Cloistered Bride

by Ling, Maria

  Cloistered Bride

  by Maria Ling

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Maria Ling

  Cover image copyright Evgesha - Fotolia.com

  Published by Byrnie Publishing

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ***

  CHAPTER 1

  "In life as in chess, the king may never be taken." Richard struck beads of water from his leather cape. He'd greased it with tallow from last night's candle end, hoped his funds would suffice for a new candle this evening. If he gambled wisely, he might just come out ahead. "But at least in chess a man can get close."

  They'd spent months like this, he and Ralph. Trailing after the king's court through fair weather and foul, offering bribes and prayers for the chance of a brief audience. If they could only gain admittance to the king's presence, they'd plead for pardon, vow eternal allegiance, beg for scraps from the royal hand. Because they had nothing left now, either of them.

  They'd lost everything in supporting the empress. Who had conceded defeat, and was living quietly in Normandy, while those who'd fought for her languished in the shadow of the king's displeasure. Tracked after him through slurried roads and crowded rooms, fought over lodgings by fist and by sword, scattered tips and handpresses to reach the chamber next to the king's, where his favourites lounged by the fire. Where men of importance gathered, and gambled at high stakes, and made or destroyed lesser men with a word.

  "Don't say that where they can hear." Ralph glanced at the richly dressed figures seated near the glowing logs, sheltered by the bodies of poorer men from the draft from windows and outer door. "If we're in attendance, that's enough. He'll see us eventually."

  They both studied the assembled crowd. A multitude of anxious faces, tense bodies straining to move. The tedium of waiting got on everyone's nerves.

  "Maybe," Ralph amended. "Tomorrow, or next week."

  "Or next year," Richard said.

  "That's right. A bit of optimism. Just what we need."

  Richard kicked his friend on the shin.

  A stir by the inner door startled them all into fine postures and attentive expressions. A footman elbowed his way through the throng, pushed a scroll at one of the messengers along with curt instructions, fended off pleas and threats and proffered coins on his way back to the king's own sanctum.

  The messenger swept up the hood of his cloak, threw open the outer door and stared into the rattling sleet for a moment, then strode out and slammed the door shut behind him. Snickers wandered across the company, but then faded.

  "At least we're in the dry," Ralph commented. "That's favour enough for the moment."

  "Better than the alternative," Richard agreed.

  One of the favourites set up the chess board for a new game. Men bargained for the right to play.

  Richard stayed well out of that. He didn't care for chess, it ran too slow and methodical for his tastes. He preferred dice, or would if he had money to gamble. As it was, he could at least make an intelligent assessment of each player's skill and foresight, and choose his bets with care.

  Not that he was free in that matter, either. He mustn't seem afraid to lose. If anyone discovered he owned nothing beyond the clothes he wore and the horse he kept stabled at the cheap inn where he and Ralph shared a bed, he'd be out in the sleet so fast he'd hit next spring.

  At least the inn itself was not to his discredit. Having found a room at all set the pair of them high on the list of men to watch.

  Though 'found' wasn't quite the right word. Someone else had got there first. They'd left him bruised and bleeding in the slurried street. Richard hoped, with a faint twinge of conscience, that he wasn't there still.

  "Ten marks says the marshal wins." A portly baron with broken teeth and slanted nose, memories of a fighting past, grinned at Richard, who flinched. Ten marks was a fortune he didn't have.

  "Ten on the earl," Richard replied, with what he hoped was the appearance of equanimity.

  "I'll have ten on the marshal, too." Ralph, loyal friend that he was, moved to cover him. "Any takers?"

  Richard glanced around with his best impression of bored indifference. After some back-and-forth, Ralph found a lanky knight in the earl's following, probably one hoping to gain favour with his lord by a show of faith.

  So they should be quits, unless one of their respective gamblers refused to pay. That could happen, too. It was never good to be the lower-ranked man in that situation. He and Ralph were among the dregs.

  "On second thoughts," the portly baron said, "let's make it twenty."

  Richard winced.

  "Unless that's too much spice for your wine," the baron added with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

  Richard prayed his tunic didn't look too worn. He kept the cape on withindoors, not only because of the throng and the possibility of theft, but to avoid close inspection of his apparel. Thank the saints it was autumn, and a wet and chilly one too.

  "I'll take twenty," Richard said in as smooth a tone as he could manage, and surreptitiously nudged Ralph's elbow.

  "Twenty suits me," Ralph said, but the knight declined with a mild laugh.

  They were for it, then, if he lost. Richard didn't have ten marks to his name, even if he sold horse and clothes together it would not come to that. And then it would be him out there in the sleet, bruised and bleeding. With no future at all.

  "Check," the marshal said, and Richard invented some new oaths.

  The inner door opened. A footman beckoned to the earl, who murmured an apology to his opponent and then disappeared into the king's presence.

  "The wager stands at sixty marks," the marshal said, smirking over that ugly cross-shot of queen and bishop. "Anyone may take it at double that."

  "Go on, young man." The baron shoved Richard in the small of the back. "Make a little fortune to tide you over." He snickered.

  "Don't," Ralph said in an urgent tone.

  "I'll take it." A broad-shouldered man pushed his way to the table. "Got the king's blessing to marry the Yarves heiress, that's worth a hundred and forty."

  "It is," the portly baron confirmed. "I hold the wardship."

  "I'm married," the marshal said with a smile.

  The broad-shouldered man shrugged. "Sell her on to someone else."

  "Any takers for her at a hundred and fifty?" The marshal glanced around the room.

  "This young man is good for that." The baron shoved Richard forward. Richard drew breath for a protest, but the words died in his throat as all the favourites turned to study him.

  The marshal gave a short laugh. "With what you're wearing, I doubt you can raise a shilling for the inn."

  "I pay my debts," Richard said. "Many men here can witness to that." He caught the eye of a man he'd diced with the evening before. The man nodded.

  One of the favourites, a baron in fur trim and velvet, said: "Two hundred marks says he doesn't have the money."

  "I'll take it," the broad-shouldered man replied.

  "Not in coin," Richard said. "Couple of good horses with tack and armour, fur stole, dagger set with ruby, gold rings." It was nearly true. One of the horses belonged to Ralph, the stole didn't have any fur left on it, the ruby and rings were long since gone, and the dagger was safe in a pawn shop. But it was his in law.

  "I can witness for that,"
Ralph said, his voice hoarse.

  "I'll take it, then," the marshal said.

  The broad-shouldered man settled at the table. Richard began to pray.

  "I've heard about you." The portly baron nudged Richard, who only just managed to restrain a punch. "Sided with Robert of Gloucester during the war. Lost your family lands. A nice juicy inheritance would be just the thing for you, wouldn't it?"

  "It would," Richard said, and clenched his teeth tight.

  "Good land," the baron said. "Unravaged. Profitable. I kept it out of the fighting."

  "I congratulate you," Richard said with an effort. "That must have cost."

  "Doesn't everything?"

  "And now you want me to have it." Richard frowned, and watched the baron with renewed attention. "Why?"

  "Able young man," the baron replied. Sharp eyes glittered in the puffy face. "Know how to handle yourself in a crisis. Of course, with your loyalty in question -- "

  "Not a bit of it," Richard said hastily. "I was misled for a while, I admit, but I am here to offer the king my most humble and abject repentance. Nothing could turn me aside now."

  "That's good to hear," the baron said. He murmured something in his companion's ear. One of the earl's attendants, Richard recalled. The man studied Richard for a moment, then shrugged at the baron, who slipped a few coins across so smoothly that Richard only just caught the glint of gold. The man rose without apparent haste, strode over to the inner door and swapped remarks with one of the guards, then returned. The guard disappeared within.

  "Check," the marshal said again. Richard sweated and prayed.

  The inner door opened. "Richard Kelscott," the footman called.

  Richard stood dumbfounded, until the baron gave him a shove. "That's you."

  "God bless you," Ralph muttered. "Do me proud."

  Richard tottered through the crush, ignored the pleas and threats but took the coins, nodded promise to demands he couldn't hear. Escaped at last into the cool quiet within, churchlike, scented with rosewater.

  Stephen lounged against a row of cushions, nodding as the earl counted names off one finger after another. Richard bowed deep, then waited. And waited. Neither of the two men of power seemed inclined to notice him.

  Through the door he heard, muffled, the measured exchanges of bored men. He strained for any hint of jeering, anything that could tell him the game was over and lost. One hundred and fifty marks, he must have been crazy. Ralph would kill him when they got out of here. If they got out.

  "So." Stephen turned his attention to Richard. "I am told you are most eager for admittance. Why are you here?"

  "To offer my services, of course." Richard bowed again. Always safest to make sure. "Anything I may do to further the interest of my king, I'll do gladly."

  "Seems a recent conversion," Stephen said. "I recall you held a castle for the empress, and killed the man I sent to take it from you."

  "I was wrong," Richard said, adding his third bow. "My only excuse is that of loyalty. I was raised as squire in the household of a lord who was loyal to Robert of Gloucester. I grew up regarding him as my overlord. When he chose to serve the empress, I did not properly think through the rights of the matter. No one can doubt that God has favoured Your Grace's claim, and turned His face against the lady of the -- I mean, the empress." That title, Lady of the English, would not go down well in here. "Which means I chose to stand against God as well as my own lawful king. Your Grace may be assured that I have confessed and done penance for this great sin."

  "Yes. Well." Stephen exchanged a dubious glance with the earl. "I am minded to be merciful. It is time such divisions within my kingdom were finally healed. Serve me well, and you will not find me ungenerous." He glanced at the earl again. "What were those lands worth?"

  "A pittance. Six or seven marks a year."

  "Enough to make the difference between penury and suitable living for a knight." Stephen turned ruthless eyes on Richard. "I have a task for you. The empress's son Henry is once more in England, on a visit to Carlisle. My spies tell me that he means to make contact with some of his mother's former allies on his way back to Normandy. If he strays at all, I want him caught and killed. And if he moves to meet certain men in particular, part of his route lies across lands that once belonged to you. Since you know the area, you will set a trap for him."

  "If I might have my lands back," Richard said, "nothing could be simpler than to pose as a supporter of his treasonous cause."

  "Giving them back would be too generous," Stephen said. "But you may occupy them in person, as if they had been restored. Flaunt it a little. Say you spoke sweetly to me, but your heart never wavered. And so on." He leaned forward. "Do not for an instant consider yourself free in this matter. You return there on my sufferance, to accomplish the task I have set you. If you turn, or show the least sign of turning, I will have you executed. Understand?"

  "Perfectly," Richard said. "I hope to prove myself Your Grace's most loyal and most abject servant."

  "Do that," Stephen said. He leaned back against the cushion, studied Richard for a moment longer, then waved a negligent hand. "Go."

  "With Your Grace's permission," Richard faltered. "I shall not be any better trusted among the Angevins than I am here. There will be men to convince. Gifts to make."

  Stephen sighed. "Oh, very well. How much do you want?"

  "Two hundred marks." It was as high as he dared to go.

  A cheer went up from the outer room. Richard slipped back into prayer.

  "Give him three hundred," Stephen told the earl. "And set a couple of men to dog his every step."

  "It will be done," the earl said.

  Richard withdrew with a final bow, and slammed into the heat and noise outside.

  "Congratulations." The marshal smirked at him from over a cleared board. In the background, Ralph stood haggard and pale. "You've just bought yourself a wife."

  "Any takers?" Richard asked, glancing around the company. Scattered jeers greeted him, and the velvet-clad baron held his palm out to the broad-shouldered man.

  "I think we'd all like to see you married," the marshal said. Iron rang under the affable tone.

  "The earl will settle with you for a hundred and fifty." Richard jabbed his thumb in the direction of the door behind him. "I find I need those horses after all." Over by the far wall, Ralph quietly edged towards the outer door, making ready for a quick getaway.

  "Nonsense," the portly baron called out. "You'll stay here and marry the girl." He dissolved with laughter, blurring his next remark into incomprehensibility. By the sound of it, he'd been at the wine.

  "I think you will stay," the marshal said. He shot the blithering baron a glare of disgust, then turned to the broad-shouldered man. "Where is she?"

  "At a convent. Shouldn't take more than a week to get her here."

  "I agreed to cash the right to marry her," Richard said. "At no time did I say I would marry her myself."

  "I think you did," the marshal said, inexorably.

  "I heard it," the broad-shouldered man said.

  "And me!" yelled the portly baron. "Heard him say a lot about what he'd do to her on the wedding night, too."

  Richard quailed. Every man among them had wealth and power and the king's ear. If they chose to sport with him, he had no chance at all. They could destroy him for amusement, and he had no defence.

  "Let the king decide," the velvet-clad man suggested. "He gave his blessing in the first place."

  "Suits me," said the broad-shouldered one. "Though I won't pay for her twice." He grinned at Richard, unpleasantly. "If you gift her back to me, that might buy you a little favour some time. Maybe. If I remember your face."

  "No need," Richard said. Over by the door, Ralph slumped against the wall. "I'm good for a hundred and fifty in coin. And I'll marry her."

  The inner door opened, and the earl emerged. He shot one cold look at the broad-shouldered man, who hastily vacated the seat by the board.

  "We
were at sixty," the earl said.

  "New game?" the marshal offered. "Kelscott carried your losses."

  "Indeed?" The earl turned to give Richard an appreciative nod. "Decent of you."

  "A great pleasure, for so illustrious a servant of the king," Richard said.

  "You'll settle up before you leave, then."

  Richard drew breath, and commended his soul to God and the saints. "If I might prevail upon one so far above myself...I am a little short of ready coin."

  "Ah." The earl laughed. "Those 'gifts', yes. I'll settle it."

  "One hundred and fifty marks," Richard said. "The rest I'll take, if I may."

  "Really?" The earl gave him another, longer, look.

  "He's getting married," the marshal said. "To the Yarves heiress."

  "Nice to get her off at last." The earl opened the game. "She's been passed around for a while."

  "We all heard him give his word," the velvet-clad man added in triumph.

  "And plenty more," the portly baron sniggered. "He's got imagination, that boy."

  "Well, I hope he enjoys her." The earl flicked a glance at the marshal. "A hundred marks says he marries her within the week."

  "I'll take it."

  Richard quelled a whimper.

  The earl beckoned to one of his armed guards, gave him a whispered order, then turned back to the game. The man grabbed one of his fellows and passed on the word. The pair of them strode out into the drenched street.

  "Rain's clearing," the earl observed, watching the sleet pour through the open door.

  Richard caught the hint. "I will take this moment to return to my lodgings. Good day to you all." His back creaked with all the bowing.

  "I'll attend the wedding," the portly baron called out. "She's my ward, after all. Anyone else want to come and see her bedded?" Laughs and jeers, but no takers.

  "You may have company on the way," the earl said. "I'm sending a couple of men on other business. They'll ride with you as far as the convent." He shot Richard a sharp look. "Bring her back with you. Ladies like to be introduced at court. I'll see what I can spare out of those 'gifts' by way of a wedding present to her when she arrives."