by Robyn Carr
Aurélie cried heavily for many long moments. The sound of a rooster’s crow could be heard by the time the mistress was able to pull away and wipe at her tears with her sleeve. She straightened her spine and sniffed back the emotion. “I had wanted to be a mother, and did not see that I had been for many years.”
“You must let go of Giles soon, my lady. ’Tis unwise to be so filled with his memory while you live as Hyatt’s wife.”
Aurélie shook her head with a laugh. “Oh, Perrine, I buried Giles long before he died. ’Tis for this that I burn with guilt and shame. I cared for his house with great zeal. I was comfortable with Giles because he was familiar; there was never any surprise. As his wife I had great power. The people came to me! I ruled; there was never any question. I had no strength but my own; I had no love but what I felt for De la Noye, which became my child. When Giles was killed, I did not mourn the husband I lost—I grieved for the power that was taken from me. No kingdom on earth would allow a woman alone to rule, but a woman wed to a weak man could rule and no one would argue. I knew exactly what I lost when I buried Giles; I lost my lordship here.
“Perrine,” she went on in a whisper, “Hyatt found me a virgin; Giles never even consummated our marriage.”
Perrine’s eyes flared slightly, but she kept her reaction small. Her mouth pierced into a tight line as she held her angry emotions back from her mistress. “I had wondered …”
“But conquer he did, in every feasible way. He holds this castle most firmly and the people herein are the better for his lordship. He has conquered me, for I carry his child and it even moves in me. To feel this life within my body brings me joy. He is the strong arm I longed for, and however heavily I lean, he does not show the strain. He has the wisdom in his disciplines that allow those who know him to trust him. And would you think ill of me if I told you that in those private moments when we share a pallet, I hold him dearly? He brings me pleasure, Perrine, such as I had not known was possible.”
Perrine’s hand caressed Aurélie’s damp cheek, her eyes softened by understanding and sympathy. “Then do not weep, my lady, unless you weep for joy.”
“He does not love me. He is most suspicious of women, and with just cause.”
“In time, my lady. Since he can be good, strong, wise, and tender, can you not nibble on those tasty bites until the full feast arrives?”
“He fears to love a woman. His mother died when he was young, abandoning him to a failing father. His stepmother was wicked and accused him of adultery with her, which had him beaten and cast from his father’s house in shame, though he was innocent. His mistress, whom you serve, tricked and betrayed him, and he houses her to keep safe his son. Perrine, he is as tormented as Giles was, though their demons are of another sort.”
“My lady, listen to me. Do you fear him?”
“Oh, nay. I am not frightened of him now.”
“You depend on his strength? His ability?”
“Aye, Perrine. I told you so.”
“You feel joy in those tender moments? You are pleased that you have brought his seed to life?”
“Aye. Why do you ask me these things?”
“Many a mighty warrior has sworn no need of love and yet has sung that light verse with great gusto when he feels love come. Be easy on him, my lady. Grant him acts that show your worth and devotion. Leave him be till he mends his own hurts. Time willing, he will admit that he can love.”
“But Perrine, how should I wish this from him? He is my enemy. The enemy of my country.”
“Nay,” she whispered. “He is your husband, father of your child. And, I think, a worthy man.”
The tears came anew. Aurélie’s eyes first welled up, deep and liquid in emotion, dropping over her lower lids and spilling down her cheeks.
“Aurélie,” Perrine whispered, “you have buried the man who could not be your husband, and wed the strong knight. Forget that he is the enemy. Here, why do you weep?”
“Perrine, I love him so … and I am so afraid …”
“Hush, Aurélie. Afraid? I have loved my Guillaume for thirty years and I know there is strength to be found in the love a man and woman share.”
“Did you not tremble when he battled and met the enemy? Worry each time he rode away and collapse into exhaustion when he returned, safe? Did your heart never bleed with the stabbing fear that he would never feel this for you? And the shame of such wanton desires; to love a man who sees only utility in the marriage. Oh, Perrine, do you know what I feel?”
Perrine put her arm around Aurélie and led her toward the door. “Oh yea, my lady, I know what fragile strings hold your heart together now. But was it better with Sir Giles, living with his torment, his obsession? Perhaps it was easier, for his pain did not really touch you. But was it better, my Aurélie?”
Perrine opened the door of her house and Aurélie saw that the sun was shining brightly outside. She sighed heavily and turned to Perrine. “Better? I cannot say. But I was not so afraid. I did not need Giles. I did not love him.”
Perrine chuckled softly. “And so you need the bold and lusty knight? Ah, my lady, how your life has changed.”
“What will I do?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
“What all women do. Let your need of his love transform you; bring dignity and honor to his name, give him the goodness in your heart, and be not weakened by what you feel, but strengthened. Only a misguided fool sees love as weakness. You are above such nonsense.”
“You will be late to Mistress Faon’s rooms. Will she punish you?”
“Nay, I think not. Come, my love, we’ll walk together. You were right to come; you have been alone with no counsel for too long and have forgotten, I think, that yours was not meant to be a simple or pampered life.” Perrine squeezed her shoulders and they looked much like mother and daughter, out walking. “Do you forget also that we cannot grow or challenge the strength of our virtues if we do not face new trials? Ah, I think Hyatt was lucky when he found you, for this once he will not suffer the treachery of a lying woman. Be steadfast, my lady, and trust your heart. And thank the Virgin that those things you prayed for came to you … albeit, by the sword.”
“He could not have come in the gentle mist of morning, riding a friendly horse,” Aurélie sighed, knowing for the first time the truth to that statement. Had Hyatt been of French blood, Giles would not have been slain. She could only have loved him as an adulteress. She would have been excommunicated, or stoned, or left to live the private shame of such debauchery. The only way she could have found herself with Hyatt, carrying his child, was by the sword.
“Thank you, Perrine. You are ever patient and wise.”
“Thank you, my lady,” she said with a smile. “You are ever in search of truth. And this is rare in those who also have power.”
“Power?” Aurélie laughed bitterly. “Oh nay, Perrine, I have none. I am the vanquished here. That power I had when I was wed to poor Giles is gone forever.”
Perrine slowly shook her head, but she smiled. “Gone? Your power is not gone, my lady, but different than with Giles. Pray do not forget the strengths you once knew, in the event your husband has need of them. Where once you felt your power in your ability to command, it will be doubled now as you stand beside a strong and able lord. Once you ordered troops because your husband was unable to protect you, but you have an able husband now and can lend him support. Once it was loneliness and despair that drove you, now it will be love and loyalty. Hyatt has need of a strong woman. Remember what you have learned.”
“Excellence, wisdom, courtesy, and humility,” she murmured. “He spoke those words to me.”
“Then do not pretend that you don’t know what he wants from you. And do not fool yourself, Lady Aurélie, that he could seek these virtues from a woman he does not love.”
* * *
Aurélie had been so intent on observing Hyatt and Ryland that she had not noticed that Girvin was not about the keep. The knight’s presence about the hall, w
all, outbuildings, and baileys was only strong in Hyatt’s absence, as he guarded the place on Hyatt’s behalf. When Hyatt was ruling De la Noye, Girvin generally remained aloof, occupying himself with hunting, attention to the horses, weapons, and the surveying of the outlying lands. For these chores Girvin mostly chose Guillaume as his frequent companion, which made for an odd couple. Their similar qualities of stubbornness, pride, loyalty, and strength that had made them natural enemies with the siege was seeding a friendship in them now.
The sun was setting when Girvin came to the hall carrying a dozen strung rabbits. Aurélie had never seen him dressed so. He wore skins, boots, and a wide leather belt heavy with provender, and carried only the weapons of the crudest hunter. On previous hunts Girvin had donned mail and carried his sword and shield lest he meet some opponent in the wood.
Girvin’s hair had become shaggy, his face was shadowed with a heavy growth of beard, and his condition spoke of many days away from shelter. “Sir Girvin, have you been hunting this whole week?”
“Nay, my lady, but I did go deep into the wood to judge the game for the taking.”
Hyatt came closer to his wife and his messenger. “And is the game in the wood interesting?”
“Yea, my lord. ’Tis a good lot we spied, though there were odd breeds from many different groups. They gather in the forest.”
“How did you view the game?” Hyatt quietly asked. Aurélie listened, looking between the two men, not understanding their strangely hushed tones or descriptions.
“Sir Guillaume knows the forest very well and found a concealed cave above the road from which we might see the animals that pass. ’Twas a good loft to make count and name the beasts.”
“How clever. And the hunting will be good?”
“Aye, Hyatt, if we are the hunters and not the hunted. I would not hasten to kill any animals within the small groups lest we chase away the lot.” Girvin smiled wickedly. “I have left Guillaume to watch. You will be interested to know that we sighted a wounded stag. One limb was missing.”
Aurélie’s eyes rounded at the prospect of a three-legged stag. “A leg missing?” she gasped in interest, disbelieving. “You should have killed it and brought it here, Girvin.”
“I will my lady, in good time,” he said with a smile, bowing away from them.
She stood silent and still for a long moment before she looked up into her husband’s smiling eyes. She finally concluded that the animals they spoke of were not the kind one cuts into stew.
“Hyatt, what is Girvin about?”
“The protection of De la Noye. Of course.”
“And Guillaume?”
“The same, I assume.”
She raised a brow. “Have you brought my seneschal over to your side?”
“I think not, Aurélie. It appears that he serves you still, by keeping the castle safe.”
“My seneschal and your henchman. ’Tis an unlikely couple they make.”
“So long as the peculiar brotherhood works for the good of this, I would not question it. But speak not of Girvin’s hunting, my lady, lest the hunted become suspicious or get warning.”
“I would do nothing to risk De la Noye; you know that. But are we safe?”
Hyatt sighed and looked around the room. Some of his men were entering to have their evening meal. Ryland lounged at a long trestle table, sipping an ale, looking much at ease. Servants were gathering to serve and clean up.
“I think so, my lady. But I accept your prayers, just the same.”
Chapter Thirteen
Father Algernon replaced the communion chalice, covering it reverently with white linen, and blessed himself before the altar before leaving the sanctuary. He genuflected before the crucifix and moved into the vestry, his head bowed and hands folded. Once inside the bare little room he jumped in surprise, for a man had startled him by somehow slipping in without being seen.
“You should not have come here,” he said in an angry, hushed voice.
Ryland smiled confidently. “No one saw me. Not even you.”
Algernon stiffened. “What you seem to misunderstand is that your brother has no religion. He is a heathen. Should he discover that I have traffic with you, I would be stripped and turned out onto the road. He does not worry about his soul; he does not know the dire consequences of working against a man of the Church.”
Ryland laughed good-naturedly. “But the man of the Church understands fully the consequences of working against Hyatt. You are right, Father; my brother cares nothing for his soul, his spiritual bread and wine. He would not cast you out of the castle for working against him. Rather, he would slay you instantly. But that will not happen, will it? We shall show Hyatt the road out.”
“And this man you promise will help you to replace Hyatt?”
“You will be very pleased, Father Algernon. Have I greased his entrance with enough silver? Do you require more?”
“I must know the state of his soul; I would know that my place in my church is secure. It is costly business, this thing you ask of me.”
“That is an utter lie; it costs you nothing but courage. And I have sworn that the man who comes with troops will secure you in this church. Have you received permission for the pilgrims yet?”
“I have not asked it.”
“Soon?”
“Have patience. Pilgrims come here in droves, for De la Noye has always received them.”
“That was before Hyatt. You could seek him out today …”
“I could, but ’twould seem odd to seek permission to admit groups of prelates on a pilgrimage many weeks from now. If you will only wait, the plan will not fail. Do you swear that no one will be hurt?”
“Not one of the friars or monks. Of that I can give assurance because they will travel unarmed. Within these walls, yea, there will be death and injury, inasmuch as these people of Hyatt’s fight to preserve De la Noye for him. But was it not so when Hyatt came? If you wish to remain under his rule, say so now, Father.”
“Nay, we cannot remain under a faithless lord. ’Tis better, I think, that your friend overtake him and bring the religion back to this place. We simmer just above Hell now.”
Ryland’s eyes twinkled. “And with the Sire de Pourvre it was so much better?”
“The Sire was a devoted man; he had risen above those mercantile desires of the fleshly man. He was free of the sins of the godless knight.”
“I see,” Ryland said. “We grow impatient, Father. De la Noye must be restored soon. The priest in Château Innesse was not deposed; his robes are richer and his church grows larger than it was before the battle. I am anxious to have this business settled.”
“If you do not await the harvest, sir knight, you will not succeed. That is the time of the largest pilgrimages.”
“Do not betray me, Father. I warn you.”
Father Algernon inclined his head in an affirmative nod and Ryland turned abruptly to leave the vestry. He peeked out the open door and crossed in front of the altar through the chapel. Being seen leaving the chapel was not a problem, but had anyone been praying there and realized he was closeted with the priest, grave suspicions would arise. Ryland knew how carefully he was watched and this excited him.
Ryland walked from the chapel toward the hall. He purposely wished to pass through the mistress’s gardens. His pace was leisurely, his manner relaxed. He liked to wander about De la Noye. After Innesse, De la Noye was a lovely surprise. This was a rich and robust place, not at all like a castle recently besieged by war and death, but a flowering little blossom in the midst of a stormy land. If all went according to plan, and if he could stay Hollis’s harsh hand, De la Noye would barely be bruised in the siege. The dead would belong to Hyatt’s men-at-arms.
Ryland had a liking for flowers and found the gardens in the inner bailey behind the central keep to be perfectly groomed at all times. There were always women and young boys at work there. This was the one place completely untouched by the conquering forces, for a wall that
was about knee-high to a full-grown man surrounded the place, and the clumsy knights had not ridden nor led their warhorses through the flowers. He touched a rose, stooped to pluck a marigold, and inspected a large, fragrant white flower. He inhaled deeply, smiling.
A figure kneeling not far from where he stood caught his eye. It was Aurélie, stooped beside the herb patch with a small knife and a basket. A chuckle rose to his lips. How unlike a noblewoman to be engaged in menial labor. Any of the women he had known would have sent a servant to collect herbs. But then, he had seen her involved in many tasks beneath her station. She poured ale from her pitchers, delivered wine from the closet to the table, brought dinner eggs from the village. Mayhap she curried horses when she had a spare moment, he thought wryly.
He approached her. “Is there no one to do this for you, my lady?”
She turned and looked up at him. “There are many who would do as I bid them, sir. I choose to do this myself.”
“Ah,” he acknowledged with a smile, “you must enjoy the garden. The selection of herbs brings you satisfaction.”
She began to rise and his hand was ready to lend assistance. She warily allowed this and came slowly to her feet. There were two round brown spots on her apron from kneeling in the soft dirt. “I planted the herbs myself, sir, and so it is my wont to harvest them myself.”
“In England it is not considered good fashion for a noblewoman to engage in the labors of serfs and servants.”
Aurélie smiled in spite of herself. Did Ryland mean to educate her on the style of the English? But she had watched Hyatt, who she suddenly realized was quite like herself in this respect. He was not too high a lord of men to perform even the lowest task if it was a chore that needed doing. He liked activity and detested extended leisure. He was no less able to delegate work to others, nor did anyone ever dare to question his command. Hyatt would be amused to have someone criticize him for shoveling up a pile of horse dung or pounding the dents out of his own shield.
