By King's Decree
- -
- 100%
- +
Gerard had realized, these past few days, it wasn’t Lenvil he strove to protect. The holding was a fine one and Corwin’s birthright. If the manor and village burned, the peasants and livestock scattered, the crops destroyed, the waste would raise his anger. His demand for justice would be swift against the knave who dared attack the holding.
But a manor could be rebuilt, people and cattle retrieved, crops replanted. Intolerable was the thought of Ardith’s fate should the manor fall.
Visions of lovely Ardith hovered at the edge of his mind, ethereal and subtle, but always with him. He caught himself looking for her in the yard or in the manor, listening for the sound of her voice. His enchantment grew with each passing day—and night.
As did his hunger. He couldn’t look upon Ardith without desire flooding his loins, hardening his manroot.
On the day she’d come to his tent to tend his head, he’d thought they reached an accord. But still she shunned him, as though she hadn’t gently touched his forehead and stood so close that he could feel her warmth and smell her unique scent.
Had the desire to bed Ardith been the only source of his vexation, he might have ordered her to his bed. Often he’d thought of winding her plait in his fist, dragging her into his tent and flinging her naked body down onto his furs. None would gainsay him.
Odd, how he willingly abandoned that right in order to win her favor. Winsome and eager was how he wanted Ardith. Aye, he wanted her passion, but he also wanted her affection. From Ardith he wanted more than the mere joining of bodies. She must be kept safe, because after concluding his business with Basil, Gerard intended to take Ardith as his wife.
He needed royal consent to marry, but could think of no reason why King Henry should disapprove of Ardith. Though not of noble blood, Ardith hailed from good stock. As fifth daughter she would have no dowry to speak of, but if Gerard didn’t begrudge the lack, Henry shouldn’t care. And she was Saxon, a happenstance likely to sway Henry to approve.
Gerard yearned to begin the delightful duty of siring a legal heir to Wilmont. Making babes with Ardith would be pure pleasure.
As for Daymon, Gerard was sure Ardith would lovingly accept his bastard son. Every child in the manor sought her out to soothe bumps and bandage scrapes. He strongly suspected her coddling eased their hurts more than the salves and strips of linen. She adored children, had threatened to whip Belinda over a bastard’s care.
But hellfire, why did he so want the one woman in the entire kingdom who refused to respond to the desire that flared whenever their eyes met?
Gerard turned toward the sound of a horse thundering toward the manor, his hand automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword. Then he recognized the messenger who rode one of Wilmont’s swiftest coursers. Foam frothed from the horse’s mouth as the courier reined to a halt.
“Baron Gerard,” the man said panting, holding out a rolled parchment. “From Walter. He bid me await your reply.”
Gerard untied the ribbon and unrolled the parchment. Rage blinded him for a moment as he read.
“When?” he growled at the messenger.
“Yesterday, my lord.”
Gerard crushed the message in a white-knuckled fist.
“What is amiss?” Corwin asked from beside him.
“Frederick has returned to Wilmont.”
“Has Milhurst fallen to Basil?”
“Frederick could not say because he was dead, strapped across his horse like game from the hunt. Someone killed him and led the horse near enough to Wilmont for the horse to find its way home.”
“Basil?”
“His minions, I suspect.” Gerard exploded. “Devil take him! His audacity is beyond endurance. Tell John to have the men ready to march on the morn. We leave for Westminster.”
Gerard stalked off to his tent. In quick, angry strokes he penned a message to Stephen, giving his brother permission to take whatever defensive measures he thought necessary.
After Richard’s wounding, Gerard’s first impulse had been to run a sword through Basil of Northbryre’s gullet. But King Henry’s staying hand had given Gerard time to realize that by seeking redress through the court he might gain title to Basil’s holdings without putting men on the field of battle. And by doing so, Gerard could richly reward Stephen and Richard for their loyalty without giving up any Wilmont lands.
Gerard almost hoped Basil had been stupid enough to raid Milhurst. The mistake would add weight to Gerard’s case. He shook his head at the notion. Leaving Milhurst open to attack, or not taking it back if Basil had succeeded with a raid, would be seen as weakness. Gerard added another order to Stephen’s letter, to send two knights and ten men-at-arms to Milhurst.
His mind settled on the matter, Gerard turned his attention to leaving Lenvil. He had yet to choose a captain for Lenvil’s guard. The ideal would be to leave Corwin here to handle the matter, but he needed Corwin at court.
And Ardith?
Gerard wondered what Ardith’s reaction would be when informed she was making the trip to Westminster.
“Elva, Ardith needs your help. You must come up to the manor. We leave on the morn and there is much to be done.”
“Then you help her, Bronwyn,” Elva called to the closed door of her hovel. She shook out a square of black wool and covered the small table. On the cloth she placed a treasured Celtic cross, a gift from her long-dead mother. Beside the cloth she placed a thick, tallow candle.
“Ardith wants you to take charge of the manor while she is away. She is upset about this journey. Having you at the manor in her absence would ease her mind. Please, Elva. If you do not come, she will have to place another in charge.”
Elva didn’t answer, and soon heard Bronwyn’s disgruntled huff and the shuffle of retreating footsteps.
She lit the candle. From the folds of her gown she retrieved a leather pouch and dumped the contents onto the cloth. She wished they were larger, these bones she’d managed to nab ahead of the dogs. The Norman, blast his hide, tossed his leavings at the dogs instead of flinging them over his shoulder into the rushes.
The bones weren’t bleached. Slivers of meat and gristle still clung to the surface. She shook her head at the lack of time to prepare them properly. She gathered the bones in her hands.
Years ago, she’d misjudged the forces of fate. Thinking her precious girl safe, Elva hadn’t bothered to augur the Norman’s future. Now the beast was back and about to spirit Ardith away.
She’d saved Ardith from the clutches of Wilmont once. Could she do so again? She must.
Elva closed her eyes, mumbling the words she remembered as her mother’s chant. She knew not the meaning, only remembered the pattern of sounds.
She tossed the bones onto the black cloth and read their dire message.
“Demon spawn,” she hissed, and with a sweep of her hand, wiped the offensive prophecy out of her sight.
Chapter Six
All of Ardith’s possessions fit into a small trunk. As she spread her yellow veil atop her good gown, she grumbled, “I still do not understand why I must go along.”
“Ardith, when a baron invites a vassal on a journey, the vassal accepts,” Bronwyn stated from her perch upon her own large trunk. Beside her trunk sat another, as large and as full. Bronwyn, sensibly, was taking advantage of traveling with the company about to depart Lenvil.
“Baron Gerard invited Father. My accompanying Father, as nursemaid, was an afterthought.”
“Well, I surely cannot care for Father. He will not listen to me. Besides, I am glad you are coming. We can keep each other company on the road. Oh, Ardith, we will have such a merry time at court.”
“Are you sure Kester will not mind our unexpected visit?”
“Not in the least Kester’s position as adviser to the king entitles him to lodgings at Westminster Palace. There is plenty of room for us all. Ardith, do cease looking for an excuse to beg off. All is ready. You are coming.”
All was ready because Ardith had spent most of the night gathering provisions, with the help of John, whom Gerard had assigned to oversee Lenvil in Ardith’s absence.
She still couldn’t understand why Elva had refused to take charge of the manor. She’d thought her aunt would enjoy the task, if only for the luxury of sleeping in the bed.
Ardith was of two minds about the journey.
Granted, Father hadn’t been to court for many years to pay homage to the king. But Harold wasn’t a well man, as Gerard knew. Why now? Why with such haste? Could they not have had more time than one night to prepare? And starting out on a journey under the threat of inclement weather was ill-advised.
Yet Ardith had never seen London, never traveled farther than the market at Bury Saint Edmunds, a mere two hours’ ride to the west. Bronwyn made court sound exciting, full of interesting people and wondrous sights.
“You will need several new gowns,” Bronwyn observed. “I have a few that might suit you with a bit of altering. If you do not care for them, I have stacks of cloth from which you can make your own.”
“Surely, I will not need so many.”
“Oh, three or four, at least. Ah, they have come for our trunks.” Bronwyn slid off her perch to allow the men of her escort to lift the trunk. “Be careful, now. This one goes on the right of the cart. And make sure the tarp is secure. The sky looks ready to burst. You know how the snow sticks to the top and makes it hard to…” Bronwyn’s voice trailed out of hearing as she followed the bearers out of the chamber.
Ardith looked about the room. All of her life she’d slept within Lenvil’s walls, within this chamber.
“Ardith? Are you ready?” Corwin asked as he strode in.
Ardith tried to return the smile but found she couldn’t.
“Why so glum, Ardith? Ah, I understand. ‘Tis always hardest the first time, leaving home.”
“Did your heart ache the first time you left Lenvil?”
Corwin shook his head. “I thought it a grand adventure, going off with Baron Everart to Wilmont. Of course, I had Stephen for company. The two of us became fast friends on that journey. Where is your mantle? Here, put it on.”
Corwin held up Ardith’s warmest mantle, lined with rabbit fur, and draped it over her shoulders. Ardith wrapped a long piece of wool about her head and neck.
Her brother grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the chamber. “Come, Bronwyn is waiting for you in her litter. You two can gossip all the way to Westminster.”
Ardith scampered to match Corwin’s stride. “I thought to ride my horse.”
“Your palfrey carries provisions.”
Corwin didn’t give her time for a last look about the manor; instead, he hustled her out of doors. “What a grand procession we will make,” he declared, waving a hand at the long line of men, animals and wagons.
At the head of the line stood Thomas, holding the reins of Gerard’s destrier and Father’s stallion. Behind them would march several of Wilmont’s soldiers, followed by Bronwyn’s litter and her escort. The remaining men-at-arms and the wagons and pack animals completed the company.
Ardith eyed Bronwyn’s odd conveyance. The litter looked like the bottom half of a sawed-off wooden box attached to long poles, which fitted on to specially made harnesses on horses. A roof of canvas, held up by spindles at the corners, would keep off rain and snow. She thought it must be safe to ride in because Bronwyn would travel no other way.
“Come, Ardith. In you go or we shall leave you behind,” Corwin teased as he handed her into the seat opposite Bronwyn.
Ardith smiled wanly. “Promise?”
“Promise what?” Gerard asked as he came up to the litter.
“Ardith is being difficult.” Corwin sighed. “It seems, my lord, she would rather not ride in such comfort. She would rather ride her palfrey, which we loaded down with food.”
Gerard looked at her strangely for a moment, then said, “Well, perhaps we can make other arrangements later. If everyone is ready, let us away.”
By midday, Ardith was willing to walk to London. Somehow, Bronwyn had managed to fall asleep. So much for keeping each other company! Not that Ardith really minded her sister’s desertion. This way Bronwyn wouldn’t see and remark upon Ardith’s distress.
Her stomach churned from the lurch and sway of the litter. The unnatural sensation of riding backward, seeing where she had been and not where she was going, added to her discomfort.
Her backside pained from bouncing on the thinly padded seat. Though she’d thought of pulling up the hem of her mantle to form extra cushioning, she couldn’t do so while in motion. Her fingers had frozen into claws, gripping the sides of the litter. Corwin rode by often during the morning, waving as he passed. Ardith refused to loosen her hold, even to respond to her brother.
Finally, upon hearing Corwin’s cry for the company to halt, she said a silent prayer of thanks to God—Father, Son, and Spirit—and every saint who came immediately to mind.
Bronwyn jolted awake as the litter came to a halt. “Goodness,” she said, stretching delicately. “I have slept most of the morn away. I see the weather holds. Good, that means we can travel many miles yet before seeking shelter. Ah, Baron Gerard. How nice of you to assist us.”
Gerard held the panel open. Bronwyn fairly bounded out of the litter, resting her fingertips briefly on Gerard’s arm.
“How fare you, ladies?”
“Oh, quite nicely, my lord. I am, however, faint with hunger. Shall I bring you some cheese and bread, Ardith? Would you prefer wine or mead?”
“N-nothing, Bronwyn. I will eat later.”
Bronwyn tilted her head. “Are you all right? You do look a bit peaked.”
Ardith drew a calming breath. “I am fine. Do go and have your meal.”
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Bronwyn went in search of nourishment. Gerard stood at the opening, waiting.
“Have you ever ridden in one of these, my lord?”
“Nay,” he said, inspecting the litter front to back. “From the way it moves, I would imagine the motion feels much the same as a ship in gentle seas.”
“Gentle seas?”
“Aye.”
“Have you traveled on many ships?”
“I have crossed the Channel several times between England and Normandy.”
“And your opinion, my lord?”
Ardith gave him credit for trying to hide his smile. He knew she was stalling, unable to move.
“I would rather my feet on solid ground, or at least a good, steady horse beneath me.”
Then he reached inside the litter, pushed her mantle aside and took a firm hold around her waist. His encircling hands were warm and reassuring.
“Come, Ardith. We shall walk a bit and you will feel better. Now, put your hands on my shoulders. Both hands, my lady. Very good. Move toward me a bit. A bit more.”
“I feel such a dolt.”
“Do you trust me, Ardith?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Then lean toward me and I will lift you out.”
She did trust him, but as she leaned forward and Gerard tugged, Ardith flung her arms around Gerard’s neck and clung. He grew very still, then his hands squeezed her waist. Ardith floated out of the litter, supported by strong arms and warm hands and her death grip on Gerard’s neck.
She hung suspended for a moment before he lowered her to the ground. Her feet on firm earth, Ardith loosened her hold to allow Gerard to stand upright. Expecting to see amusement, prepared to laugh at her own cowardice, Ardith looked up.
He smiled, but didn’t mock. “Come, scamp,” he said. “Let us see if you can walk.”
Her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, they walked in silence up the road, past men and horses, until Ardith’s legs no longer wobbled.
“I hope I need never board a ship,” she stated firmly.
“’Tis not so bad once accustomed to the sway.”
Her body and mind again in harmony, she thought to ask, “How fares my father?”
“Well enough.” He stopped walking. “You worry overmuch.”
“Is that not why I came, to look after my father?”
“Partly.”
Gerard realized his mistake as soon as the word passed his lips. Ardith withdrew her hand and faced him squarely.
“Then you must enlighten me, my lord. I heard of no other reason why I had to leave Lenvil.”
Now wasn’t the time to tell her the whole of his plans. Gerard wanted first to speak with King Henry, ensure no objection would come from royal quarters before bargaining with Harold on betrothal and marriage to Ardith.
But she was so damned adorable, her pert face tilted upward, her blue eyes flashing with irritation. Wasn’t now a good time to hint at the joys to come?
He hadn’t intended to kiss her, hadn’t even intended to stray so far ahead of the rest of the company. But they were alone and the temptation was just too sweet.
He cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I wished you to come,” he told her, then gently touched her mouth with his own.
Gerard felt her surprise in the slight tremble of her lips. He pressed through her hesitation, coaxed her honeyed mouth with featherlight brushes of lips. Finally, delightfully, she responded.
He cursed his chain mail, designed to deflect sword blows and spear points. He couldn’t feel her hands where she placed them on his chest, twining her fingers in the metal rings. Nor could he feel the warmth of her body as he gathered her into his embrace.
The flash of her passionate nature, hidden under a thin veil of innocence, nearly shattered his resolve to be content with a kiss. With rigid control he kept his hand from straying to her breast, the gentle swell he longed to cup and fondle.
Knowing his limits, Gerard broke the kiss. Her eyes remained closed. Her lips, reddened and slightly swollen, stayed pursed for an instant, then relaxed.
When at last she opened her eyes, it was Gerard’s turn to feel surprise. He saw sadness of unfathomable depth. A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
“Oh, Gerard,” she whispered. “Sometimes we may not have what we wish.”
No, not right now, but soon. Gerard knew well the ways of seduction—a kiss here, a touch and sweet words there. When he was ready to claim her, she wouldn’t deny him. Her response to his kiss told him as much. But why had the kiss brought on such sadness?
Before he could ask, Ardith pushed away, glancing back toward the company and the sound of an approaching horse.
“We have a problem, my lord,” Corwin said as he reined in, his face all smiles. “We are being followed.”
Gerard frowned. “By whom?”
“Elva.”
“Elva?” Ardith exclaimed.
“Aye. I bade her return to Lenvil, but she refuses. She says that when Father banished her to the village, she became a peasant. Therefore, she claims the right of a freeman to go anywhere she damn well pleases.”
“Where does she go?”
Corwin dismounted. “She follows you, Ardith. She says you will have need of her counsel at court.”
Ardith crossed her arms, her expression stern. “I would wager she has read those blasted bones again. Every time she casts them, she sees some dire event.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Gerard muttered, and began walking back to the main body of the company.
“Aye,” Ardith agreed, falling into step. “But Elva believes in the old rites.”
Corwin asked, “Do we let her join us? She is older than Father and the walk will be arduous.”
Gerard shrugged the matter off as unimportant. Having one more person in the party made little difference. “Ardith?”
“If Bronwyn agrees, put Elva in the litter. I will walk.”
Gerard waved Corwin off to tend to the old woman. “Why give up your seat?”
“I would give up my seat to anyone who would take it. I refuse to ride any farther in that device of torture.”
Gerard’s ire rose. No future mistress of Wilmont would trek the road like a common peasant.
“Thomas,” he shouted. “Fetch my cloak.”
Thomas dropped the destrier’s reins and sprinted toward the cart bearing Gerard’s tent and belongings. To Ardith’s amazement, the warhorse stood still.
From the middle of the line came voices raised in argument. Harold lectured Elva on insolence. Elva shouted back from beside Bronwyn’s litter.
“Oh, dear,” Ardith said and took a step.
Gerard reached out and stopped her. “Leave them to their spat. Neither is helpless.”
Thomas came running back, cloak in hand. Gerard whipped the beaver-lined mantle around his shoulders and fastened the gold brooch. He grabbed the reins, put his boot in the stirrup and in one fluid movement mounted the warhorse. He scowled down at Ardith. “Are you still determined to walk?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He gave a long, resigned sigh, then held out his hands. “Come, Ardith. Ride with me.”
The thought of riding on a warhorse gave her pause. Black as coal, sleek as silk, the destrier stood several hands taller than her palfrey. Warhorses were said to be mean as jackals, fierce fighters, protective of their masters.
“I thought ‘twas bad luck for a destrier to carry a woman,” she argued.
“Superstitious nonsense.”
Ardith looked back. Everyone waited. Riding pillion was little better than riding in the litter. But if she refused Gerard’s invitation, all would consider the rejection an insult to the baron.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.