Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  He was right, and in her heart of hearts she knew it, but she could not admit it to him. Perhaps one day when Delight was restored to her merry self she would, but not now. Fortunately she had not been exposed to Anthony Wyndham since Nyssa’s baptism, when he and Bliss had stood as godparents to the child. My lord Wyndham of Riverside had remained at court amusing himself, and to Blaze’s mind, neglecting his estates and the responsibilities entailed therein. Lady Dorothy had not seen her son in over a year, and it would have been longer had not Doro taken herself to court the summer before. She had returned saying she wasn’t surprised that Tony could not find a wife. The court was full of wantons and flibbertigibbets. The queen was being disgracefully neglected by the king, whose behavior set the tone for the other members of the court. Without Queen Catherine there to set the standards of good behavior, there were none. As for the king himself, and here Dorothy Wyndham rolled her eyes heavenward, he might be a handsome young man, but she questioned his morals. There had been talk of his majesty and Mistress Blount, and his majesty and Mistress Mary Boleyn.

  Because she would go no more to court, Anthony Wyndham was returning home for a visit, for he truly loved his mother. That he had chosen to come in late autumn when the hunting was good did not fail to catch Blaze’s notice. The Earl of Langford chided his wife about her behavior, but Blaze, placing one hand over her belly, waved the other airily. “Fear not, my dear lord, I shall be polite to the villain.”

  He laughed at her. “Sometimes, my sweet, I think that I should beat you.”

  “But you do not, my lord,” she murmured provocatively, sliding easily into his embrace and pressing against him.

  He brushed her lips with his. “Perhaps I am remiss in my husbandly duties, madam,” and he slipped an arm about her still-slender waist.

  “You are never remiss, and I love you, my lord,” Blaze said softly.

  “Once again, my sweet, you have rendered me your captive,” the earl replied gallantly. Then he kissed her with passion, and said as he released her, “I love you too, my beautiful and beloved wife.”

  Anthony Wyndham arrived home without fanfare, riding up to the front door of his uncle’s great house unannounced, and with but a single servant. Dorothy Wyndham, who had been living at her childhood home since before Nyssa’s birth, hurried to greet him. Her face was wreathed in smiles, and she hugged him hard and long in a shameless public show of maternal affection. “So you have come at last,” she declared, her voice husky with emotion, and grinning down at her, he hugged her back.

  He had not changed much, thought Blaze as she watched him entering the Great Hall with his mother. Anthony Wyndham, she decided, positively swaggered. He was as tall as Edmund was, with the same fair skin, but where Edmund’s hair was a warm dark brown, Anthony’s was coal black. It was obvious that the two men were closely related. Both had the same strong jawline, high cheekbones and forehead, but Edmund’s eyes were brown, an inheritance from his mother. Tony’s were a clear, light blue. Wyndham blue. His mouth, which she had previously thought a trifle soft, seemed to have narrowed and hardened, and there was a wary look in his eyes.

  He greeted her graciously enough. “Madam, you grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

  “How easily the flattery trips off your tongue, my lord,” she replied sweetly. “You have truly become the elegant courtier. Welcome back to RiversEdge.”

  He cocked a curious eyebrow, hearing the masked hostility in her voice, but then Edmund was coming into the hall, and he turned his attention to his uncle, forgetting Blaze easily. Anthony would stay at RiversEdge for the next few nights. Then he would escort his mother home, where they would remain until Anthony returned to the court after New Year’s.

  “Do you need a day to rest from your journey, or shall we hunt tomorrow?” asked the earl of his nephew.

  “We’ll hunt, of course!” Tony grinned. “I hunt at court, but ’tis a different game I seek than here at home.”

  “Sweet birds, I’ve not a doubt,” chuckled the earl, “but when will you find one to suit you, and settle down to raise a family? You cannot spend your life at court amusing yourself, Tony.”

  A servant hovered at Lord Wyndham’s elbow with a goblet of fine red wine. He quaffed half the cup thirstily, and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, answered, “I know, Edmund, I know! I must find a wife, and soon, but alas, when I contemplate each lass and consider spending my life with her, I find the thought distasteful. Until I meet a woman who does not affect me that way, I feel I am wisest in remaining a bachelor.”

  “Sometimes a man must take a chance, Tony, as I did with Blaze. I have known nothing but happiness since we wed. Would that you could have my good fortune.”

  “Perhaps that is what keeps me careful, Edmund. I want that kind of happiness. I cannot settle for anything less.”

  “Perhaps, my lord,” said Blaze sharply, “you use that as an excuse to play the bull amongst the court cows. Perhaps you are really enjoying yourself too much to consider that your mother weeps for her unborn grandchildren, and your people are masterless, and Riverside lies dark and empty for want of its lord and his family!”

  Lord Wyndham was surprised by her outburst, but then he laughed, replying, “Blaze Wyndham, you still have your sting as you did the day I escorted you from Ashby, a bride, home to RiversEdge. I am happy to see marriage has not changed you. You scold me harder than my own mother would. I promise you as I promise her that I shall marry as quickly as I can find the right woman.”

  Blaze glowered back at him. She had the distinct feeling that he was mocking her somehow, and she did not like it. Delight was better off without this big and arrogant man, and she would tell her sister that the very next time she saw her. God help the poor woman that Anthony Wyndham finally decided upon, Blaze decided.

  The hunters departed early the next day, leaving shortly before the dawn, and returning just after sunset. Blaze saw that they had cold meats, bread, cheese, and wine to take with them, but they always came home hungry. Finally the night of October thirtieth the earl announced to his wife, “Tomorrow will be our last day of hunting, for Tony must go home to Riverside. He and Doro will leave after the Mass on the Feast of All Saints.”

  “I shall miss Doro,” replied Blaze, snuggling into her husband’s arms. “She is so much a part of our family now. I will be lonely without her.”

  “Will you not miss Tony?” he teased her, kissing her ear.

  Blaze sighed. “Oh, Edmund, I know I am hard on him. I cannot seem to help it. He irritates me, and I do not know why. Aye, I do! There is an arrogance about him. It is subtle, but it is obvious to me, and ’tis like waving a red flag before a bull. That, coupled with his rejection of my sister, makes Tony anathema to me.”

  “He is not really arrogant, Blaze, but I know the attitude of which you speak, and I thought that only I could see it. It stems, I believe, from being the lesser Wyndham. Remember that we were raised together, yet at no time was Tony ever allowed to forget that I was one day to be the Earl of Langford while he would be simply Lord Wyndham of Riverside. Even his own mother, who raised us both, could not forget that gulf between our ranks. Remember, Doro had been born an earl’s daughter. Were Tony not so truly sweet-natured, my darling, there would have been a serious breach and rivalry between us, as there was between my grandfather and his brother, who was Tony’s great-grandfather.”

  “In all the history you have taught me, you have never told me this story,” Blaze said. “I would know this family history so I may pass it on to Nyssa, and to her brother when he is born.”

  “My great-grandfather,” Edmund began, “was Richard Wyndham, the Lord of Riverside. He had two sons, Edward and Henry, born two years apart to the day. From earliest memory the boys were adversaries and rivals, each struggling constantly to overcome the other and emerge triumphant. Of course the elder, Edward, was always given preference over the younger, Henry, as it was Edward who would one day inherit.


  “Then Edward made his mark when at the age of sixteen he saved the life of King Henry, the fifth of that name, in the battle that was fought between the English and the French at Agincourt. It was immediately after the battle that the king created him Earl of Langford and awarded him the lands that are ours today. Those lands belonged to an heiress, Cecily de Bohun, to whom the king also married my grandfather. Since the bride was only three at the time, it was some years before the marriage was consummated. My father was their third son. The elder two died. One of a spotting sickness, and the other in the Holy Land fighting the infidels.

  “But I digress, my sweet. When my grandfather was made Earl of Langford in his own right, his brother despaired, for how would he ever overcome his sibling now? It was my great-grandfather, Richard, who saw the solution. Riverside was not entailed upon the eldest son, and so he asked his elder son to forfeit his natural right and let him leave his estate to the younger. To this my grandfather agreed, for despite the rivalry that existed between the brothers, they loved one another, and that is how there came to be two branches of the family. The brothers remained friendly rivals their whole lives long, but there was no real animosity between them, for each had his fair portion.

  “The families have always been close, and the marriage of my half-sister, Dorothy, to Anthony’s father cemented the relationship for this generation. Tony and I have always spoken of wedding our children to each other one day, but now it seems as if that is not possible.”

  “Until Tony takes a wife it is not possible,” said Blaze, and she turned onto her side, pressing herself spoon fashion against her husband, for she was more comfortable that way.

  “Forget my nephew,” he said, nuzzling her neck as his hand moved around her to cup her full breasts. “I’d far rather amuse myself with these sweet little apples than talk.”

  “Must you hunt tomorrow?” she asked him. “It was cold today, and I think it will rain soon. I do not want you catching a chill, for then we shall all catch it,” she murmured sleepily, enjoying his fondling.

  “Perhaps I shall tell Tony I prefer to stay at home tomorrow,” Edmund said, feeling her relaxing into sleep against him.

  “Hmmmmmmm,” was her reply, and he smiled in the darkness.

  In the morning, however, a pale lemon-colored sun shone weakly from the sky, and when the earl allowed that perhaps they should stay at home, Anthony mocked his uncle gently.

  “Come, Edmund, are you growing old that you would sit by the fire with your wife rather than stalk the red deer within your forest?”

  Edmund laughed, and said ruefully to his wife, “I cannot let this stripling nephew of mine put a gray beard on me yet, Blaze. I see no sign of rain. We will be back before sunset, my sweet,” and bending to kiss her, he left the hall with Tony.

  The day continued to glow wanly, and Blaze began to think that her husband had been right. It was All Hallows’ Eve, and in a corner of the Great Hall Maisie sat telling Nyssa the very same ghost stories that Old Ada used to tell Blaze and her sisters. Nyssa’s eyes were round with interest. Lady Dorothy sat working upon the tapestry of Jesus blessing the Wedding Feast at Cana that she had been working on since her son went to court. She intended it as a wedding gift for her son and the bride he finally chose, but the beautiful tapestry was nearly done.

  When Blaze heard the sound of the autumn rain against the windows of the Great Hall she felt no satisfaction. If he caught an ague he would get no sympathy from her. Putting her feet up on a stool, she dozed lightly by the warm fire, only awakening when the sounds of men and horses and dogs came from outside the house. Slowly she opened her eyes and stretched.

  Anthony Wyndham came into the hall. He was pale and haggard-looking. “Mother . . .” he half-sobbed, “Mother! Edmund is dead!”

  Dorothy Wyndham leapt up with an agility surprising for a lady of her age. Her hands were pressed to her heart as if she were attempting to keep it from leaping out of her chest. “God have mercy, my son! Tell me that I did not hear you aright!”

  Blaze struggled to her feet, and half-staggered across the hall. “Where is Edmund?” she demanded of Anthony. “Where is my husband?”

  Lord Wyndham came slowly forward, and taking her hands in his said, “There is no gentle way to say this, Blaze. Edmund is dead. We were on our way home, for it had begun to rain, and Edmund said he dared not catch a chill lest you scold him. It had been a poor day’s hunting, and he was teasing me that we would have been better off by your fire than being frozen for naught.” Lord Wyndham’s voice faltered, and he half-sobbed on, “Without any warning a stag raced out of the forest directly in front of Edmund’s horse, and the dogs went wild and broke. The horse reared up suddenly, and Edmund was thrown from the beast. His neck was broken, and he died instantly. Ohh, Blaze! I am so sorry!”

  For a long minute the impact of his words did not hit her, but when they did her pain was terrible. Her legs felt like jelly, and yet she somehow stood firm. For a time she did not think that she could breathe, but then she saw Anthony standing before her, the tears running down his face. A fierce black anger rose up in Blaze, and she slapped his face with all the strength that was in her.

  “You!” she hissed furiously at him. “You are responsible for this, Anthony Wyndham! You have killed my husband as surely as if you stabbed him in the heart! You have killed my Edmund!” she shrieked, and then she began to beat him with clenched fists about the chest and head.

  He was helpless against her terrible accusation and, unable to move, he stood there taking the punishment until finally Lady Dorothy, recovering from her initial shock, ran forward to pull Blaze away from her son. Angrily Blaze turned her fury upon her sister-in-law, lashing out at her with both her fists and her tongue, while Maisie clasped the frightened Nyssa to her ample bosom and the others in the Great Hall stood by watching in horror.

  “Do not protect him, Doro! Do not protect him! He has killed my husband! He has killed Edmund!”

  “Nay, Blaze,” cried Lady Dorothy, dodging the blows and attempting to gather the grief-stricken younger woman into her embrace. “It was a terrible accident. An accident! No one is to blame.” The tears were pouring down her cheeks. She had taken her infant brother from the midwife when he had been born, and his natural mother, her stepmother, had died. Though she was but twelve at the time, she had raised him as if he had been her very own son, and now he was dead. Gone from them, never to return. Dorothy Wyndham never even felt the tears that ran down her cheeks.

  As the first wave of her grief began to recede, Blaze ceased the physical assault of Lady Dorothy. Her tongue, however, continued to score Anthony. “Your son is indeed to blame for my husband’s death,” Blaze declared. “Edmund would never have gone hunting today but that Tony teased him into it by impugning his manhood!” She whirled to face her enemy. “I could kill you for this!” she shrieked. “I could kill you, Anthony Wyndham!” Then suddenly she went white, and gasping as she doubled over, she clasped at her belly. “The baby! I am losing my baby! Ohhh, God curse you, Tony! God curse you!” she wept as she collapsed upon the floor.

  Finally galvanized into action, the servants rushed to aid their countess. Gently they picked the fallen woman up, tenderly carrying her to her chamber to place her upon her bed. Heartha and Lady Dorothy hurried to help Blaze, pulling her bodice off, pulling her skirts off to see the stains of blood and birthing fluid upon the white fabric of her petticoats. Both women were weeping profusely at this terrible tragedy made doubly worse by the fact that the child Blaze miscarried of was indeed the son she had predicted she would bear. A tiny, perfectly formed little boy too small and too fragile to survive outside of his mother’s womb after but six months in it.

  Anthony, learning of it, groaned and tore at his garments in his grief. Edmund’s son! Edmund’s long-awaited heir was as dead as his father. “Blaze?” he asked his mother. “How is Blaze?”

  “She will survive to bear other children for another husband,” said Lady Dorothy, a
nd then it was that she saw with shock the naked truth upon his face. “God have mercy,” she whispered. “That is why you have not been able to decide upon a wife, my son. You love her! You are in love with your uncle’s wife!”

  “My uncle’s widow,” he said low.

  “She despises you, my son.”

  “In time I will teach her to love me, Mother, for I have loved her since the day I first laid eyes upon her,” replied Anthony Wyndham.

  “God help you, Tony,” said his mother. “It will take a miracle now to bring about what you so desperately desire.”

  “My lord earl. My lord earl,” came the voice of the household’s majordomo more insistently. “What orders would you give for Lord Edmund’s body?”

  For a moment Anthony Wyndham looked uncomprehendingly into the face of the upper servant, and then it came to him that he was now the Earl of Langford. Shocked, he found he could not speak.

  “Take my brother’s body, and lay it out in the family chapel,” said Lady Dorothy. “Then send Father Martin to me immediately.”

  “Very good, m’lady,” replied the majordomo, backing off.

  “Anthony! Get a hold of yourself this minute!” she said sharply to her son. “There is no help for it! You are indeed the fourth Earl of Langford, and as such it is to you that your people look. Edmund’s death and the miscarriage of his son will bring great sadness to Langford and its people. You are now their leader, and as such you may grieve, but you may not show that grief, lest you distress the people even further. It is to you that Langford people will now look for guidance. A ruler must be strong, for the people are weak!”

  There was a long silence, and then Anthony Wyndham raised his head. His eyes were sad, but their look was resolute. His voice when he spoke was now firm. “I’ll send a messenger to Ashby. The Morgans will want to be with Blaze now in her mourning.”

  Lady Dorothy nodded approvingly.