"Nay," Maud smiled at him, "you need not regard me in that suspicious manner, my lord. You know and I know that I have kept you here to speak of my concerns as well as yours."
"You do well to speak honestly to me."
"I pay you that compliment, indeed, Sir Rannulf. You have been too long faithful to us for me to begin weighing my words to you now."
Rannulf vented his harsh, mirthless laughter. "If you have spoken an unweighed word to man or beast since you became queen of this realm, I will sharpen my sword on my own teeth before I next wield it in battle."
Maud was touched to the quick because he spoke the truth, and spoke with what seemed to be a spark of malicious enjoyment. Her tone sharpened. "Stephen and I do not pretend to be above other mortals, but why you should set us so far below them as to believe we cannot be honest with those we trust, I do not know."
Trust was an unfortunate word. Rannulf was very fond of Maud, but he did not trust her. "You have lost the habit," he replied with his usual tactless directness.
Maud sighed, realizing now that he probably had not meant to hurt her and that it was useless to bandy words with a man who always said exactly what he thought, feared nothing, and sought no favors. He seemed sorry now that the subject had come up and she had a slight advantage. Tired or not, now was the moment to get on with obtaining his agreement to accept Catherine.
"I am exceedingly sorry that we judged so far amiss in the matter of the heiress and the lands of Soke, Sir Rannulf. Truly, Stephen and I had no thought that you did not love the married state as such. We knew, of course, that Lady Adelecia was not an easy woman to live with and that you wasted no grief over her loss, but—"
"You did not think that ten years of marriage to her might not give even a saint a distaste for being a husband?"
"It might, indeed," Maud replied drily, "but you are no saint, and, moreover, you were little enough in her company."
"That little was too much."
Although she had heartily disliked Lady Adelecia herself, Maud was annoyed by the pigheadedness that blocked every opening she tried to make to reason about this new marriage. "You fathered a son upon her, nonetheless," she snapped.
The harsh laugh cracked and was stilled. "I would not lose her dower—what of that?"
It was true, of course, but Maud was frustrated again. If he had gone so far as to admit that there was a pleasure in begetting children, even upon a woman one did not care for, she would have had a chance to expatiate on Lady Catherine's perfections.
For a moment she sat staring at her hands in her lap and fighting her sense of fatigue, and then raised her head, realizing that he had given her a far more important opening. The dower of a woman who died childless reverted, under ordinary circumstances, to her family and Rannulf was too just and too honest to retain a childless wife's dower illegally… but Catherine had no family, none at all. And the king could grant that land freely to Rannulf.
"Aye, that is just what I wished to speak to you about. Adelecia brought nothing in comparison with the lands of Soke. Wait—I know you have said already that you have need of no more land, but I am sure you wish to keep what is yours in peace and quiet. Bethink yourself, my lord, who among those men who are free to marry would you desire as so close a neighbor?"
Rannulf continued to stare at the flames in the hearth for a few seconds longer, but finally he turned to look directly at the queen, his broad brows drawn together in a considering frown. Maud studied the face turned to her more carefully, for she wished to be able to describe it in minute detail to the woman who would be—she was determined upon that—his wife.
There was little enough in it to tempt a beautiful woman except its strength. It was a thin face, fortunately little marred by scarring, with a resolute jaw and a grim mouth. The beaked nose gave a predatory brightness to the clear gray eyes, and, although a full head of tangled curls showed no sign of thinning with age, enough gray was mixed with the brown to deny youth.
It would not be easy, perhaps, to make that face sound romantically attractive, especially when coupled with Rannulf's deliberately crude manners, but Maud had struggled with more hopeless tasks.
"I see," Rannulf was saying slowly, "that there are no trusty men of weight available, but surely among the penniless younger sons you might find dozens who would suit your purpose."
"Perhaps, although of that I am not so sure. Soke was Henry's man. The woman shows no leaning in that direction, but she could hide what she thought would sit ill here. A young man might be easily led . . . she is very, very fair. But more important even than that, would a penniless younger son suit your purpose? We owe you much, Stephen and I, and we spent some thought upon this matter. Would it be to your taste to have a land-hungry pauper wield the lands of Soke?"
The frown of concentration on Rannulf's face deepened. Maud had no need to make the next point and she let the silence grow, studying her man. To the cast and south of Soke lay the property of the earl of Norfolk. Hugh Bigod was by no means a peaceful man, and he was an open enemy to the king and queen, even while he was no friend to Henry of Anjou.
Thus far Norfolk and the master of Sleaford had not come to blows, largely because they had a hearty mutual respect for each other but also because there was little chance for provocation between them. In spite of his attachment to the cause of Henry of Anjou, the earl of Soke and his vassals had taken little part in the fighting. In addition, Soke had been an elderly, gentle man, given to religious and scholarly pursuits. His part in the civil war had been to supply money. Therefore, his lands had stood for many years as a buffer between Sleaford and Norfolk.
If a younger man, a loyal follower of the king, took those lands, it could not be long before conflict would arise. Either the young man would provoke Norfolk by trying to seize a little more land, or Norfolk would see in a younger man's inexperience an opportunity to add part of Soke's property to his own.
Whichever man started the hostilities, sooner or later it was inevitable that Rannulf should be drawn into the battle. Sooner or later he would be engaged in fighting Norfolk to keep him off that buffer territory, and he would be spending his blood and substance for property that was not even his own.
Worse was the possibility that the vassals would not accept a young man who favored the king as their earl. Again, and to even less purpose, Rannulf would be involved in war. If it were necessary to fight those men, he could at least do it for his own profit if he married Catherine.
For his part, Rannulf, who never forgot a favor, even if unintentional, had one factor to consider that never crossed Maud's mind because it was so tenuous and so far in the past. When the civil war first broke out in 1137, Catherine's uncle had been earl of Soke. He had considered the generalized hostilities a fine moment to swallow Sleaford, which Rannulf, then twenty-six, had just inherited. Under the pretext that Rannulf had declared for the rebels, Soke had enlisted Stephen's aid. The combined forces overwhelmed Rannulf's army, but not until Soke himself had been dispatched to his final reward.
After that, Rannulf had been unhorsed and beaten to his knees by Stephen, but that gentle man, with characteristic generosity, had exacted no retribution. Reversing his sword so that the hilt made a cross, the king demanded only that Rannulf swear to renounce the rebels and be his faithful man. Rannulf had, until Soke attacked him, been neutral. He felt no animosity toward Stephen, and life is sweet at twenty-six. He gave sword-oath gladly.
Unfortunately, Soke's brother, Catherine's father, who had become earl at the moment of his childless brother's death, had become a rebel at the moment Stephen pardoned Rannulf. To Rannulf's mind, he owed the loyalty of the vassals of Soke to Stephen because he had been the cause of their disaffection. There had been no occasion in the past to repay that debt, but he realized now that he must marry Soke's heiress. It would not be pleasant for him, but it was the best solution.
"There are other matters that you should consider, my lord," Maud prodded gently when her expe
rienced eyes told her that Rannulf had followed the proper line of reasoning to its logical conclusion. "Remember there are no heirs to Soke except this girl. If you marry her, the king will grant you the lands and title whether she bears you a child or not. If she does not please you, you may set her aside and, without wrong, still keep the property."
Rannulf made no reply, but his face suddenly seemed to have turned to stone. Somehow, Maud knew, she had lost her advantage and she hurried on. "No doubt you are wondering why I press you so to take what would benefit us to keep in our own hand. Perhaps if you had come quietly with your objections, I would have besought you to name a bridegroom for her more pleasing to you than yourself. You know why I cannot do that now."
Maud did not like to remind Rannulf of his obligation to Stephen, because such reminders, used too often, breed resentment; but she was determined to get Rannulf married to Catherine and she went on. "Rannulf, Stephen has ever loved you and ever showed you kindness. What made you bespeak him so ill in open hall before all the court? You gave him sword-oath. It is your duty, even above others who have done homage, to uphold his honor. Naught now can save his honor but your yielding."
Rannulf was silent still, for he was torn between the need to know how Soke had become conveniently free to be given to him and the fear that, once he knew, he would never be able to look Catherine or Maud in the eyes. Although he was very fond of Maud, he knew her to be capable of really evil acts in the defense of her husband and family.
"I know that Lady Catherine was married and that she had an infant son," he burst out at last. "I see that you have somehow disposed of the father and the husband. Did you destroy the child, too? Knowing this, am I to take the poor woman to wife? Have I been overhasty in my anger?"
"Merciful heavens!" Maud gasped, "It is no wonder you were in a rage. But you are unjust. Soke died of his age—you know that. The husband and child are both dead too, but by no means of ours. I will swear that upon my husband's life! You must believe it."
Rannulf sighed and sagged, more at ease, in his chair. What Maud swore on her life or honor might be doubtful; what she swore on Stephen's life was true. "Dead of what?" he asked with only the mildest interest.
"The wasting fever. The whole keep was stricken; the whole countryside was sick with it in the south. I thought you must have heard even in Sleaford, the plague was so bad. It was God's will, not ours, Rannulf. More than that, you need have no fear that she carries her husband's seed either, for she was lightened of a seven-months' daughter, who did not live, only three months since—and that was after the husband was buried."
"She has lost much. It will be bitter to her to be pressed into this new marriage so soon."
Maud stared attentively at her guest's face, trying to read its expression. Was Rannulf expressing sympathy for the suffering of the woman, or was he merely worrying about her reaction to him under the circumstances? It did not matter. From the way the sentence was phrased, there could be no doubt that Rannulf now intended to accept the offer.
"Indeed," Maud soothed, "I have lost children of my own and I feel for her grief. Even so, there is no other way. The land must be guarded by a strong man. If she and the property had been taken by Bigod, worse might have befallen her than marriage with an honorable man and she knows it. For her sorrow there can be no cure, but I speak from the heart when I tell you that it may be eased by giving her other children. You need not fear her spite. She has no spite in her, and too, a woman with such losses cleaves strongly to the father of her new young ones."
Rannulf scowled, but Maud waited without doubt. "Very well," he growled. "I will give you the manor and lands nearest to my western border that you have long craved as a bride-price for her, but nothing more. The lands are great, it is true, but Soke loved his books too well to care for the lands properly. He drained them, too, in Henry's cause. They are doubtless in bad condition and I will have much to do before I can wring a groat from them. Worse, if the vassals fight, they will cost me rather than pay me."
"Just as you desire, my lord," Maud agreed, meekly but triumphantly. "I am sure we will not quarrel about terms, since it is our desire to please you, but let us leave these matters for the clerks in the morning."
CHAPTER 2
It had been a particularly mild winter, Catherine thought, shivering and drawing her furred cloak closer around her, but now, in March, it had begun to snow. She stopped pacing and leaned forward over the ramparts to watch the large flakes settle softly on the bare branches of a tree in the courtyard. Soon there was a ridge of white on each limb, for there was no wind at all to sweep the branches clean.
It would be wonderful, her thoughts continued, if there were a wind that could sweep the mind and heart clean, instead of allowing past sorrows to cover all with a pale mantle. If she could but clear her soul of its burden of grief, perhaps she could understand what the queen was trying to tell her about Sir Rannulf. Even through the pain that dulled her mind, he had sounded a man of whom to be proud.
"Alas, Lady Catherine, what do you here all covered with snow?"
Turning her large eyes with their misty blue irises on the speaker, Catherine replied softly, "I do but very little, only breathe the air and look upon the courtyard, Lady Warwick."
Gundreda, Lady Warwick, looked with apparent compassion on the fair, slender woman before her. "Your state is sad, no doubt, but there is no answer for it in death. You cannot fool the Lord, and to chill yourself in hopes to end your life is self-slaughter as much as to plant a knife in your breast."
Catherine had a charming habit of looking up at people through a fringe of lashes which, although blonde, were long and thick enough almost to hide her eyes. She used the trick unconsciously on men and women alike, and this time it was of great value to her, for she saw something in Gundreda's face that stopped her speech. Since she had never once, not even in the greatest depth of her despair, thought of easing her pain with death, she had been about to protest. Now she merely dropped her head a little lower.
Maud has slipped this once, Lady Warwick thought, having read Catherine's expression quite correctly. She does not need soothing; she needs awakening, and fear is the best source of attention.
"The queen," Lady Warwick said gently, "should not have told you how reluctant Sir Rannulf was to make the match. We spoke of that matter, she saying that since he had spoken against it before all the court you would be bound to hear of it, and I that it was needless to distress you over what you would soon enough understand. Perhaps, however, she was right. The queen is very wise and she felt that you needed to be warned. I could not see any reason to that either. Reluctant or not, I said to her, Sir Rannulf is an honorable man. I cannot believe he would harm the lady to take her lands unto himself."
"He has the lands anyway," Catherine forced out, a pang of fear even sharper than her grief pinning her attention on Gundreda's words. "I am only a woman and there are no heirs. All is in the king's gift."
Maud had told Catherine nothing of Rannulf's reluctance. On the contrary, she had emphasized only his habitually harsh voice and rough manners, hinting that these covered a generous heart and a warm nature. She had also told Catherine everything she knew about Lady Adelecia, explaining how unpleasant a wife that lady had been and that Sir Rannulf was, on that account, a trifle soured upon women.
The master of Sleaford needed careful handling, Maud had said over and over; he needed to be pampered and deferred to; he needed cheerful compliance without fretfulness, nagging, or whining. Catherine had heard with only half an ear, knowing herself not to be a fretful or whining woman, but now the words came back with an ominous ring.
"So it would seem," Gundreda explained sharply, "but do not talk like a silly woman. To insure the land to his blood, if you do not breed with him, you must die first. If he should die before you, which is in the course of nature because of his age, you will marry again and take your lands with you. I said he was an honorable man, but do not tempt him."
> "I must go in," Catherine whispered, shuddering. "Now I am indeed chilled."
It was cruel to frighten Catherine, Lady Warwick thought, but she did it out of kindness and the hints could soon be wiped out by explanations. Moreover, Catherine might be useful. Her father's vassals might not be pleased with this forcible change in overlords. If they clung to Catherine and Catherine could be manipulated, it would be well to have her confidence.
In the great hall where those men who had not gone to hunt sat idling away the day with chess or dice, Robert, earl of Leicester, leaned forward and prodded his foster brother with a stubby forefinger.
"You are no eager bridegroom, I hear, even though you have seen the advantages of the match. Well, that is not so hard to understand, but that you should not even be curious enough to go look upon the woman … that passes understanding."
"I will look sufficiently upon her when I have her to wife."
"Perhaps even so indifferent a husband as you will not find that a burden. She is passing fair. I, loving you as I do, went to see."
"And if she had been foul? What matter what she be since the lands are certainly hers and no other man has a claim to her?"
"Ah, but she is not foul, in no way. Beautiful. Silent as a mute, which you will find a pleasant change, and heiress to Soke. Fortune seems to have turned her most favorable orbs upon you."
Leicester paused a moment and continued in a slightly altered voice. "We have all been very fortunate of late, it seems to me. It was fortunate that you were beside Eustace at Devizes; it was fortunate that you came safe away; it was fortunate that young Henry took that so much to heart as to return to France. Surely we sit at the top of the Wheel. Mayhap we should begin to look for a soft spot upon which to fall when the goddess spins the Wheel again."
"What?"
Rannulf had been studying the chessboard between himself and Leicester, giving only a small part of his attention to the commonplace gibes about his coming marriage, and the meaning of the last portion of Leicester's remarks shocked him when it penetrated.
The Sword and The Swan Page 3
