Forbidden Lady

by Anne Herries

  It puzzled him, for the pieces of the puzzle did not seem to fit any pattern. She had been proud and cold that day in the forest when she might—if she had wished—have told him that the beating her brother had given him had been none of her doing. And why had she run to her brother in such haste at that inn if she did not want to be wed to the man her father had chosen? Besides, he had it from her own lips that she desired a marriage of consequence to a rich and titled man.

  ‘If we both live through the coming battle, we shall speak of this again, Owain. I intend to seek revenge for what was done, but as yet I do not know what part of that concerns your lady.’

  Owain inclined his head. ‘You are angry, but I know you for an honest man. I shall serve you well and fight by your side.’

  Rob nodded but said nothing more as he turned away to go about his business. He had no time to dwell on thoughts of Melissa or what was happening to her, and yet the thought of her being forced to the bed of a monster like Leominster made the bile rise in his throat.

  He could do nothing to help her even if he would. His promise was given to Henry and the battle was imminent. If he lived he would think again of Melissa and what he might do about her situation, though if she had become the wife of another man there would be little he could do—unless he murdered her husband and took her back! The thought brought a smile to his lips, though he dismissed it in an instant—if she was wed to another it must be her choice for she could refuse if she wished.

  ‘You look pale, my lady,’ Agnes said. They had reached their destination that night after several delays on their journey, for Melissa had been sick and Harold had been forced to let her rest. ‘Shall I tell Lady Gifford that you are not well enough to leave your chamber?’

  ‘My head aches dreadfully,’ Melissa said.

  ‘Lie down and try to sleep. I shall go to Lady Gifford and tell her that you are ill.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Melissa said. She waited until her serving woman had left the room, and then drank from the flask she had filled with brackish water from a stream they had camped beside on the way here. She had been warned not to drink from it, but she had already done so twice and it had made her feel truly ill. Her headache was genuine and she had been sick several times. Even Harold had realised that she could not travel. He had stayed longer than he intended on the journey and they were some days later than had been expected.

  Melissa was just vomiting into a pot when her hostess came in. Lady Gifford had grown more stout since their last meeting, but her smile was kind and concerned as she saw that Melissa was truly unwell.

  ‘You poor child,’ she said. ‘Leominster thought that you were pretending to be ill because you wished to avoid meeting him, but I told him that I was sure it was not so. He has lingered here on your behalf, Melissa, but I fear that he was forced to leave not an hour since. A messenger came from the King and he must ride with his men to meet him at Leicester.’

  Melissa felt a rush of relief, but managed to control her satisfaction. ‘I must ask for your pardon, Lady Gifford. I fear it was my fault that we were delayed, and even now I cannot rise from my bed.’

  ‘Well, there is no hurry now,’ her kind hostess said. ‘Leominster will return after the battle is over and the King victorious, I daresay. Besides, as Gifford says, the betrothal may go ahead for someone may stand in as Leominster’s proxy.’

  ‘Ahh…’ Melissa gave a cry of despair and was promptly sick again. The stench was vile and made Lady Gifford retreat towards the door. ‘Forgive me. I am too ill to take part in any ceremony just yet.’

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ her hostess said. ‘Do not worry about it for the moment, Melissa. I shall tell my husband that you must be allowed to rest.’

  Melissa lay back as her hostess left. She was feeling dreadfully ill, but at least she had managed to delay her betrothal for the time being. She would find ways of delaying her marriage—and if in the end they forced her to it, she would take her own life.

  ‘Help me,’ she prayed. ‘Please, help me…’

  Melissa did not know whether her prayers were for God or the man she loved. Seeing Rob for a few minutes at Shrewsbury, had given her hope. She did not know why, because there was no reason that he should help her—and yet she would not give up just yet. Her salvation lay in delay and she would keep to her bed for as long as she could!

  The Stanleys—a family of powerful English lords—had met and conferred with Henry Tudor, but they had refused to promise their help, though they would not oppose him. It was clear that they were still sitting on the fence, waiting to see which side was winning before throwing in their weight.

  However, confidence was growing amongst the men on Henry Tudor’s side. Reports were coming in that some of the lords promised to King Richard had failed to show, and that meant his force was much weaker than it might have been.

  ‘I think it must be soon,’ Owain said to Rob on the evening of the 21st of August. ‘May God bless and keep you, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, and my wishes are the same for you,’ Rob said, and then frowned. ‘There is something I think you ought to know—something your kinswoman Alanna Davies told me when I visited Morgan Hywell at Shrewsbury. Were you aware that Lord Whitbread might have killed his wife? He said that she died of childbed fever—but he beat her and she died of her wounds.’

  ‘Alanna told me,’ Owain said. ‘She saw him leaving her chamber with blood on his hands and she was buried in the crypt at Meresham. It is the reason I have stayed close to Melissa until I was injured—because I have feared that he might do the same to her.’

  ‘Have you considered that Lady Whitbread might still be alive?’

  ‘Elspeth?’ Owain stared at her. ‘He murdered her that night—how can she be alive?’

  ‘Alanna is no longer sure that her kinswoman is dead.’ Rob explained what Alanna had told him and Owain drew his breath sharply, a look of something akin to despair in his eyes. ‘She came to me and told me before I left Shrewsbury. She thought that you would want to know that, and believed I would see you before she does.’

  ‘If God spares me, I shall find her!’ Owain said, his eyes lit by a fervour Rob had not seen in him before. ‘I shall bring her home and somehow the wrongs that have been done her shall be put right. And then I shall kill him!’

  ‘We must hope that we shall both be spared,’ Rob said. ‘Be sure that your enemy is also mine, Owain. I intend that he shall not continue his evil ways for longer than I can help.’

  ‘I pray that we meet in battle,’ Owain said fiercely. ‘I would glory in seeing his blood spilled on the field of battle.’

  ‘Which, if our spies tell us truly, will be on Bosworth Field,’ Rob said, and traced the line of the scar on his cheek with his finger. ‘If Whitbread falls to me I shall not spare him.…’

  ‘You seem much recovered,’ Lady Gifford said as she entered the bedchamber to see Melissa brushing her long hair. The sun was shining in through the small window, which she had opened to let in the warmth for the stout walls of the manor house made it feel cold even in summer.

  ‘Yes, I am better,’ Melissa said, for she could not face making herself sick again, and, besides, had no more of the water that had made her ill. She must make a recovery and hope to find a way to put off her betrothal by other means. ‘I should like to walk in the garden I can see from my window—if that is permitted?’

  ‘You are not a prisoner, my dear,’ Lady Gifford said, though her smile was a little uncertain. ‘At least, you have the freedom of the house and inner courtyard. You may not go outside the walls, of course, though where you would go is a mystery. I think your father and Gifford foolish to imagine that you would try to run away, for where could you go? It is several leagues to the nearest town, and if you sought help in the village they would bring you back to us.’

  ‘Would you help me?’ Melissa asked, because the lady had been kind enough. ‘If I could reach an Abbey the nuns might take me in.’

  ‘I do no
t think so, for the nearest has my husband as their patron. They receive money from his good offices and would not give you sanctuary if he asked for you. I am sorry, Melissa, but I think you must accept your fate. You will find that few will accept you without a dowry, and your father would never release it.’ She gave Melissa a sympathetic look. ‘It will not be so very bad, my dear. I thought I should die when my father promised me to Gifford, but I have born him three sons, though two died in infancy. Now he leaves me to sleep in peace while he sports with his mistress.’ Her mouth tightened and a bitter note crept into her voice. ‘I have learned to find my own pleasures and I daresay you will find that, in time, you may reach a kind of peace, yourself. We must do as we are bid, Melissa, as you know, our male relatives see us as their property and we are powerless.’

  Melissa turned away, fighting her tears. Lady Gifford had allowed a glimpse of her true nature to show through, and she knew she would receive no help from her. She did not wish to live in the way that the older woman had described, nor would she. If she were truly trapped in this place, then she would take her own life.

  ‘You must dress and come down now,’ Lady Gifford told her, a harder tone in her voice as she saw that Melissa was still stubborn. She gave her a straight look. ‘Gifford will delay no longer. Your brother is to stand proxy for Leominster and you will be betrothed this day.’

  Melissa felt as if the noose were closing about her throat. She wanted to run away, but knew that she had little hope of getting very far. She must wait a little longer, form a plan somehow. In the meantime, although binding, a betrothal was not marriage. It would count as nothing if she lay in her grave, though it would stand as a bar between her and Rob if they wished to marry…yet he despised her and it could mean little to him if she were the wife of another man.

  She closed her eyes, and for a moment was swept back to the day when Rob had told her that he wished to marry her. He had stood gazing down into her eyes, his mouth soft and generous, his eyes filled with laughter—and then he had kissed her. ‘I shall love you all my life. No matter what happens…’

  The sweetness of his kiss had made her feel like swooning with happiness and she had nursed her hopes of being with him forever—but then her father had come home and somehow he had known of their secret meetings.

  ‘You will send him away,’ Lord Whitbread had thundered, his hand gripping her arm so tightly that she had cried out in pain. ‘If he dares to come here again, he will die—not quickly by the sword, but slowly and painfully. My torturer knows how to make men suffer…’

  ‘Father, I beg you not to harm him,’ Melissa had cried, tears running down her cheek. ‘Why will you not let me marry Rob? He loves me and I love him…’

  ‘He is the last man I would allow you to marry,’ Lord Whitbread thundered. ‘His father and I…’ He shook his head. ‘That is none of your affair. Listen to me well, Melissa. If you do not send him from you in a way that ensures he never returns, I shall make him suffer and you shall watch.’

  So she had sent him away with cruel words and her brother had scarred him, had beaten him and humiliated him—and now he hated her. It was useless to hope that one day he would come for her, because she had killed his love. There was no one to help her. Only her wits could save her now.

  Melissa was filled with dread as she went down to the great hall where her father’s cousin was standing with Harold and others who would bear witness to the ceremony that day.

  Her heart was beating wildly. She looked about her, feeling close to desperation as she walked to stand next to her half brother before the priest who would hear their vows. Harold had an evil grin on his face and she knew that he was taking pleasure from seeing her forced to do her father’s bidding.

  ‘So, sister,’ he said in gloating fashion. ‘I am to stand proxy for Leominster. Would that I were not forbid you by virtue of blood ties for I would soon teach you to mind me.’

  ‘I would die before I wed you,’ Melissa said, her face pale.

  ‘May I begin?’ the priest asked, and at a nod from the earl, began his intonation, which would bind Melissa to her promised husband. ‘Lady, give me your hand for this ring will seal your promise.’

  ‘No!’ Melissa hid her hand behind her back. ‘I shall not promise. I do not wish for this betrothal and I shall not marry that man…’ She swayed and moaned, feigning faintness. ‘I cannot. I am too ill.…’

  ‘Come, I have no time to waste,’ the Earl of Gifford said, glaring at her. ‘You will do as you are told, girl. I have dallied here too long already. I shall see you take your vows and then I must leave. I gave my word to the King…’

  Even as he spoke a man wearing the livery of Leominster came rushing into the hall. He flung himself on his knees before the earl, clearly near to exhaustion, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.

  ‘My lord! I bring news of a terrible battle four days ago. Alas, Richard has been defeated on Bosworth Field. Henry Tudor has the crown, taken from a thornbush where it lay after the King was slain. They say that all Richard’s friends were killed as they fought to defend him, but that he fought on valiantly until he was slain.’

  ‘God rest his soul!’ the Earl of Gifford said, and looked slightly dazed, as if he were unable to believe what had happened. Indeed, his mind was reeling from the shock, for he was not sure what the news meant. ‘This changes things,’ he declared. ‘We cannot now go through with this betrothal ceremony, Melissa, for your future husband may be dead—or taken as a traitor. We must wait and see what your father would have us do.’

  Melissa felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She was still feeling overwrought and gave a little moan, half swooning into the arms of her ladies in her relief.

  ‘Take the wench out of my sight,’ Gifford said impatiently. ‘I must ride to meet the new King for, unless I make my peace with him, there is no telling what may happen.’

  ‘It was that I came to tell you,’ the messenger said. ‘My master bid me tell you to bring you the news. Henry has sent one of his most trusted officers north to subdue those who might take up arms against him, and he may come here.’

  ‘You have delivered your message,’ Gifford said. He was in a dilemma for he did not know what to do to protect himself and his lands. If he resisted the force Henry Tudor sent against him, he would be branded a traitor and his life might be forfeit—and yet perhaps all was not yet lost. There were others of Plantagenet blood that might be thrust upon the throne by right of force. Henry Tudor had taken it by the sword and he could lose it just as easily. A battle had been fought and the King was dead, but the struggle was not yet over. The upstart Tudor would discover that it was not that easy to subdue England’s nobles. ‘Go now…’

  ‘But, my lord,’ the messenger protested, ‘the Marquis of Leominster begs you ride to him with all your men and help to protect his castle. He says that it would be best for all those loyal to the true successor to make their stand at Leominster, for it will stand a siege better than your house.’

  Who was now the true heir to the throne? Gifford could not say with any certainty. If King Edward’s sons were dead—or bastards as rumour had named them—where should his loyalty now lie? The sons of Richard’s sister, Anne, perhaps or perhaps others with an equal claim—Elizabeth of York, for one.

  With no clear claimant, Gifford decided that his loyalty lay with his own self and no other. He would remain within the fortified manor house that was his home and see what fortune brought.

  Meanwhile, Melissa’s ladies had taken her to her chamber, laying her solicitously on her bed. She recovered as a burnt feather was waved under her nose, sitting up just as Lady Gifford came in.

  ‘Ah, you are better. It was simply a faint—and no wonder. Your brother, Harold, is in a fearful pelter to be gone, for he is wondering what has happened to his father.’

  ‘Yes, I daresay he is anxious,’ Melissa said, putting her feet to the floor. ‘If anything should happen to my father he might be in difficulty�
��unless Father has secured the estate to him.’

  ‘Surely he would not leave it to a bastard?’ Lady Gifford said, and frowned. ‘It should come to you or your children, Melissa. Oh, dear, Gifford is in such a mood and I cannot talk to him. You were not betrothed to Leominster, and yet I have a letter from him, telling me to make you ready for a journey. He wants you to go to him at his castle for he says that Henry will never breach its walls.’

  ‘No, I cannot go,’ Melissa said. ‘We are not betrothed and it would not be fitting. My father would never agree.’

  ‘No, I do not think he would,’ the lady said, and sighed. She felt a surge of impatience as she looked at Melissa. If the wretched girl had done her duty they might have been rid of her long since! ‘Had the ceremony gone ahead I could have sent you for you would have been as good as wed to him, but in the circumstances—’ she shook her head ‘—I do not know what to do. We cannot send you home in these troubled times. Harold might have taken you had he waited but he would not…so I suppose you must stay with us for the moment. I do hope we shall not be under siege for long. It becomes most uncomfortable to say the least.’

  ‘Yes, I daresay,’ Melissa said. She had not experienced it, for her father was too powerful, but she could imagine that it was an unpleasant experience.

  ‘I must go and check our stores,’ Lady Gifford told her with a worried look. ‘The last time Gifford quarrelled with one of his neighbours we were shut up in here for a month and the food was running short—any longer and we might have been eating rats.’

  Melissa shuddered for she could not think of a worse fate. ‘I think I would prefer to be hungry,’ she said.