Hellion (27 page)

“Remember, Rolf,” the king reminded him. “Your oath to
me comes before the oath you swore to Hugh.” Then the king turned abruptly and departed the little chamber.

“Damn!” Rolf swore, white about the lips.

“Oh, Rolf,” Belle tried to console him, “it is not that bad. I would prefer to return home, but if the king would have us stay, then stay we must. We have no choice in the matter.”

“Do you not understand, Isabelle?” he cried. “The king lusts after you! I should not have brought you to court.”

“He may lust all he likes, Rolf,” Belle responded. “He will not have his way with me. After all, he is only a man. I may have little experience where men are concerned, but I know enough to avoid a suitor’s unwelcome attentions.”

“If he wants you, he will have you, Belle,” Rolf said grimly. “He is the king. A woman does not put off a king.”

“Why not?” she demanded. “Is a royal cock any more special than an ordinary lord’s cock? How ridiculous!”

“Nay, Belle, a cock is a cock, but a king is no ordinary lord. When a king commands, his loyal subject must obey. If the king seeks to put his royal member between your milk-white thighs, you will open them willingly, for to do otherwise would be to commit treason, my headstrong girl. Oh, you would not be accused openly of such perfidy, but you would nonetheless have offended Henry Beauclerc, and he would find ways of punishing you. Perhaps he would send Hugh off to fight Robert de Belleme, who harasses his Norman possessions. Hugh could be killed, and you widowed. Then he would take over the wardship of not only your person, but that of Hugh the Younger. He might keep you openly as his mistress, or marry you off to some compliant lordling who would look the other way while the king pursued his passion for you. When you lost his favor, you would be shackled to some stranger who might not be as loving and as tolerant as Hugh has been of your impetuous behavior. I warned you not to come to court, Belle, but you would not listen. Now you must accept whatever happens with as good a grace as possible.”

“I did not know,” Isabelle whispered, horrified by what Rolf
had told her. “Oh, Holy Mother! I can hold him off but a short time. If Hugh does not come quickly, I shall be ruined!”

“If it comes to that,” Rolf said, putting a comforting arm about his stepdaughter, “Hugh need not know, Isabelle. I will not tell him, and neither must you, for his sake as well as your own.”

A tear slipped down Belle’s pale cheek. “Oh, Rolf, what have I done?” she cried softly. Then she grew paler. “Agneatha!” she said. “She will surely know if the king attempts to seduce me. Two might keep such a secret, but three surely cannot!”

“You must be hard, Isabelle, and I know you can be. Warn your serving woman that should she betray you, you will dispossess her. A serf without a master cannot survive, and Agneatha knows that. She will keep any secrets she must for that reason alone.”

Isabelle nodded. “I grew frightened for a moment,” she said. “I must keep my wits about me if I am to survive, Rolf.”

“Aye, you must,” he agreed, giving her a little squeeze of encouragement. Then he said, “I think we can manage a new gown or two in the court style for you, Belle. I have the funds with me. It should allow you a few days’ respite from the king’s attentions while they are being made. Then, when you are introduced to the court, you will be able to hold your head up and do Langston proud.”

The door to the little chamber opened and a page entered. “My lord, my lady. The king has sent me to escort you to your apartment. If you will but follow me, please.”

Isabelle went over to the chair in the corner where Agneatha sat, head nodding, her soft little snores barely audible. She poked the servant. “Wake up, Agneatha,” she said. “Wake up!”

Agneatha started. Her head snapped up and she stared wildly about the room. “Is the king come, then?” she said, stumbling to her feet.

“Come and gone,” Isabelle told her.

“He’s come and I’ve not seen him? Ohhh, my lady!” the young woman wailed. “All this way, and I never seen him!”

“There will be plenty of time to see the king, Agneatha,” Isabelle told her serving woman. “We have been asked to remain at court for a short time while the king seeks word of Lord Hugh. Come along now, for the page is here to take us to our sleeping quarters.”

Agneatha beamed with delight. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I am so excited, my lady. To stay here at the court, and to see the king! What a fine treat for us. Old Ida will be pea-green with jealousy, she will.”

Isabelle looked to her stepfather, unable to repress the giggle that bubbled up from her throat. What a coil they were in, and innocent little Agneatha knew but the half of it!

Chapter 10

T
hey followed the young page through the castle, finally entering through a heavy, ironbound oak door into a medium-sized room. The stone walls were whitewashed. There was a small fireplace and a single window with stout wooden shutters. The furnishings were utilitarian, for most people coming to court brought their own amenities. There was a table, two chairs, and a bed with a trundle that could be pulled out from beneath it. While the bed had a mattress, there were no other coverings upon it, and no hangings of any sort.

“Where are you going to sleep, Rolf?” Isabelle was puzzled. The room was more than large enough for Agneatha and herself, but certainly not for the three of them. She looked for a connecting door, but there was no connecting door. “Where is my stepfather to rest?” she asked the lad.

“The king says that Sir Rolf may take his rest with the castle knights, and that he knows how to find his way, my lady,” the page said.

Isabelle nodded, dismissing the boy. When she had closed the door behind him, she turned to Rolf. “You are right, my lord. The king is most determined to have his own way in the matter. He has quite effectively isolated me. Dare you remain nonetheless?”

Rolf shook his head. “You must fight this battle yourself, Isabelle,” he told her. “You are clever, I know, but I fear the king is far more clever. He is a skilled hunter, and you are the prey he stalks.”

Agneatha looked between Rolf and her mistress, completely puzzled. They spoke in riddles. Seeing her confusion, Isabelle explained the predicament. The young serving woman was shocked. “ ’Tis wrong!” she said. “I don’t think I want to see this king after all, my lady.”

“A king is never wrong, Agneatha,” Rolf told her gently, “and whatever happens, you must never reveal any of it to a living soul.”

“Keeping this secret will be the hardest thing you have ever done,” Isabelle said to her serving woman, “but if you reveal the truth to anyone at Langston, and I will know it is
you
should rumors arise, I will have you whipped and driven from my lands. You know the fate of serfs who do not belong to their lands, Agneatha. Among your family you have climbed the highest, coming in from the drudgery of the fields to serve in the keep. You are a good and faithful servant to me, and I love you well. You have served me honestly with all diligence, but if the worst should befall me, I would not bring shame to my husband, my mother, and my child. Do you understand me?”

Agneatha nodded. “I know you do not seek this, my lady,” she said. “I will tell no one, and I will pray the king loses potency. Ohh, if only we were back home! My old granny has a potion that takes the vitality right out of a randy cock.”

“Holy Mother!” Rolf exclaimed. “May I never displease your old granny, Agneatha.” Then he turned the subject neatly. “We must go into the marketplace in the town and find bedding, else you both be most uncomfortable tonight. The trundle has no mattress upon it. And perhaps we can find some material for a new gown, eh, Belle?” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“But I am not skilled enough to make one of those beautiful court gowns,” Isabelle replied, “and alas, neither is Agneatha.”

“I can find you a seamstress,” Rolf promised her. “Agneatha, open the window so the chamber may air while we go to market.”

“How can you find me a seamstress?” Belle asked him.

Her stepfather grinned at her. “I know a number of ladies with the court,” he said with a chuckle. “They will be able to tell me.”

“
Indeed
?” Then she grinned back at him, and they hurried off.

In the town was a well-stocked, good-sized open-air market that did a brisk business when the court was visiting. Isabelle quickly obtained newly made feather beds for herself and Agneatha; fine linen sheets lifted from a lavender-scented bin; feather pillows; down coverlets; a brass ewer for washing, and a pitcher for water. She found bed hangings of fustian, neutrally colored with a deep blue design; an earthenware chamber pot; some candlesticks and candles.

“ ’Tis expensive, this coming to court,” she noted tartly.

“We’ll sell the bedding and curtains back to the secondhand merchant when we leave,” Rolf told her. “We’ll not get much, but we’ll recoup some of what we laid out.” He patted his stepdaughter’s hand comfortingly. Isabelle had a tendency toward frugality, which was certainly not a bad trait in a woman, particularly a woman responsible in part for the well-being of an estate. “Come along now, my lass,” he said, “and let us find the merchant who sells pretty cloth for pretty gowns.” He led his two charges through the market until they found a booth hung with fabric such as the two women had never seen.

Isabelle stood in rapt awe for several minutes, her head moving this way and that. Finally, she said with a great, gusty sigh, “Rolf, I cannot decide! They are all so beautiful, and,” she lowered her voice, “I expect frightfully expensive. Can we afford such fabric?”

“Choose what you like, Belle,” he said. “Remember, you are the lady of Langston come to court.”

She turned again to the fabrics. The lavender damask would make a marvelous tunic worn over violet silk skirts. No. The mauve silk for her skirts, and she could then have a
second
tunic made from the violet damask. And that marvelous tawny
orange brocade would make another tunic to be worn over yellow silk skirts, which would also match with a creamy white brocade that could also be worn with the mauve skirts, whose violet tunic could go with the yellow skirts as well. Before she could speak, however, they were interrupted by a voice trilling out to them.

“
Rolf? Rolf de Briard!
Oh, it is you!”

“Mavis, how delightful to see you once again,” Rolf responded, kissing the woman’s hand. “May I present my stepdaughter, the lady Isabelle of Langston. Belle, this is the lady Mavis of Farnley.”

The two women nodded, sizing one another up as they did so. Mavis of Farnley was a very pretty woman with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin made fairer by the pink blush of her cheeks. She was dressed, to Belle’s embarrassment, in the most fashionable garments: a tunic of sky-blue brocatelle which had been woven with pure gold threads, and gracefully draped deep blue skirts. She made Isabelle feel like a bumpkin.

“
Your stepdaughter
?” Mavis eyed Belle. “When did you gain a stepdaughter, Rolf de Briard? She looks far too grownup to be your stepdaughter, I fear, and much, much too pretty.”

Rolf laughed. “I married her mother over two years ago, Mavis, and not only do I have this fine grown-up girl for a stepchild, my lady wife has in that time given me two sons.”

“Gracious, my lord, you have been busy!” Mavis said with a chuckle. “Where did you find your lady wife, and why have you been so long from court, Rolf de Briard? We have missed you.” Putting a plump little hand upon his arm, she smiled up at him.

“I live in Suffolk now, Mavis. I am steward to Hugh Fauconier, who is the lord of Langston. The lady Isabelle is his wife.”

“Is Hugh at court, then? And will I get to meet your wife, Rolf?” Mavis inquired. She turned to include Isabelle in their conversation. “I hope you know what a rogue this Rolf de Briard is, my lady. There will be many broken hearts amongst
the ladies when they learn of his marriage. One day he and Hugh Fauconier were here; the next they were gone away, and none of us knew where.”

“We need a seamstress, Mavis,” Rolf said with a grin. “You are certainly one of the most outrageously fashionable women here at court, and I know you will know the best seamstress in Winchester. Poor Belle will not appear before the court until she has what she deems fashionable court clothing. That is why you find us here this day.”

Mavis turned a critical eye to Isabelle. Then she patted the girl with her little hand. “You are absolutely right, Belle. I may call you Belle, mayn’t I? We’re going to be friends, I know! Your garments are perfectly fine for Suffolk. I’m a country girl myself, a mixture of Norman and Saxon blood, y’know. For court, however, a woman should be a bit more dashing. What fabrics have you chosen? Show me.”

Isabelle presented her selections for inspection.

“Very nice,” Mavis complimented her, “but let me suggest you choose the violet damask with the gold thread woven through it instead of the plain violet. And you will need some
passemente
braid in both gold and silver for trim. Now, for a seamstress. Master John, your most ’umble cloth merchant,” Mavis mimicked the booth’s owner teasingly, “just happens to be wed to the best seamstress in all of Winchester—is that not a fact, Master John?”