By Right of Arms

by Robyn Carr

  As the door to her chamber closed, Aurélie turned glistening eyes to Perrine. “I will never forgive him,” she murmured. “I will not take a breath without praying for his comeuppance.”

  * * *

  She chose a gown of pale cream, trimmed in gold. It was a total departure from the black. She allowed her hair to be brushed until it shone, had it braided and wound around her head. A veil of the sheerest silk, fastened to her head with a modest cluster of pearls, trailed down her back. Her sleeves were wide and flowing, her bodice snug to accentuate her trim figure, and her train pulled around to be attached to her wrist for freedom of movement. That she wore no jewels to adorn herself did not detract from her beauty. The low neckline and her gently swelling bosom embellished her appearance more than any sparkling gem.

  “Let him think I am resigned to healing this burg,” she said to Perrine when her dressing was complete.

  “I beg you, madame,” Perrine whispered. “Take great care with your scheming. This Hyatt is not a man to deceive lightly.”

  “I will use cunning,” she murmured.

  “He sees more than …”

  “Hush!” she commanded. “I am not so simpleminded as to be foolish with my methods.”

  She went to the hall, telling herself that she made this concession for the sake of future vengeance; in no way did she strive to please his eye. Rather than lose her temper and openly fight him, she would try to trick him into believing her behavior obedient. Even docile and tractable. When Hyatt rose to greet her, his eyes glowing appreciatively and a smile on his lips, she thought she had been very clever.

  She curtsied before her father. He took her hand immediately, causing her to rise so that he could embrace her. “Thank God, Aurélie,” he said hoarsely. “You must believe I suffered with worry.”

  Three years had passed since Aurélie had seen him. When his mighty arms encircled her, it nearly brought her to tears. Her ambivalent feelings tore at her. Her beloved father! Her betraying father! She could not find her true emotions as they bombarded each other with painful, crashing doubt.

  “But you are strong,” he went on, crushing her in his zeal. He held her away from him. “I beg forgiveness for Giles. I did not think he would take up arms; I thought he would yield the day.”

  “You must have known he would defend De la Noye,” she said softly, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “My daughter,” he sighed, his tired, wrinkled eyes beseeching her understanding. His beard had bleached whiter, his skin was looser and sagging, and although he was generous of build, he crouched slightly now and she felt his aging bones as if they splintered in her hands. He was too old to live through many more summers. “What did I think?” he went on. She saw the tears gather in the fold under his eyes and for a moment she pitied him. “I thought Giles would send troops, that he would lose a fair number of archers and knights. I thought there would be sufficient damage to De la Noye.

  I knew, my Aurélie, there would be war … I have seen much of war in my life.

  “But I thought Giles would surrender when he knew he was beaten.”

  Aurélie looked down at the floor, trying to still her threatening tears. She could not have expected more from her father. He appreciated Giles’s scholarly wisdom but criticized his lack of knightly skills. He had expressed his worry for her safety for years, accusing Giles of being unable to protect her. Had it not been for the vast richness of De la Noye and the power of the de Pourvre family, she would not have been given to Giles in marriage. But all that had changed when King Edward proclaimed himself King of France and the countries were at war. Her situation worsened when the old Sire died and Giles was left to manage armies, a prospect for which he had no talent. Giles had, many times in the past, chosen any alternative to fighting. Although her losses were great, Aurélie had to accept that her father neither desired nor aided her widowhood.

  In a surge of grief, her honesty broke through her barrier of cunning. She completely forgot Hyatt’s close presence. “I begged him not to go,” she admitted. “His men-at-arms would have done better without him.”

  Lord Lavergne clung to her again. “I did not think he would. God rest him, at least he died an honorable death.”

  Again the aging lord held her away. “All is not lost, daughter. There is still much to salvage.” He looked at Hyatt. The younger knight nodded and moved to the stair. “We are allowed a private conference; a great concession from a man who cannot be sure he is among friends,” he confided softly.

  Aurélie’s eyes were drawn to a movement across the room and looked past her father to see the large knight, Girvin, rise to his feet and begin to cross the room. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of the broadsword belted at his waist. His narrow, glittering eyes scanned the room and he came to stop just behind Aurélie and her father. His intention was clear; he would be closeted with them.

  She let her eyes move from the fearsome vassal to Hyatt. “He does not jeopardize his safety, Father,” she said, an edge to her voice. “We will make all the concessions. Rest assured.”

  Hyatt smiled at her remark and reached a hand out to her as if he would escort her.

  She chose obedience and took the proffered hand, going with Hyatt to the lord’s chamber, Lord Lavergne and Sir Girvin close at their heels. The door was tightly shut and Hyatt seated her before the hearth. Lord Lavergne slowly found a place near his daughter, and Girvin stood at the closed door, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  Aurélie’s father sighed heavily as he adjusted himself in his seat. Hyatt stood a generous distance from them, leaning casually against the wall.

  “Ahem,” Lavergne coughed. “I am most grateful to see you are fit. You, above all, have some right to this keep. Your dowry saw the building of the church and much of the outer wall. It shall be preserved in your name. There is no heir save the widow.”

  Aurélie looked down into her lap, trying to keep her hands demurely folded and her heart still. “There are no heirs in war, Father,” she whispered.

  “That you are mistress of this hall need not be questioned again. You shall remain so.”

  She looked up at her father in astonishment. “That will be most awkward, Father,” she said, trying not to ridicule him too openly for this absurd suggestion. “I doubt Sir Hyatt could bear my chafing presence.”

  “But he insists on your presence. You know the town, the people, and the lands better than any servant.”

  She quickly looked at Hyatt to find him listening to the conversation with quiet interest. She tried to read his eyes, but they concealed his thoughts.

  “Then we must soon find another,” she hastened, feeling her pulse quicken. “We must leave this man to rule his conquered lands.”

  “You are best suited to aid his leadership, daughter,” Lavergne said. “And best suited to protect the interests of these people. You know them.”

  She neared panic at the thought. Hyatt’s gaze, resting on her with enough heat to warm her, did not betray him. He seemed perfectly calm. “I am the enemy,” she said slowly, trying to keep the anger from her voice. “With all best intention, with the help of God, I cannot be suited to aid Sir Hyatt. Father, I would not be a good choice. The people here would suffer as I would.”

  “Daughter,” he softly pleaded, “pray do not further injure yourself by rejecting Sir Hyatt’s compassion.”

  “Nay,” she nearly cried, feeling herself becoming more agitated, more afraid. “It would bode ill for me to remain a prisoner here and …”

  “You shall wed the man,” Lavergne said evenly.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. She looked quickly at Hyatt, the question on her lips. His mouth was firm, his eyes level, and she thought she noticed an almost imperceptible nod, but she could not be sure.

  Her eyes were on her father again and she reached out to grasp his hands. “Oh Father, you must not. If I cannot leave here with you, let me take the veil. I shall never ask
another thing of you.” She looked pleadingly at Hyatt. “My lord,” she nearly choked, “I yield all, but I beg of you, there is not wisdom enough in all Christendom, nor grace enough in all heaven for me to yield this. ’Twould be a bed of thorns.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unchanged. He appeared as unmoved by her plight as though he were watching the shoeing of one of his horses. “We shall manage, lady,” he finally said.

  Aurélie felt hysterical laughter coming to her lips. “But I am barren,” she said victoriously. “Surely a knight so powerful must wish to sire many sons?”

  “It is better thus, for I have a son. In himself, he is the equal of ten.”

  She looked back at her father, angered at finding no help in his resigned expression. She whispered in strained agony, “Flanders or the convent, Father. I beg you!”

  He simply looked down and shook his head.

  “Father,” she whispered urgently, “you would have me wed this English bastard and …”

  “Bah! He is no more bastard than you or I. ’Tis but a family disagreement. Perhaps it will be eased.” He looked uncomfortably toward Hyatt, then back to his daughter. “His family denies kinship, but he is not baseborn. Take heed.”

  “You must not agree to this, Father. On my mother’s grave, I appeal to your kindness …”

  Lord Lavergne closed his eyes as if contemplating his next words. “It is difficult for you, Aurélie, but in time you will see the wisdom in this. Marriage is but a means of ensuring your safety, protection for your dower purse …”

  Her ears began to ring and his words blended one into the next. Lavergne droned on of marriages used to form alliances, to bridge rent families, to end wars. Brides could purchase peace, ease conflicts … all a matter of sound negotiation as estates changed hands or were won and lost in the event of war. She shook her head violently, her hands going to her face as if she would press back the tears. “I cannot. I cannot. I will not!”

  “Enough!” The command came as loudly and unexpectedly as any bolt of lightning. The stammering Lord Lavergne and weeping Aurélie both jumped in surprise, became silent, and looked at Hyatt. He no longer leaned against the wall in a relaxed manner, but stood to a full menacing height and held clenched fists at his sides. There was an angry scowl on his face and he appeared to struggle for control.

  “Your reluctance comes as no surprise, madame, but do not carry the game to dangerous lengths. You do not have to love me or approve me. I need your close presence to lessen the rub on these villeins. I did not plan your husband’s death, nor did I intend your misery. In taking De la Noye in the name of my king, I allowed a sum to retire the deposed lord in some humble dignity. For the last time I tell you, I regret it was impossible. But ’tis over. English and French must parley if there is to be profit. There is no discussion.”

  Aurélie swallowed hard and looked at her father. He shook his head. However angry she might be at his involvement in the matter, it was clear he was no match for this man. All the arguing Lord Lavergne could do in a lifetime would not alter the decision or strength of rule.

  She fearfully drew a new breath. “Would you have me, so recent a widow, prepare the hall and see the priest for a wedding, or will I be allowed some time for …”

  “There is no need for further preparation,” Hyatt said flatly. “It is apparent you will judge me only as the conquering foe and refuse to see me as a man, flesh and blood, like any other. Neither will you show gratefulness that you are to be wed to protect your father’s hard-earned dowry and thus kept safe as is your right through marriage, when I could as easily turn you out for wandering armies to feast upon. If you will cleave only to your hatred and ignore your advantage in this proposal, then we shall not celebrate the event, and we shall have it done. We shall go now to the priest.”

  “But …”

  There was a sound behind her and she turned abruptly to see Sir Girvin change his posture, indicating his intention to enforce his lord’s decision by any means necessary.

  Hyatt walked toward her and reached out to her. She eyed him cautiously and moved her slight and trembling hand into his. Her flesh was cold and clammy all over and she stood on shaky legs.

  “I am not an ignorant woman. Only one who has suffered grave losses,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “You are not a patient man.”

  His eyes warmed as he looked down at her, but his mouth remained stern. “You are wrong, Aurélie. I am more patient than most. But it is clear to me that you dislike my patience, for you test its limits. Had you but opened your mind to discussion, we might … But never mind. If you choose to see me only as harsh and wicked, certainly you shall.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the door.

  For a moment she felt as mindless as a puppet, for her actions were not at all her own. He led, her feet moving by his order, her passage by his command. She knew her options to be death or agreement. He would own her by law, rule her by power, and violate her by a husband’s right. Even God would not come to her aid.

  An odd shiver passed through her as she walked beside him. Never in her life had she been controlled by such power. She had been the only strength, but for her there had been no strong arm to lean upon. She judged her feelings to be born of the most wretched despair. But she could not place the genesis of the strange tightening of her stomach, the lightness of her head. When he momentarily released her arm, she felt peculiarly alone.

  Her mind soared out of control. When it is just we two, she wondered, and he has left his sword and shield, when his man does not stand ready at the door to beat me into submission, when he is as naked as God made him … will he prove to be a man … or a beast?

  * * *

  The hearth burned low in the lord’s chamber. The few remaining candles flickered as they died. A bright spring moon filtered through the window and cast a beam across the bed.

  Aurélie stood before the hearth, distractedly watching Hyatt as he removed his tunic and laid it carefully away. The day had exhausted her will to resist him in any way. Father Algernon, though stunned and appalled, had blessed the reluctant union, with only her father and Sir Girvin present. The meal in the hall, served without any special flair or celebration, had taken long to pass. Aurélie was not sure whether anyone knew there had been a wedding. She had whispered the news to Perrine, who blanched white and covered her gasp with a shaking hand. It seemed as though Hyatt’s men were considerate with their jesting and drinking, but having spent little time in their company, she couldn’t be sure if they were more than usual.

  As the moon began to rise, Hyatt bid Lord Lavergne a good night and led his bride to his bedchamber. She stood awaiting his command or demand, whichever might come. Perhaps he will never know, she thought.

  With his tunic and chausses discarded, he presented an exquisite figure of a man. Even in fear and grief a woman would notice his magnificent, hard-muscled body. He was lithe and graceful when not clumping about in armor; his shoulders were broad and his arms thick and strong. She had never seen a man in any state of undress and found herself curiously staring at the thick mat of hair that covered Hyatt’s chest.

  As he approached her, she steeled herself and closed her eyes. Her fate was sealed and she would be used. Silently she prayed that he would not hurt her too badly. She felt his hands on her hips and the softness of his beard on her neck.

  “You make this difficult, Aurélie,” he breathed in her ear.

  She stiffened in his arms. “Call your man,” she offered, the edge to her tone as sharp as a knife.

  His seductive laughter filled the room. “Though he would be willing and all my men serve me quite well, there are some things a lord must do for himself.”

  He tilted her chin and lowered his lips onto hers, catching her off guard with his gentleness. He moved over her mouth slowly, using tenderness to disarm her. Although thus far only his words had been brutal, she had not expected him to be kind; she had e
xpected to be conquered. Yet he caressed and fondled, as lovers of her dreams had done.

  She felt the veil drop from her hair even as his hand began to unloose the braid that adorned her head. His other hand pressed against the small of her back, forcing her against him. Her cheeks flamed; a fiery trembling possessed her. This was not the ruthless warrior of her nightmares. As if he felt her change, his lips demanded more. She would not let her slackened arms rise to him, but it took great effort.

  He released her mouth and methodically began to undo the fastenings of her gown. She felt dizzy and knew that her body betrayed her. She gritted her teeth in shame and frustration, trying to remind herself that this man was the enemy, the murderer of innocents. Her mind taunted her—does he truly regret Giles? Dislike killing? Detest the ugliness of war? She tried to suppress such speculation. His feelings did not matter. He had killed … and captured her home. But the desire she had learned to suppress began to rise in her, causing her flesh to tingle from his touch.

  She looked up at his bearded face above her. His eyes, black in the dimness of the room, glowed in passion. “You must not …” she heard herself whisper, though she knew it would be foolish to resist. He laughed softly, and the sound was cruel to her ears. He was forcing her spirit in lieu of her flesh and her agony worsened with every moment.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Have your way quickly and be done with me.”

  His eyes burned brighter and his smile was illuminated in the moonlight. “Nay,” he breathed. “I married you to protect your fortune and keep you safe from future ills. I would have better than thorns, Aurélie.”

  “You wed me to work in this hall,” she countered.

  His lips touched her brow. “Your labors will be handsomely rewarded, if you would but cease to wound me with your spiteful tongue.”

  His hands deftly pulled the gown over her shoulders and it was instantly gathered around her feet. Her chemise quickly followed and before she could gasp at her sudden nakedness, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Feeling his naked strength gently pressing her down, she opened her eyes wide, as if in wait for the worst. But he kissed her, caressed her, and murmured words he could not have meant, words spoken only between lovers.