The Lode Stone

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  The image she suggested stilled me. She nodded, satisfied. “Even a lord must wait on a beautiful woman.”

  I gave a shaky laugh. As if Lord Charles cared about my looks. Lord Roland, however... I sat back down.

  “Your mother will greet him.” Elise calmly continued with her braiding.

  This time I did not laugh. My mother was seldom stern, most of the time she was honey-sweet and agreeable. But when she put her foot down and straightened her back, I could not imagine even Lord Charles opposing her. He would wait until I came down and not even consider objecting.

  I breathed in as much as I could with my kirtle bound so snugly, and felt myself actually relaxing. Elise fastened the braids around my head and pinned my lace hood neatly over them. She stepped back with a small curtsey as I rose.

  She did not curtsey to me often, this formidable maid. I nodded, accepting her unspoken encouragement. The look in her eyes, the look every woman knows, caught me short.

  I am a wealthy widow, I thought suddenly. A wave of coldness rolled over me, making me shudder. What if Lord Roland had not come with his brother? Had not been invited? I turned my head to escape my maid’s knowing look, but the fear had been sewn. Lord Charles was my lord. Was he coming to let me know he had arranged a marriage for me? Perhaps to some soldier he wanted to reward for his service? I had been widowed for well over a year, longer if you counted the two years Lord Charles had spent guarding Acre before he came home with the news of Simon’s death. My mourning period had been observed. I put my hand to my breast, struggling to breathe.

  “Du courage, Madame,” Elise murmured. “It will not do to greet him pale and trembling.” She poured a cup of wine from the jug on the table and handed it to me.

  I gulped it down. “I am only... I have only had an unpleasant thought,” I said. I took a deep breath and raised my chin, meeting her eyes with a determined smile. “Thank you,” I said.

  She held up a finger, observing my appearance critically. “You should have a jeweled clasp,” she said.

  Jewelry. I had no jewelry. No one had bought me any jewels, certainly Simon had not been able to. But he had made me a fine gold brooch for my wedding gift, with a cunning image of a pheasant embossed upon it. It may not have jewels to brighten it but it was as finely crafted as any gold brooch worn by a queen. I went to the drawer in my wardrobe where I kept it, but then I hesitated. Did I want to be wearing Simon’s brooch if Lord Charles had come to assess my holdings? It was bad enough if he wanted to judge my ability to pay his rent, as I feared at first, but even worse if he intended to marry me off. If Lord Charles was here to measure my wealth, the gold brooch would not be part of it. That would go to Alys from her father before any scheming soldier or potential ally of Lord Charles claimed my property.

  I shook my head, leaving my gold brooch where it was. It was not from costly jewelry that I would gain confidence to face whatever the night would bring. I smoothed down the silk folds of my kirtle. “I will visit my children before I go down. Please tell Maman I will be there directly.” Elise nodded approvingly. She was not one to cosset men.

  When I opened the nursery door Alys and Guarin were already sitting at their dinner. “Maman!” Alys cried, leaping up to run to me despite her nursemaid’s frown. “Maman!” Guarin echoed, tumbling from his chair to the floor in his hurry. He picked himself up and raced to me.

  I bent down, enfolding them both in my arms. They had always been with me in my old house, underfoot while I made our dinner, their voices coming through the window to cheer me while I washed the laundry, their soft sweet breathing rising from the mat across the room we all slept in together. I wanted to apologize for how little I saw them now, but Guarin lisped, “Maman, Maman!” wriggling in my arms till I loosened my hold on him. “Maman! We have pigeon and a fish pie, and a berry pastie, and MARZAPANE!” His voice rose to a squeal of delight. “Come and see!” He grasped two fingers of my hand and pulled me across the room.

  “I rode my pony today,” Alys said excitedly as we went to see their fine dinner. “He trotted. It was very bumpy but I held on tightly and did not even fall off. Not once! Did you have a pony Maman? Did you ride it as well as I ride my pony, Maman?”

  “I rode a pony,” I told her. “Just like you. But it was not my pony.”

  “But this is my pony, Maman, is it not?” she asked anxiously.

  “It is,” I said.

  “I want a pony,” Guarin pouted.

  “When you are as old as Alys you will have one. Show me what you are eating, Guarin. Is that really marzapane?”

  “It is, it is!” he hopped half-way around the table, then back to his chair which the nursemaid had righted, ready for him to climb back onto. I felt almost like joining his little dance. I had only tasted marzapane once, when our cook went all out to keep his job on our first dinner here. It was a delightful confection of eggs and sugar and almonds, flavored with rosewater. Far too expensive for any but special occasions. Maman had almost fired him for the extravagance, but I had insisted he be retained.

  “You must eat your fish pie first,” I told Guarin. He promptly grabbed the biggest pie and stuffed it into his mouth as far as it would go.

  “Guarin, you little pig!” cried Alys.

  I left them both to the remonstrances of their nursemaid, Guarin for gobbling his food and Alys for her language.

  At the door I paused, watching them eat happily. They did not know, and I could not tell them, that tonight their world would change once again. My heart ached at their vulnerability. No matter what happened, I vowed I would shield and defend them to my last breath. I closed the door quietly behind me. Home is where you are loved, I whispered under my breath, loving them fiercely with everything that was in me.

  ***

  Lord Charles turned as I entered the hall from the stairway. Two of his guards stood attentively at the front door as though someone might burst through and attack their lord. I wanted to find it absurd but they looked natural there, in this great hall, as though their absence rather than their presence should look odd. It made me wonder where my own guard was and why I had never thought to have him stand at my door. Not that he would, or could, have kept this dangerous group of men out.

  I anxiously scanned Lord Charles’ retinue as they stood drinking cups of hot mead in front of the fire. Lord Roland was not among them. Four of the men appeared to range in age from their early twenties to their late thirties. They were dressed well but not as richly as Lord Charles—his soldiers, perhaps? Comrades-in-arms who had earned his favor? The fifth figure was an old man who leered back at me in a way that made me feel ill. I quickly turned back to Lord Charles.

  “Your time was well spent,” Lord Charles said, taking me in from my headdress to the hem of my kirtle. He looked surprised but pleased.

  I flushed. Did he think only noble women could be beautiful? Simon had often told me I was the most beautiful creature he had ever clapped eyes on. Trust Simon to call me a creature, but the look in his eyes had exonerated the clumsiness of his speech. I did not want this man to find me attractive, however. I wished I had spent less time letting Elise fuss over my appearance.

  “My Lord,” I said, bending into a deep curtsey, which caused him to look even more surprised.

  I bore it, reminding myself that my goal was to make him agreeable. Perhaps Roland had already spoken to him, and he had come himself to decide whether I would make a suitable match for his brother. I hoped that was so, but I knew in my heart that if it were, Roland would be here with him.

  Nevertheless I enquired after his mother’s health, and then after his brother, Lord Roland.

  “Well, well,” he said impatiently of both of them. He looked at me closely. “Perhaps you have heard, Madame, Lord Roland has become engaged to the Duchess Eloise, a younger daughter of Duke Eduard du Lyons.”

  I stared at him, speechless.

  Maman handed me a cup of warm mead along with a hard look. I sipped it, keeping my eyes low
ered, overwhelmed with a terrible dizziness, the talk around me a buzzing in my ears.

  Maman cleared her throat. “You must congratulate Lord Roland for us,” she said in a voice like steel.

  I took another drink, letting the honey-sweet ale revive me. “It is an excellent match,” I said. I forced myself to look up at Lord Charles, clear-eyed and calm. He nodded curtly. I saw in his eyes an inexplicable expression...bitterness? Envy? Disgust? It was gone before I could identify it.

  “Shall we dine?” Lord Charles extended his arm. I lay my hand lightly upon it, letting him guide me to the dinner table. This condescension of his worried me more than anything so far. He could not believe us equals. It was not in him to overlook my birth, no matter that his mother was also a commoner. He was testing me, but I had no idea why, or how, and most of all whether I should wish to pass.

  Behind us, the elderly man extended his arm to my mother. His face was sour as she lay her hand upon his arm, her back straight and her expression forbidding. He led her to a seat several chairs down from the head of the table, and left her to seat herself. Charles had taken the chair at the head of the table, with me on his right. The old man made haste to settle into the chair beside me before any of the younger men could claim it.

  The conversation at dinner was all about hunting, jousting, and fighting. Maman and I said little, listening with our best pretense of interest as the six men vied with each other to tell the most self-flattering tales of their escapades in these sports. Even the old man pitched in, telling stories that must have occurred thirty years ago as if they had happened yesterday.

  Somehow my mother had managed to find a musician. His lute was slightly out of tune and his voice cracked at the higher notes when he tried to add words to his melodies, but it did not matter greatly; he could hardly be heard over the stories and guffaws of Lord Charles and his friends. Their voices grew more raucous and their jokes more bawdy as they drank my wine and stuffed themselves with the rich feast at my table.

  It was all a blur to me. I saw only Lord Roland’s face, bending toward mine. “I have something to say to you,” he had murmured. I thought then that he meant to declare himself, but now I realized the truth. I was not wealthy enough for Roland. Whether the match had been his idea or his brother’s, he had agreed to it. He had not fought for me. Lord Barnard had married for love; his sons would not make that mistake.

  Well. I bit my tongue and raised my chin proudly. I had had my love. Simon would not have given me up for a queen, let alone the younger daughter of a duke. Most women never know such love.

  The sky was dark gray through the windows and the servants had lit the lamps along the walls when Lord Charles pushed aside his trencher. At once my serving maids removed the trenchers from our places and began to clear away the platters of food while the cook brought in his masterpiece, the marzapane, cunningly shaped into the image of Lord Charles’ castle. He set it on the table before Lord Charles. The old man smacked his lips and the young men’s eyes lit up. Charles gave me another glance of unwelcome approval. He leaned forward, cut a great slice with his knife, and ate it with evident pleasure as the rest of us took portions for ourselves.

  I had already over-eaten out of nervousness, but could not resist taking a large piece of the marzapane. It was sweet and light as a cloud of sugar, the rich almond flavor enhanced with the sweet scent of summer roses. I closed my eyes, all fear of Charles’ motive for coming temporarily lost in the heavenly flavors melting in my mouth.

  Lord Charles cleared his throat. “And now to the purpose of my visit,” he said grandly. My eyes shot open, the marzapane suddenly tasteless as I swallowed it down. Charles tapped his cup and raised it. The servers hurried to fill it and those of everyone at the table. I held mine up stiffly. Under the table, the old man’s hand stole onto my thigh and squeezed. I jerked my legs sideways, trying not to gag as I stared at Lord Charles. Surely not. Surely he did not hate me enough to give me to this disgusting old man. I would not let him. I would leave this house and all he had given me rather than be a suitable bride for this half-dead lecher.

  A vision of my children came to me, their eyes dancing as they showed me their fine dinner. Oh God, what could I do? I hated him, this man with such power over me and my children.

  Charles turned on me a smile that did not reach his eyes. I sat beside him unable to breathe, waiting for his next words. Perhaps he was here to throw us out of this house. Or to take back his quarry; he must have heard how well it was doing. Or to demand his rent immediately. Please, please, let it be about the rent!

  “I have decided to marry our hostess, Madame Melisende.” His lips curled into a moue of distaste as he said “Madame,” a commoner’s title. But he caught himself and turned it into a smile of benevolence. I waited, as cold as the stones in my quarry, to hear the name of the man he intended to marry me to.

  “Have you nothing to say, Madame?” he demanded as the silence lengthened.

  “To whom are you considering marrying me, my Lord?” I stammered.

  He stared at me, astonished, then gave a shout of laughter. “I am considering marrying you. Myself!” He gave me a look of condescension. Behind that, in the depth of his eyes and the twist of his smile, I saw something else, something cold and angry—the same expression I had seen earlier when I congratulated him on his brother’s noble match.

  My cup fell from my hand and clattered to the floor, spilling wine over my feet and onto the rushes. I pushed back my chair, which fell to the floor behind me, and ran from the room. Elise met me on the stairs where I knelt retching, having made it out of their sight but not out of their hearing.

  Chapter Twelve: Haunted

  “I will not marry Lord Charles!”

  Maman studied me, her lips pursed. “Your father and I have done you a disservice, daughter,” she said at last. “Letting you believe you could have a say in your life. While we had no property or position none cared who you married. You father could indulge you all he wished and we wanted you to be happily wed, as we were. But you are clever enough to know the daughters of the wealthy fare very differently.”

  “Should I have refused the quarry and let my children starve?”

  She looked at me levelly, not answering.

  “I will give back the quarry!”

  “You will do no such thing. You will do nothing to insult or publicly repudiate the Lord of our region.” She spoke quietly but her voice had steel in it. I stopped weeping and raised my head.

  “That is better. If you wish to prevent this marriage you will have to be more clever than a petulant child.”

  I wiped my eyes. “You believe I can prevent it?”

  “Not if he truly wants it.” Her left eyebrow quirked upward.

  I blinked. Even though my cheeks were still wet, I began to smile. “But why would he announce his intention when he does not want to marry me?”

  “That is a very good question. Meanwhile, I told Lord Charles that you were not accustomed to so much rich food, and mortified by your unfortunate indigestion, but were overcome with gratitude by his generous offer.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  She gave me another level look.

  “Yes, of course he did. But you made me sound like a foolish peasant.”

  “So I did.” She pretended to a look of surprise.

  I laughed. “Very clever. If I was unappealing before, I am even less so now.”

  “Something had to be done to undermine the image of the beautiful and gracious hostess you presented. Not to mention the final image, of a woman revolted by him. It was not easy to overcome both and still leave you looking intelligent and poised. I sacrificed your dignity for your future.”

  “Thank you, Maman,” I said, but my thoughts were elsewhere. “I cannot understand him. I am certain it is because of him that Lord Etienne and Lord Geoffroi have delayed their payments. Why would Lord Charles want to destroy my business? It will be his if he marries me.”

  �
��And then they will pay him. Meanwhile, if you cannot pay your rent, everyone will believe your quarry is failing. No one else will offer to marry you.”

  “But he does not want to marry me. I know it.”

  “Do you have your eye on someone else?”

  “No.” I felt my face drain of color.

  Maman looked at me shrewdly. “If Lord Charles was having second thoughts about letting the quarry go out of his family, and someone else could prevent that, it might solve his problem.”

  “Lord Roland is marrying a duchess.” I heard the dullness in my voice, and so did she.

  “Lord Charles would rather marry the duchess.”

  I looked away, unable to talk about it yet, certainly unwilling to have her give me false hope.

  “Maman! Maman!” Alys’s and Guarin’s shouts in the hallway warned us just before they burst through the door into my presence room, where Maman had found me after our guests had left.

  “Maman, you are crying,” Alys looked distressed.

  I quickly brushed the dampness from my cheeks. “It is nothing, ma chere. A little sad thought that is over.” I hugged her.

  Guarin struggled to climb onto my lap, pushing his sister out of the way. “Maman, Mademoiselle says we must go to bed. I am not tired. I am not tired at all.” He perched on my knees, rubbed his eyes vigorously with his fists, then opened them wide and raised his face to mine. “You see, Maman?”

  “Your eyes are very wide open,” I observed.

  “Yes, yes, it is so. Mademoiselle is wrong. I must not go to bed yet. Nor Alys, neither,” he added, nudging her to agree. She was still looking suspiciously at my face.

  “You are not tired, but your Maman is.” My mother stood up and lifted Guarin from my lap. “Come with me, children. I will put you in your beds myself. Not to sleep,” she added before Guarin could object. “I have a story of your Maman when she was your age that I have been meaning to tell you.” She took Alys’s hand and headed to the door.

  Alys went obediently, but at the door she stopped and looked back at me. “You are sad when you think of Papa, are you not, Maman?”