By Right of Arms

by Robyn Carr

  And remarkably, he had energy left when he came to the bedchamber. She nearly chuckled in recollection. The first time she had eyed him sleeping he had bolted awake as if her eyes were needles that pricked him. The second time he had roused to find her watching him. But now he slept. His sleep appeared peaceful.

  She sighed heavily. Had his army not slain her husband and others of her house, making this home a booty of war, there might be no rift between them. He had not spent one night in his mistress’s bed. If he visited Faon by day, he was discreet and it did not deplete his desire for his wife. She doubted the mistress was kept to her liking. And he showed fairness to the villeins, although he was stern. And he treated her well. He had rescued her, with his sword, from a lifetime of loneliness and longing. But she could not thank the English army, nor could she let herself be trapped by any deep emotion for him.

  Ah, but he was a magnificent man. If he were French, he would be perfect.

  Aurélie cautiously extracted herself from the bed and took light steps around to the commode. She blew out the candle.

  “Aurélie? Why are you about?”

  “The candle, Hyatt,” she whispered. “It would have been a waste to let it burn.” She gently crept back into the bed.

  He opened his arm to her. “Come,” he said sleepily. “Closer.”

  She hesitated for a moment and then snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. There was little point in fighting him in the dark of night. Here, where they were only two people and not two countries opposed, it would be acceptable to share his warmth. No one would see that she indulged in the new feeling of a protective arm, though this arm belonged to the enemy. No one would know that she sometimes pretended, late at night, that this was a union of love, and not bondage.

  “Ah, wench, you are the softest thing. Do you think that I am unaware when you watch me sleep?”

  “Oh Hyatt, does nothing escape you?”

  “Nothing. What rouses your curiosity so?”

  “You are a curious man, Hyatt. You conquer, then coddle your prisoners. You make high demands, but demand as much of yourself. I do not know when you will be cruel or kind, harsh or soft.”

  He chuckled and hugged her close. “Be careful, Aurélie. If you find some tenderness for me they will call you traitor.”

  “I shall be careful,” she promised.

  “Perhaps you cannot help yourself. Women have this affliction; they fall in love with the nearest available man, exercising very little wisdom. Trouble is stirred by these feeble notions. It will be better for you if you realize that I cannot be controlled; not by brute strength nor love.”

  “Oh, Hyatt, you need not warn me. It is not too late for me yet.”

  “Beware, petite. Women are foolish bondslaves to this malady; they crave this love and delude themselves that it cures some ill. Then they become vicious when it only brings pain. I warn you freely—I am not a likely victim.”

  “And men, Hyatt?”

  “Men work. Women pluck the strings of hearts. ’Tis the way.” A sound escaped her, but there was no word. “What say you, woman?”

  “Naught, Hyatt. Go to sleep.”

  * * *

  Hyatt stood in the open window and watched the sun rise over the farthest knoll. The countryside did not appear war-torn or ravaged, yet not far behind them there were battles between the forces of Edward and John. Other keeps were falling … or English knights and soldiers stained the fields in blood of failure. He feared for Aquitaine; Edward’s forces were fewer than John’s. Aquitaine was Prince Edward’s possession now, but the rest of France resisted.

  Yet De la Noye had passed from the French to the English. Hyatt had planned it well; through Lord Lavergne he had learned that the Sire de Pourvre had been a weak, strange, incompetent lord. And he also knew that De la Noye, if managed properly, could be rich. He looked at the makings of such richness from the window—the grove of fruit trees, the good roads, the stout wall, the fertile acreage. Had Giles put energy into work rather than prayer, money into seed and stock rather than the buying of benefices, Hyatt would not have been able to take the castle.

  What he saw from the window was not unlike his homeland. The fine sight that spread before him turned his memory to a time early in his youth. It was faint, now, but buried in a private place whence he could still retrieve it, if he dared. The remembrance of lush fields, blossoming trees, strong horses, happy villeins, and family love came to mind. He chose to ignore the memory because all that had been lost to him and was painful to recall.

  He had had joy as a small child, as a second but favored son. He was stronger and quicker than his older brother, Ryland. He vaguely remembered the warmth of his mother’s arms, and a vision of her sweet face would not be subdued, no matter his desire to forget. He was only ten when she died and Lachland Castle and towns fell into mourning, into a long-lasting despair. His father seemed to have lost his will to live and ruled poorly. Ryland was too young, at thirteen, to take responsibility. And Hyatt remembered being jolted more by what his mother’s death had done to destroy the happiness of everyone, than by the pain of her loss.

  Both Laidley sons were sent away to earn their knighthood as squires to neighboring barons and, upon returning to Lachland, found the place deteriorated.

  And then a new woman came to the castle. Faustina, a strong young woman from a rich Welsh chieftain’s family, married Lord Laidley and changed the face of the castle and towns. Hyatt was pleased, at first, that his father’s spirits were lifted, but his comfort was temporary, for Faustina was treacherous, selfish, and cruel. She had a harsh, punishing hand that Lord Laidley would not attempt to stay. She was possessed of a brutal greed and squeezed every family in their domain for more wealth. And while Lord Laidley had been satisfied to answer the king’s call, Faustina urged him closer to the king and counseled him in politics. Her schemes and plots were many; she once had a Welsh heiress whom she had hated since childhood kidnapped and ransomed at a high sum.

  Hyatt was appalled by her, but his father and Ryland allowed her and even took her advice. And of course, Lachland was returned to its former wealth and status. But there was no happiness. Hyatt quietly disapproved until his scorn for her vile habits burst from him in a temper, winning only his father’s anger. Not long after, Faustina claimed herself with child and named Hyatt as the sire. Lord Laidley punished his wife severely and banished his son. Hyatt was then sixteen years old.

  Life since then had been only struggle and work. Girvin followed Hyatt out of Lachland and they worked as mercenaries, slowly building their reputations. On a campaign in Wales, Hyatt fought so fiercely it was said he would have been satisfied to win singlehandedly, for he imagined Faustina’s face behind every Welsh wall. He had joined Edward’s forces in taking Crécy, protecting the young Prince Edward and being credited with saving his life. He had made a good fortune in Calais, allowing him to hire a larger troop. His reputation was strong in England; he was regarded as one of the best.

  Hyatt slowly collected men, modest victories, but he had never held any lands until now. And as to women, he had never made any commitments of any kind. He turned from the window and looked at Aurélie; even in that commitment he had been driven by a harsh purpose—he had meant to get everything that De la Noye could offer. It offered wealth, prosperity, higher influence, and a place to roost, to leave to sons.

  Aurélie did not know, he mused, that until this marriage, he had never spent an entire night in the same bed with a woman. He’d entertained himself with Faon, but he knew her to be ambitious, conniving, and capable of being quite dangerous.

  When he had found Faon, he had succumbed quite easily to her seduction. Yet she had attempted to trap him into marriage. She took the tale of her lost virtue to her father, Montrose, and Hyatt had been called out for the deed. Montrose lost the contest. Hyatt, being the winner, was offered the woman. But Hyatt refused to take her, and Faon’s father promised he would kill his own daughter, rathe
r than be disgraced by a bastard. Hyatt took her out of her father’s home and carried her along with his traveling troop of soldiers.

  Faon was well guarded, since Hyatt was very suspicious of her, and when she came with child he knew he was the sire. He saw her cared for and she stayed in his camp. Derek was born in a tent at the edge of a battlefield. He bargained with Faon. He would keep her, pay her way, accord her a few benefits, or he could as easily settle her in a home with enough money to keep her and the child. He gave her a free choice and suggested that she could as easily play the widow and live a free and shameless existence, but he would not marry her. Never.

  Faon argued for her son, Hyatt’s firstborn child. This Hyatt found agreeable. “I will bequeath firstborn rights to this child, if you give him to me. If you choose a life apart with him, his future is dependent on the estate you acquire through marriage. The choice is yours, but it is final after today. Should you change your preference in two years or ten, you leave my protection without my son. After this time, you may not take him with you.”

  “I must stay with him,” she had insisted. “I must stay with you.”

  Had Faon proven, even for a little while, to be a good woman, he might have taken her to wife. But he knew she was bad. And he loved the boy. Several times he had considered sending her away, but she had pleaded with him on behalf of Derek. He damned his soft heart where women were concerned. It was foolish to become snared by them. Since Derek’s birth, he desired no more bastard children and had never gone to her again.

  “Why does she not see that I am generous with her, and respond with goodness?” he had asked himself many times. “Why does she seek to use my power to her advantage? How does she foolishly believe that I do not see her plots and schemes? How does she pretend there is anything of love? How does she live with this, that I only meet my obligation? Does she still perceive that she can bind me … though over and over she fails?”

  He knew he had nearly gone the way of his father with Faustina, and this dragged his spirit low until he could overcome the fear with sheer willpower.

  He found himself standing at the edge of his bed, staring at his wife. Wife. What had he done? Yet this one caused him deep thought, for her plotting was subtle. He did not find evidence that she used evil tactics to destroy him. Her schemes were of the softest sort, for he had felt a tugging at his heart on the first day he saw her.

  They were opposite. Faon had triumphed in her plot against Hyatt and had been ceded much more than she deserved. And still, Faon was wicked and played dangerous games. Aurélie had been the strength in her husband’s home, had been conquered, made a captive, and although her anger sometimes seeped through, she served in the castle better than any, although he knew she hated her role. Her position as his wife was more degrading than Faon’s position as the mother of his illegitimate son. And she did not even openly battle Faon’s treachery, but sought to soften the witch’s blows with reason.

  Aurélie stirred and turned over, mumbling something in her slumber. He lost the sight of her face and was left staring at partially exposed, round buttocks. Women, he silently cursed, ever seeking to tether and weaken a man, whether by means of wickedness or feigned sweetness. How could he doubt that they were all after the same thing, though their methods were varied?

  He gave her rump a hearty thwack, bringing a startled yelp out of her and causing her to bolt upright in bed. She stared at him through sleepy, incredulous eyes.

  “You may desire to lie abed all day, madame, but there is much to do. Lord Lavergne departs today and I would be ashamed to tell him that you cannot bid him farewell because you are lazy.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she rubbed her posterior, more insulted than hurt. “If my sleep offends you, milord, you have my permission to rouse me.”

  “I just did,” he said, walking impatiently to the door. “Get up, woman. The sun has risen. I would prefer to see a little more spirit.”

  She threw her legs over the bed, glaring at him. “And I would prefer to see less.”

  “You have complained that no mark of my beatings leaves you any dignity when facing your people. Perhaps you can throw up your skirts and show them that you are sufficiently abused. That will serve you well.”

  Aurélie sat in stunned disbelief for a moment. She had no idea what had caused this strange mood. She could think of no offense she had committed. But he stood there by the door, very pleased with himself, watching her.

  She lifted a finely arched brow and an odd smile graced her lips. “You are ever a mystery, messire. ’Tis not that I expected to remain free of beatings, but I heartily doubted you would damage your own favorite sporting ground.”

  Hyatt threw back his head in sudden, unrestrained laughter. “Ah, woman, you are coming to know me too well.” He whirled around and left the room, his mood changed yet again. She could hear his laughter as he went down the stairs.

  “Aye, messire,” she said to herself, “though it is a long, agonizing task. And to what end, I have no idea.”

  Chapter Six

  Although Lord Lavergne had traveled to De la Noye with a troop of twenty men, Hyatt provided an additional escort for the old lord to the coast from which Lavergne would sail to Flanders. The journey from De la Noye to Bordeaux would take four to seven days, and in that time the redoubled troop could encounter hostile French or English. Lavergne could be attacked by one of Edward’s armies if they did not believe he was an ally, or by a French army because he was. In addition, there were hundreds of locals, frightened by the threat of conquerors, who would fight anyone who came too near their villages.

  Aurélie was content to see her father go. She sighed in audible relief when the group departed and the outer bailey gate was closed. Without his interference she might have been granted retirement, travel to Lavergne’s demesne, or perhaps she could have taken leave to a convent home. Though she finally knew the secrets of the marriage bed, she had lost the peace, comfort, and gratification of ruling her own home. Her life was now a contradiction. Her father, in his good intentions, had only made things worse. She shared name and bed with her conqueror, and her people watched her warily, trying to judge her position as either for or against the English occupation. There was little dignity allowed her in this odd alliance; to fully yield her heart and loyalty to the knight would cause her people to think her fickle and disloyal, and to hold herself back seemed already futile and absurd. Although he was English and bound to Edward rather than King John, Hyatt was more of a leader in one month than Giles had been in a dozen years. She bid Lord Lavergne farewell gratefully, before he could confuse her situation any further.

  “It appears that you will not miss your father,” Hyatt remarked with some amusement.

  “I think he has done enough for me,” she replied flippantly.

  Hyatt laughed, fully understanding her meaning. “Do not blame the old lord, Aurélie. Had he not argued for decency, I would have made you my mistress and let the bastards fall where they would.”

  “At least there would have been sufficient shame in that position to please the conquered, milord,” she said with a curl of her lip, turning away from him. “Then my people would not wonder about me. A forced marriage to me does not give Guienne to England.” She began to walk away from him and was jolted to a stop by a harsh thwack on her posterior. She whirled around to glare at him, her eyes glittering with blood-lust.

  He smiled at her fury, crossing his arms over his chest. “You like pain, chérie. I only wish to please you.”

  “It would please me if you would not act like a knave.”

  “I am patient. You cannot go on pretending to be a mistreated slave forever, when you know you are treated as well as any treasured wife. Soon, you will have to choose: will it be I and the wrath of your pitiful vanquished people or will you choose their pity while you struggle against your husband?”

  “Do you propose to choose, seigneur? Between making me a cherished wife and playing the conquering warrior
?”

  “They are one and the same, petite.”

  “Nay,” she flung back at him. “My people know that I was wed by force and all that I do is done to preserve De la Noye. I will never choose against my home. De la Noye is the babe at my breast.”

  She turned to walk away again and his words gently pounded her back.

  “De la Noye is not safe until you make your choice, my lady wife. Not until you show these people by your actions and devotion that the castle and you belong to me. Pretz, sabers, cortezia, umiltatz.”

  Her pace was slowed, but she did not turn back to face him with her astonishment. Hyatt’s accomplishments continually astounded her. Most knights were warriors only; poor, unlettered mercenaries. Hyatt must have come from a very good house. He first struck her with the truth about De la Noye, which she loved deeply. She lived in a castle divided and she alone could join the opposing factions together. She had cautioned her people to submit, but she did not encourage them to accept Hyatt as their leader. Until Hyatt’s army and her people stood side by side, they could easily fall to any attack. If the forces of France approached and Hyatt was overtaken, they could suffer under the next ruler. Would he be weak like Giles, or more ruthless than Hyatt? She knew there only true safety lay in a united people.

  To further astound her, he recited the female virtues in the troubadour fashion; virtues she did not possess with him now, but had been reared to believe valuable and necessary. Excellence, wisdom, courtesy, humility. She had worked hard to display these womanly strengths while married to Giles.

  That she could not be what she had always believed a perfect woman must strive to be, that she could not rise to her own desire to be virtuous as well as courageous, gnawed cruelly at her heart. She trudged slowly on, thinking how far from her intentions her life had wandered. In her honorable marriage to Giles there had been much missing; she had not been safe, ruled, protected, or bedded as a wife. And with Hyatt, the marriage forced at the point of the sword, she found that she was provided that which had been lacking before. Yet there was no genuine love, dignity, or honor, and the purpose for Hyatt was to secure material wealth on behalf of an English king.