"Thank you, Father. I had one from the same courier." Elizabeth took the letter, nonetheless, and started to read, a skill only a few women had then. Her mind, however, was more occupied with the difference between her father's appearance and her memory of Hereford's than with the written message. Both men had blue eyes, but Chester's were pale, without intensity, and often shifted. In a sense Chester's face was nobler, with its high, broad forehead and long, high-bridged nose, but the forcefulness of her father's upper face was denied by the soft, almost loose lips and the chin, which receded slightly. Even the white puckered scar along the jawbone could not lend decisiveness to that chin, while Roger's jaw line promised that, for all his laughter and good humor, he would be a bad man to cross. Elizabeth handed back the sheet of parchment.
"He is certainly no great correspondent. The words and phrases might have been copied one from the other. All he can think to say, apparently, is that he will be here in two weeks' time and is in great haste to be betrothed. Great haste! He managed to wait a year without the least sign of impatience. What makes him so hot to grasp his prize now?"
"That is no way to talk, Elizabeth. It was the thought of a considerate man to write to you separately. As you know, there was no need for him to let you know his plans at all."
"There is no contract made," Elizabeth retorted hotly, "only a promise without witnesses. I may still decide to withdraw myself as unwilling."
Chester narrowed his eyes. "You! You have no voice in this matter. It is too late now to seek excuses to deny your word. I will make that contract with Hereford no matter what you do or say. There is no need to make contract here. I can easily ride to Hereford Castle to do it. And I will bring you to the church door for your marriage even if I must drag you screaming and cursing every foot of the way, even if I must beat you unconscious and make the replies for you. A fine sight that will be for those who know you, a fine laughingstock you will make of yourself."
"You would not treat me so. You threaten often, but you would not." Elizabeth was not sure this time, however, because her father's voice held a certain note, and her own voice trembled a little. She knew her father. He was weak and changeable, but sometimes unbelievably stubborn, and there was not time enough left now to wear him down.
"I swear to you by the True God, by His Holy Mother, and by all the blessed saints that I will marry you to Roger of Hereford though all hell should bar the way. What ails you, Elizabeth? You have passed four and twenty summers. You are already too old for any but a widower or a madman like Hereford to desire. Where will you find another offer like this one? What single fault can you find in Roger of Hereford?"
"You will drag me to the church!" Elizabeth spat, her eyes blazing like a vicious cat's as she avoided her father's questions and stabbed at what she knew would hurt him most. "You could not summon strength enough to make a toad obey you. You will run weeping to Roger and offer him more money. He, indeed, might drag me all unwilling for a high enough price. If he got enough money, he would think he could win this accursed war single-handed." She gasped a moment, then caught her breath. "Do not tremble so. I will make no protest, but not through fear of you. I have given my promise and I will keep it. I know it is too late to retract."
Chester, who had started to flush at his daughter's words, suddenly began to laugh instead. "So that is where the steel galls, eh? Nay, my pretty, you need not fear that Hereford covets your dower. You know what offers he made. He would have taken you empty-handed, I think, had I insisted that was the only way." Chester came up to Elizabeth and attempted to stroke her hair but she pulled angrily away. "Come, child, the boy only did his duty. He could come no sooner. His honor is engaged with Henry of Anjou's cause and he is young and cleaves greatly to his given word."
"Ay. At least that I will gain from a change of masters. I need not fear that he will be forsworn with every breath of rumor that blows."
That really hurt. Chester cast one reproachful glance at his daughter and turned to leave. He was a weak man and often broke his word, but he was no coward and was driven first one way and then another by ambition and dreams of glory, not by fear. His daughter's insinuation that he was attempting to avoid danger truly distressed him because he felt that if she believed that of him everyone else also would. Elizabeth had not meant to go so far; she fully returned her father's affection, and, although she was by no means averse to tormenting him to get her way, she had not meant to hurt him needlessly.
"Father, wait," Elizabeth cried, jumping up and running after him. "I did not mean that. Oh, my accursed tongue! You know I did not mean it. I have always agreed with you in what you have done. If you have been at fault, have I not been so too?" Chester stopped, and Elizabeth curtsied deep before him and kissed his hand. "Dear Papa, forgive me. I do not know what ails me. I am so cross I hardly know how to bear myself."
Chester raised her and caressed her fondly. "It may be that you do not know what troubles you, but I do. You will not believe me, Elizabeth, for you have long resisted marriage, but think on what I say. You have waited too long for a man of your own and children of your own. You have had my children by your stepmother, curse the woman, to care for, that is true, and you think you have filled your heart with them. Perhaps you have, but you cannot so fulfill your body." He patted her shoulder as she turned her face away. "It is the body calling for its rights and the mind denying that call which distresses you."
"It is not true," Elizabeth murmured, her nostrils pinched with the violent suppression of her emotion.
"You are an honest girl, Liza, love," Chester said, kissing her again. "Think on it. Make not such haste to deny. It is no shame to acknowledge the body's needs, even if the priests sometimes tell us it is a sin to satisfy them."
CHAPTER 2
LORD HEREFORD LIFTED HIS HEAD SLIGHTLY TO CALL "COME" TO A sound at the door. He did not turn to see who entered because there was no need to do so; he was at home, in his own bedroom in the manor house of Hereford Castle, totally safe, totally relaxed, totally lapped in luxury. The room was far different from the stuffy or dank wall chambers of a keep. It was a section partitioned off from the main hall of the manor house which had been built within the walls of the old keep and had been furnished by his father and mother for their own private use with unbelievable luxury. The floor before the hearth of the huge fireplace where flames leapt and wood crackled, instead of being strewn with rushes, was covered with two great carpets brought back from the East by a crusader and won as booty by Miles of Hereford. Their originally blatant colors had been mellowed by time and use to softer but still glowing hues of red and blue touched with gold. On either side of the fireplace hung great tapestries worked by the Dowager Countess of Hereford. They were beautiful, but their purpose was not solely decorative, for they were hung to reflect heat and keep out the chill of the stone walls. It was impossible to make out the subjects clearly because the room was rather dim; although it was full morning, the shutters of the large windows being drawn to keep out the cold. To the left of the door stood the huge curtained bed, and Lady Hereford glanced at it briefly with a faint look of distaste as she approached her son.
"I have a letter for you, Roger, from Lord Chester."
"Mamma!" Hereford exclaimed. He smoothed the troubled frown from his face and got to his feet, extending one hand and using the other to pull his robe closed. Lady Hereford twitched the robe aside.
"Let me look at you."
Obligingly, with a faint smile, Lord Hereford slipped off what he was wearing and allowed his mother to examine him.
"That is an ugly scar, child," she commented, touching a red, angry mark that ran halfway round his right thigh.
"Yes. I was fighting with Henry in Normandy and had no time to let it heal. I tell you, I was lame for six months with it, but it mended as all wounds do eventually."
"As they all do unless you die of them. I wish you would have more sense, Roger. This letter came last night," the countess said, reverting to he
r reason for intruding upon him once she was satisfied that he needed no care. "The messenger said it was not urgent, and, under the circumstances," Lady Hereford again glanced briefly at the curtained bed with obvious displeasure on her face this time, "I felt it would keep until morning."
Hereford laughed at the look and walked with his swift, nervous stride to fling back the curtains, showing the empty bed. He returned just as quickly to shrug on his robe again and take the letter.
"She is gone. Sit down, Mamma, and do not look so black at me. I am not so very wicked, after all."
"No, Roger, you are not. You are a good son and, I think, a good man. Your father would have been proud of you." She stopped to look at the fire for a moment. Her husband had been dead for six years, but she still missed him, for they had been an affectionate couple, very happy in their marriage. Her son had been good to her; he had allowed her to choose to remain a widow and had protected her from molestation in that state. He could have forced her into marriage and obtained a good bride price for her, since her dower estates were large and at that time she had still been capable of childbearing. "Nonetheless, Roger," she continued firmly, putting those thoughts aside, "I would like to know what you plan to do with those women."
"What women?" her son asked, his brows knitted over Chester's letter. He had gained much facility in reading and writing over the two years he had spent with Henry of Anjou, for that young man was an inveterate scribbler and message sender.
"Your whores."
"Oh … marry them off, I suppose, and in all haste too." Hereford's eyes gleamed with mischief. "It is as well you mentioned it. You had better see about that, Mamma, and do your best to please the girls, if that is possible. Lord! What Elizabeth would say if they were still about when she came."
"And the children?"
Roger's mouth hardened, and the laughter disappeared from his eyes. "She may say what she likes about them. They are only two daughters, after all, and I will not cast my girls out or permit them to sink to the level of serfdom."
"You are right, of course; they are of your blood, but Elizabeth is of hasty temper. When she is mistress here, it is possible that she may not be overkind to your bastards. Also, child, there is the question of myself and your sisters. Have you given any thought to what arrangements you wish to make about us?"
"No, I have not, Mamma." Roger laughed. "But I am sure you have. I have had a few other things to think about."
"It might be best," the countess said slowly and regretfully, "if we all moved to my dower castle."
Lady Hereford did not wish to go. She loved this house and had been very happy in it, but she also did not wish to become her daughter-by marriage's handmaiden. Nor, knowing herself, did she think it would be possible for her docilely to give the management of the keep and estates into Lady Elizabeth's hands. No doubt they were capable hands; Elizabeth had run her father's estates with commendable efficiency, but no two women did things in exactly the same way, and Lady Hereford knew that she would be constantly fretted if Elizabeth changed her methods.
That sobered Lord Hereford instantly. "No, I had not thought of it, but I see that I must." His memories of Elizabeth were not terribly clear, but he remembered enough to know that she and his mother would clash. "I am not sure, Mamma, but certainly that need not be done at once. For a while, at least, I will keep her with me, when there is no fighting, and we are likely to do much traveling. That would mean that you would have to return here to care for the place while I was away since I have no castellan here. Also, we live in a settled way and Elizabeth will have to learn who is who and what their duties are. Stay, at least in the beginning. Later we will see how things go." Hereford smiled suddenly and mischievously again. "Besides, I should miss you, and I would never feel truly at home if my sisters did not plague my life out with their insanities."
"I wonder where you get this habit of putting everything off till tomorrow? Everything except fighting, that is. Your father never did so, and I certainly do not." She paused to look at her son, who had sunk luxuriously into his chair again and opened his robe so that he could feel the heat of the fire on his skin. "Are you going to dress and look at the demesne lands or do you intend to sit in front of the fire all day?"
"I am a good, obedient son," he replied gravely, but with dancing eyes, and straightened up at once. "So meek am I that I will do your bidding straightaway."
The countess shook her head at that nonsense. A more considerate but less obedient son would be hard to find. She rose, looking rather cross, and Roger came up to her, hugged her quickly, and kissed her cheeks.
"I swear I liked the Lady Elizabeth best of all the women I know because she always spoke to me and looked at me just so sharply as you do,"
Instead of smiling in reply, Lady Hereford looked even more troubled. It was one thing to scold and criticize Roger herself, but she could not pretend that it would give her any pleasure to see another woman do so. Roger was the most precious of her children, her eldest son, born after her disappointment at the birth of three daughters. She had two other sons and two younger daughters, but none was as dear as this first male child. She helped Hereford to dress automatically and went to the hall to summon his chief squire to help him arm. Then she started for her own quarters but stopped halfway and returned.
"Roger, how long do you plan to stay with us?"
"I meant to stay two weeks when I came—did I not tell you yesterday? But now—I think perhaps I had better ride to Chester as soon as possible and come back to check the estates. Not that there is need, for I am sure you cared for my interests well, but I would like to see with my own eyes how matters go and perhaps take some promising young men into service."
"You have had bad news from Lord Chester then?"
"No …" Hereford replied frowning slightly, "not bad news. Something a trifle disturbing."
"You will not permit Chester to drag you into trouble again, will you?"
That brought a wry smile. "No, Mother. I am more like to drag him into trouble this time, not that he will need much urging. It is not that. Lady Elizabeth—"
"Is that she-devil making difficulties again?" Lady Hereford could have bitten her tongue as soon as the sharp words slipped out. She had no desire to let her son know how little she approved of his contract. Had he been in England and mentioned it, she would have attempted to dissuade him from contracting a marriage that she felt would make him unhappy. He had not consulted her, however, and now it was too late to retract the offer, even if Roger was willing to do so.
"That is no way to speak of the woman who is as good as my wife. Do not do so again."
Lady Hereford scarcely recognized the blue eyes that fixed her own, so hard had they become. Normally they held nothing but laughter or affection when she saw them.
"I am sorry, Roger."
"It is naught." But his expression did not soften. "Lady Elizabeth is apparently distressed by the idea that her dowry is more important to me than her person. This may be true for most marriages, but I will tell you plainly, Mother, so that you too will not be mistaken, that is not true for this one." It was really partly true, but Hereford wished to impress his mother with his attachment for Elizabeth in the hope that it would give her caution in dealing with the girl.
"No," Lady Hereford faltered, "of course not. She is a very beautiful woman, and good, and clever. I have no word to say against her except that her temper is a little hasty. But I did not mean to talk about Lady Elizabeth. If you go so soon there are two matters I must mention now."
"Yes?"
"Anne is sixteen now and should have been married already. The sooner we can fulfill her contract, the better. Also, you should be thinking about a husband for Catherine. She will be thirteen in the spring."
"Very well. Go ahead and begin preparations for Anne's wedding. As soon as I know myself, I will tell you what date will be most convenient to me—and, of course, to Lincoln. I will write and ask him when Rannulf will be read
y to take her. Is there something else? Surely you do not expect me to pick a suitable man for Catherine out of the air. I must think about it."
"The other matter can wait. You are too angry now to listen with patience."
Hereford had walked away to stare into the fire, but now he returned, brow smoothed and lips faintly curved. "Not really. It is true that Lady Elizabeth does not have a gentle disposition. I do not know why it should enrage me to have you make the point, but it does. There, I am recovered. You had better ask what you want because Sir John is riding over to join me at dinner. I believe he would like me to foster his son. That is not important one way or the other, but he will talk and talk, and that will give us little time because I think I will leave in the morning."
"Well then, your brother Walter—"
"Good God, what trouble is he in now?"
"None yet, but I have no control over him at all. He was perfectly all right until he learned that you were planning to return. Then he took up with a band of out-and-out robbers, and he is coming very close to hanging. I cannot think why he should be so outrageous. You have always been most generous to him and he lacks for nothing."
"He will lack his head if I lay my hands on him," Hereford flashed, crimson with rage. "I have no time now to bother with him, but tell him for me, Mamma, that if he blackens our name any more with his lawlessness I will hunt him down like the criminal he is and see that he has no further opportunity to offend Heaven or me with his actions."
A stool crashed as Hereford booted it across the room. Lady Hereford stood quietly, hands folded, eyes on the floor. She hardly knew whether Roger was dearer when he was filled with laughter and teasing or when he raged, so like his father that her heart ached anew. This rage did not frighten her, she was accustomed to Roger's hot temper. She was only frightened when he turned to ice and she could not recognize her son.
"I have borne enough from him. I will bear no more. I will—"
Knight's Honor Page 3
