by Ling, Maria
He paused, waited for her next move. She tucked his arms around her waist and leaned against his chest, thin wool tunic warm against her cheek, firm muscled body underneath. Roland cuddled her to him, held her as if it was all he wanted to do in the world. Gradually she became aware that he rocked her, very faintly, side to side. Tears started to her eyes, trickled down her nose and buried themselves in the wool. Which might stain it, she ought not to cry, and she couldn't explain to him why she cried, couldn't explain it even to herself. But she did, and couldn't stop. Or didn't want to, maybe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt safe enough, with anyone, to let herself weep.
But she did stop, in the end, and rested her face against his tunic, and breathed in the scent of him. Deep and dark and masculine, with a hint of sweat since he'd washed last. She wanted him, wanted to be close to him, too feel him close to her. So she wrapped her arms around him, held him close. Felt him kiss the top of her head, a reassurance and not an invitation. Not a demand.
He never had demanded, she thought. Not from the moment their paths first crossed. He'd grabbed her and held her and yanked her about, she didn't relish that, she'd fight against it now. Had fought then, too, but with fear and desperation, not with courage and strength. Those had grown in her since he brought her to safety, they would go on growing whatever lay waiting for her next. She could take it on, she thought, no matter what it was. Even her family. Even death.
He'd never so much as asked. Just waited, until she was ready to make her first move.
Which she was, now.
She straightened, leaned back a little, faced him squarely. Her eyes felt puffy and sore, she must look a fright. But he didn't mind, he just held her in his arms while the worry and concern cleared from his face, to be replaced by a look of relief.
This was it, she thought. Her moment. The time when she set the tone for their encounter, and for the remaining course of their relationship. It might be short indeed, after this. But the decision was hers, she would make her choice, and he would either respect it or turn her away. The second she could deal with, she would find the strength within herself, she knew she had it now. The first -- oh, it opened up possibilities she dared hardly dream of.
"Chess," she said.
If he was disappointed, or annoyed, he didn't show it. He just nodded, released her from his arms, took her by the hand and led her to the table. Turned white towards her, gestured for her to make the first move. Which she did, the same move as always, the one he'd taught her. Because he knew this game, as she did not, and she could learn from him still. Even if it was only to play what Alice called the cautious opener.
He was that, she reflected. Cautious. Which she hadn't imagined she'd ever think him, the day he swept her up from her terror-stricken flight and took her captive. She didn't know what had urged him on then, her first fearful certainty had been all wrong, she didn't doubt something of the sort had been on his mind -- but this? Playing chess together in companionable silence, in a pleasant room warmed by afternoon sun. That hadn't been part of his plan, she knew that much, Norman knights didn't capture English women for such purposes. So what was it, then?
It mattered. A great deal hung on his answer. She would ask him, when they shared words enough.
For now, though, she was content to sit here and watch him as he made his own move, fine-boned face turned towards the board, dark eyes intent. Dark hair clipped close to his head, pinpricks of dark beard all over his chin. Lips that moved so easily into a smile or a kiss -- or a snarl, she'd seen him square off against his brother, she didn't doubt his capacity for rage. But he'd never turned it on her. Never would, she thought. His fight lay with men, not women. So she hoped and guessed, at least.
He glanced up then, caught her watching him, hesitated. Leaned back a little, away from the board, and studied her with close attention.
"You are well?" he asked.
"I am." She wished -- she really wished -- she could talk to him as a friend, and have him understand.
"Good." A light smiled flitted across his face, then vanished as he turned to the board. He made a slight grimace, then checkmated her in one move.
"I'm sorry," Leofe said. "You deserve better."
"It doesn't matter." He swept the pieces off the board and began to set them up again.
"It does," Leofe said. "Because I want to -- " And maybe she could talk to him as a friend, after all, whether or not he knew the words. He'd caught her mood before, if not her message, he watched her now with unwavering concern. "I want to be with you," she tried. "To stay with you. And have times like this." She gestured to the board, half dressed with little figures. "I want this."
Roland's forehead creased. "You want chess?"
"Oh, God." They never would be able to talk to each other, however many words they learned. "Not chess. This. Being here with you. Being comfortable with you. Feeling safe, and cared for, and -- " She broke off, caught herself just in time, before she spoke that dreadful word, loved. Because she never had been loved, not really, only used. And she didn't want Roland to use her under that name.
"Happy?" Roland offered.
She repeated it back again, nodded vigorously. "Yes. Happy. I'm happy, and I want to go on being happy."
He studied her with doubtful eyes. "You don't look happy."
"Never mind that." She didn't care how she looked, she wanted him to understand. "I want to stay with you." They'd come to it at last, the moment her fate must turn on. She'd hoped to avoid it -- evade it -- but it slammed right up in her face. "I want you to keep me forever. To take me with you, anywhere you go."
Roland set down the pawn he'd been toying with, nudged it into place defending its queen. "You want to come to Flanders with me?"
"To where?"
He watched her for a while longer, picked up another pawn. "Flanders. Tourneys. For the season. We're going, all three of us. Me, Geoffrey, and Guillaume." He'd crossed to French, so smoothly it took her a moment to recognise the different language. "Fighting. It's what we do."
"I'll come with you," Leofe said. "Though I wouldn't be much use in a fight."
He laughed then, set the pawn down and shook his head at her. "Not you. Just us. You'll see. But you'll miss England? Your sister?"
She hadn't thought of that. "Can Ymma come with us?"
Roland shrugged. "If she wants to. Does she?"
"I don't know," Leofe admitted. "I'll ask." She watched his hands move as he set each piece down in turn, sleek hands with a sure touch. He'd handled her that way ever since he caught her, set her in exactly the place he wanted her, and left her to make her own moves.
And she liked it here. She fitted. There was nowhere else she wanted to go.
He'd asked her, she realised. Asked her if she wanted to come with him.
"What if I don't want to?" She'd put it to the test now, sooner and blunter than she'd planned to. But she had to know, either way, what game he had in mind. "If I choose not to go to Flanders?" She wavered a little over that last word, the name meant nothing to her, but Roland caught her meaning nicely.
"Then I leave you here," Roland said. "Henry will find a safe place for you. Anywhere you like. Your sister, too."
She watched him set the king and queen into place, his own pair, dark and brooding. Then he turned the board around and began to set up the whites.
"Thank you," she said in French. "For saving me."
He stilled, hand on the white knight. Glanced across at her, with an odd embarrassed smile.
"Don't thank me," he said in English. "I have my own reasons, too."
***
"Of course you should go," Alice said. She presided over the table with unruffled calm, as if sending peasant girls to strange new lands was her daily occupation. "Ymma is welcome to stay here, if she likes. Cecile finds her useful."
"You can't take in strays," Henry said. "I pay for you and your household, nothing more."
"She is a part of my household," Al
ice retorted. "You may have men to sweep the floors and make the beds, but I don't."
Henry grunted, but argued no further.
"I would like to stay," Ymma said. "If I'm allowed. But I'm not going back home."
"I had the county justice to dinner yesterday," Henry said. "Spoke a word or two. The matter stays in my own manor court. If anyone tries to get at you -- either of you -- they'll come up against my own troops. You don't have anything to worry about."
"Thank you," Leofe said. Henry acknowledged her gratitude with barely a flick of the hand.
"He's not quite such a brute as he pretends," Alice said. "Though you wouldn't know it from his conversation."
Leofe steadied herself. This was her best chance to make sure that Roland understood exactly what she wanted. And to secure a place for herself with Alice, should he find her demands too unreasonable.
"I want to be kept," she said. "Nicely. Like this. With a big comfortable bed and good food and pretty clothes and -- everything. I can't explain that to him. Can you?"
"Of course." Alice, unruffled as ever, launched into a lengthy French speech to Roland, who first protested, then subsided, then grew thoughtful. Eventually Alice paused, and waited, and they all watched Roland, who poked at his food while he considered.
"Yes," he said at last, with a nod first to Alice and then to Leofe.
"I have told him," Alice said, "that you expect to be kept like a lady. And have some money and property settled on you, to fall back on if he ever decides to go elsewhere. And to have it all written and sealed and witnessed, with one copy of the agreement to be kept here in my house and another at the nearest abbey."
Leofe quailed. She hadn't meant things to become so...formal.
"The county justice can draw up the contract," Henry said. "I'll witness it."
"You're being greedy," Ymma told Leofe.
"I feel greedy," Leofe admitted.
"Nothing of the sort," Alice said. "Where will you be in ten years, with no family and no support, if he tires of you? It's all very well for men to talk of love and romance, if the moment they get bored they're free to drop the woman and all responsibility, and leave her and any children to penury and despair. No, thank you. We'll have our settlements properly drawn up in advance, and stored safely."
"I'm not arguing," Henry told her, in a mild tone surprising from him.
"Shouldn't he marry her, then?" Ymma asked.
Leofe kicked her under cover of the table. The other two just stared.
"Don't be ridiculous," Henry said. "She's a peasant. English, too." The disgust in his tone was so evident that Leofe winced.
"What's wrong with that?" Ymma snapped.
Leofe threw caution aside and grabbed her by the wrist. "Don't."
"You really need to ask?" In an instant, Henry changed from friendly to sneering. "If you think a Norman man of noble blood would sully his family with a cheap slattern like -- "
"That will do," Alice broke in, her voice sharp. "Henry, I will not have you speak to my guests in such a way."
"Guests of a woman I pay for in a house I pay for, I'll speak to any way I want."
Alice froze him with a look. "If you wish to leave, do so. If not, behave as I require."
The pair of them glared at each other. Leofe held her breath.
Roland spoke, in French, too rapidly for her to follow. But from his tone, he seemed to be suggesting a compromise. Henry snapped back, Alice chimed in but was overrun by the men.
Leofe took the opportunity to glare at Ymma in turn. "Don't make him angry. Or any of them. We're only here because of their kindness."
"That doesn't give him the right to talk as if we're dirt."
"No." Leofe held on to her own anger, hot and fierce as it bubbled within her chest. "It doesn't. But we are free to leave if we wish."
"To go where?" Ymma shot back.
"That's just it," Leofe urged. "We don't have anywhere else to go. Do you want to take the chance? Or can you stay here and not fight with him?"
"Maybe you can stand a man like that," Ymma snapped. "But I can't."
"Would you rather go back home?"
Ymma subsided. "No."
Leofe found she was breathing hard, dizzy as when Roland first caught her. "Then for the love of God and all the saints in heaven, don't make him angry. Who knows what he'll do?"
Ymma tossed her head. "He says we're safe."
"He says that now," Leofe corrected. "What will happen if he changes his mind?"
Silence fell. The other three all stared at her and Ymma.
"Nothing," Henry said. He seemed chastened. "And I am sorry. I should have thought about how it would sound to you. Nothing will happen. I don't love the English, but the pair of you are under my protection and I don't break my word so lightly. Besides -- " He exchanged a look with his brother. "Roland says he'll take you with him, and keep you as I would Alice. Both of you, if Ymma wishes to go."
Ymma hesitated, and then blushed.
"I would rather stay," she admitted. "But please don't say nasty things about me. I don't like it."
This time Henry swapped a glance with Alice, who had begun to resemble a statue made of ice.
"Then I apologise," he said. "Which I don't do often. And if you want to marry that groom, you have my permission to do so. I'll waive your fine, too. That concludes this matter. I will not be harangued in my own house."
Leofe watched Alice's frozen face, and felt a quiver of misgiving. She didn't want this kind of life either, always at the mercy of a man's whim.
"It's my house," Alice said. "That is our agreement."
"In my mistress's house, then," Henry said with a sigh. "Now can we eat in peace?"
"I don't know," Alice said. "Can we, or do you choose to continue to insult both me and my guests?"
Henry shoved his chair back from the table so hard it overturned, rose and strode out of the room. Alice handed a dish around.
"Do try the pigeon," she said. "I'm partial to it myself."
***
"I don't know what it was about," Roland confided to Geoffrey over backgammon. "But I caught enough to know that Henry was on a rampage about me defiling myself with English girls. Which I don't appreciate, and I've told him so. But. You know."
"Time to leave?" Geoffrey suggested. "We could take in that meet and then catch fair winds across the Channel, if we're lucky. You want to take her with you?"
"I do," Roland said.
Geoffrey nodded. "Thought as much. Well, I've seen worse. She can come along, as far as I'm concerned."
"Also," Roland said, "I want to settle some money and property on her. Not much. Enough that she can live easy if she needs to."
"When you drop her, you mean? Do that, then. You don't need my permission."
"Will you be a witness?"
Geoffrey's eyebrows rose. "That formal, eh? Yes. I'll put my name to it. Guillaume, too, if you tell him I've decided not to quit. He's been snarling at me over it for days."
"Glad to hear you've changed your mind," Roland said. "What worked the cure?"
"The prospect of having him for a neighbour," Geoffrey said. "Actually, it was only a passing fancy of mine. I've been spinning it along just to watch him tear at it. He's like a hound with a ragged cloak. And I'll have to quit one day, when I'm old and broken. Might as well have some knowledge to fall back on."
"I suppose so." Roland studied the board with increasing irritation. "Why does everyone assume I'll drop her?"
"Won't you?"
"Not planning to right now."
"That's not the point." Geoffrey rolled the dice and moved his checkers. "She's fun at the moment, you're enjoying her, that's fine. What happens when she gets pregnant? You don't want to be lumbered with a family to drag from one tourney to the next. Or when she starts telling you what to do and where to go and how to speak to her? You'll drop her then, quick enough. Or when she gets old and dull and you fancy someone younger? Set her up, well, that's noble
of you. I prefer to pay at the time myself. Beyond that, though, you're not marrying the girl. So why would you keep her, once she's no further use to you?"
Roland bore off two. "Maybe I will marry her."
"Be serious." Geoffrey hit a blot on the mid point. "You can't pick up a peasant girl and then marry her. Not done. Besides, no one will believe it." He shrugged. "Though I suppose you can always tell her she's married, if that's the way your dice roll. At least you can be certain she'll never have money or connections enough to bring a case."
Roland frowned. He hadn't looked at it that way before. "What would make it definite? You know, so no one could ever deny it's a valid marriage?"
"I've no idea." Geoffrey winced at a wasted six. "Banns three Sundays in a row, church service, plenty of witnesses. That's just guessing, though. I've never had occasion to ask. Why?"
"Because I mean to marry her," Roland said. "In front of God and everyone. She's staying with me."
She'd need to know that, he thought. All this time, she'd been waiting for him to harm her. Ready for whatever blow he struck. At first terrified enough to take her own life, later grateful enough to seduce him, now anxious enough to seek written assurances. And she was right to do so. She had no standing at all. He could do as he liked with her, kill her even, and no law would ever touch him.
He'd never paused to consider how much that must prey on her mind -- how it must affect her every move. But now he did, and it frightened him.
"Don't be a fool," Geoffrey said. "You can't tie yourself for life to some village slut." He grinned suddenly. "Though I'd give a lot to see Guillaume's face when you told him. He'd fall down dead of apoplexy. Kinder not to."
"She's not a slut," Roland said. "I'd prefer you to speak of her with some degree of courtesy. And why can't I tie myself to her for life? I've got no land or rank or name to protect. Just a travelling fighter, beholden to no one."
