest still heaving from his exertion. She saw the sweat trickle down his brow and the strains of the battle in the lines of his face. She saw also the triumphant light of victory in his deep gray eyes.

  At least he was getting his due. He would have his home, secured through both his line and his wife’s. If only she could be that wife. But she had prayed for his victory and now she must hold to the promise she’d made. She must leave him and his bride in peace.

  Henry stared down at Axton. “She is yours,” he finally said. “I only hope you can keep straight this time which one is the wife and which one the sister.”

  For an instant Axton’s eyes flickered to Linnea. Then as quickly they moved to the weeping Beatrix. Linnea saw his jaw clench. “I know well which is which.”

  “Very well then. I shall depart within the hour, for duty calls me to Salisbury.” He grimaced. “It appears there will be many such disputes of ownership and I must resolve them all.” He turned, then spying Linnea, he paused. “Shall I take de Valcourt and his other womenfolk with me?”

  Linnea held her breath. Before Axton could respond, however, the Lady Mildred stepped forward. “De Valcourt and his mother would be better served at Romsey Abbey. She is old and he is no longer right in his head. They will be well tended there.”

  “And the Lady Linnea?” the young duke asked with one brow arched.

  “As I said, my lord. I would have her accompany me to Caen. If that is not to her liking, then, by your leave, I will find her a place in a good household.”

  “A place?” Henry repeated in a mocking tone.

  “A good place, my lord.” Her voice was stern and motherly.

  Henry shrugged then, and with a casual gesture, conceded to his mother’s longtime friend. Lady Mildred gave him a small smile while Linnea at last released the breath she’d been holding.

  Was it over? Was her father to receive no further punishment than that? Would life at Maidenstone at last return to some semblance of order, though without the presence of the de Valcourt family?

  It appeared it would, for now that the entertainment was done, Henry seemed more than ready to depart. As the crowd began slowly to disperse, the wounded Eustace was carted off to the surgeon, the duke’s entourage was rounded up, and the early tension of the day dissolved. The cook returned to his kitchen. The mason shooed the boys down from the scaffold and took up his trowel and mortar. An army of small boys hauled water to the kitchen garden.

  Everyone’s lives went back to their prescribed order, save for hers and Beatrix’s. And perhaps Axton’s, she thought as she watched him stride away beside Henry. Would he have any regrets about marrying Beatrix?

  At once she admonished herself for such foolish maunderings. Why would he regret it when it did gain him his most fervent desire? Hadn’t he just risked his life to that very end?

  Remembering Beatrix, Linnea turned with a heavy heart to face her sister. She was seated on a chair, a stricken expression on her pale face. Despite her own grief, Linnea felt a spasm of pain for her sister.

  She knelt before Beatrix and took her hands in her own. “It will be all right. A week from now you will wonder that you did shed a tear over this.”

  Beatrix swallowed hard, and though it was clear she was not convinced of Linnea’s words, she nodded ever so slightly. Linnea managed a bitter smile. Then, spying Peter, she pulled Beatrix to her feet. “You will have an ally in Peter. He will be here awhile, should you need a friend.”

  “But I want you to stay. Please, Linnea,” she begged. “For I will have no one if you go.”

  Linnea could feel herself succumbing to the desperation in her sister’s voice. But on this point she could not waver. “I cannot stay. I cannot stay here …”

  She trailed off. Her future was unclear, but to remain at Maidenstone or go to Caen were both impossible. “Perhaps I will travel with Father and Grandmother to Romsey. They’ll need someone to care for them. You will have Norma. And Peter—” She turned to Axton’s brother who stood now watching them both. “Peter, please help me to ease her fears.”

  When Linnea beckoned, Peter came nearer. He’d meant to gloat, to taunt these two devious sisters and their witchy grandmother about their family’s complete fall—and his family’s triumph. But as the twin faces turned up to him, the one with wet and frightened eyes, the other pale with her own private despair, he could not do it. They were so alike, and yet so different.

  He cleared his throat. “My brother … my brother is a fair man. He will treat you better than you deserve,” he added more gruffly.

  “He hates me. He will punish me and I—” The damp-faced Beatrix broke into tears again.

  He let out a sharp oath and stepped nearer. Linnea stepped back. “He is angry now, but it will not last. Linnea knows whereof she speaks. If you would but withstand his temper awhile, it will eventually wear itself out.”

  But even as he spoke the reassuring words to her, he questioned their validity. Linnea had been able to withstand Axton’s temper. But could this other, gentler sister? More importantly, though, were Axton’s feelings. If he loved Linnea, as Peter suspected, would he ever find a peace with this meek and teary-eyed Beatrix?

  His gaze swept over his brother’s new bride, noting her pretty face, her heavy golden tresses, the delicate line of her throat and the fullness of her breasts.

 
; “By the rood!” he swore, raking one hand through his already disheveled hair. When Beatrix cast him a damp, imploring look, he swore again. He didn’t care how lovely she was nor how miserable, he told himself. He didn’t! His brother’s bride was none of his concern and he refused to involve himself in their affairs.

  “I cannot help her.” He bit the words out to Linnea. “I will be in Caen. She must make her own way with my brother!” Then he turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat.

  But even as he did so, he knew with a sinking despair that he did but lie. He could no more see his brother’s new bride abandoned to Axton’s famous temper than he could the last one. Worse, this time he feared Axton’s fury would not be so easily tempered. The fact was, Axton had lost his heart to Linnea, the wrong sister. Peter feared that as long as Axton was married to Beatrix, he would always remain angry and discontented.

  Chapter 25

  It was Peter who brought the news. “The wedding will be tomorrow morning.”

  The entire de Valcourt family had gathered in the chamber given to Axton’s bride, the chamber opposite the lord’s chamber. Edgar de Valcourt sat at the window, staring out at nothing. The other three were equally silent.

  “For now he wishes to sup privately with his bride,” Peter continued. He turned to Linnea. “Afterward he would speak to you, Lady Linnea.”

  Linnea’s father did not move, as if words no longer registered in his mind. But Beatrix and Lady Harriet both turned to Linnea. On Beatrix’s face was a mixture of fear and resignation. On Lady Harriet’s a sad sort of defeat. Linnea knew somehow that her grandmother’s days were numbered. Without any power to wield, she would have no reason to live.

  But that eventuality was not Linnea’s most pressing problem. Peter’s message was.

  She cleared her throat and stared at him. “Why does he wish to speak to me?”

  Her grandmother snorted at the word speak, and Linnea felt color rush into her cheeks. Even Peter blushed. It was painfully clear what Axton wanted of her. No doubt he thought it the perfect punishment. He would sup with his bride, then sleep with her sister. Or so he thought.