The Captive Heart (41 page)

“You call a church document folly, Priest?” Sir Udolf said icily.

“Nay, my lord, I do not. What I tell you is that that document will not matter to the Laird of Dunglais or his wife. They will not be parted.”

“Do not call her his wife. She is not his wife! She belongs to me!”

The priest threw up his hands in defeat. This would end badly, but he had done his very best to turn the lord of Wulfborn away from his madness. He could do nothing more but pray for Sir Udolf. Alix Givet was not going to come back, and nothing Holy Mother Church said or did was going to change that. But he would travel with his master and be there for him when he was finally forced to face the truth of the matter.

They departed Wulfborn several days later, taking with them six men-at-arms whom Sir Udolf had trained from among his new villagers. Six were enough for protection, but not enough to appear hostile. Reaching Dunglais two days later, they found the small drawbridge that stretched across its moat raised. Father Peter noted that the moat was kept filled by a natural stream that traversed the hill upon which the stone keep known as Dunglais stood.

“Identify yourselves!” the guard on watch called down to the party before the keep’s gates.

“Sir Udolf Watteson, and Father Peter to see the laird,” the lord of Wulfborn called up to the man-at-arms.

“You’ll have to wait” was the reply, and the guard turned away to speak briefly with another man on the walls. Then he climbed down the stone steps from the wall and into the courtyard. Entering the keep proper, he hurried to the great hall, where the laird was sitting with his wife and their children. “There’s a Sir Udolf Watteson and his priest at the gates, my lord, requesting entry. English by the sound of him.”

Alix grew pale and looked wordlessly at her husband.

“I told you I should have killed him,” Malcolm Scott said. “Refuse him entry, and tell him if he returns to Dunglais again I will slay him.”

“
No!
Wait!” Alix called out to the man-at-arms. Then she said to her husband, “If you refuse him entry, I shall never be able to go outside the keep again as long as he is alive. He’ll send men to take me again. Let him in, I beg you. Let him see Fiona and little James. Let me tell him I am again with child to be born at year’s end. Together we can convince him, we
must
convince him, that his desire for me needs to be put to rest. The priest comes with him, and while old-fashioned in his thought, Father Peter is a reasonable man, Colm. And send for Father Donald to join us.”

“I want the children gone from the hall,” the laird said.

“Nay, let them remain. Sir Udolf needs to understand this isn’t just about a man and a woman. This is about a family,” Alix said.

“I don’t want them frightened, and this will eventually become unpleasant,” the laird said.

“If we see it degenerating, we will send them away,” Alix promised.

“Go and tell Sir Udolf he and his priest may enter. His escort will remain outside. He has my word no harm will come to either of them while they are in my house,” Malcolm Scott said.

With a brief nod the man-at-arms hurried off to deliver the message. Iver, who had heard everything, went to seek out Father Donald. By the time Sir Udolf and Father Peter had reached the hall of Dunglais, Father Donald was there as well. The Englishman’s eyes went immediately to Alix. He smiled. She did not smile back.

“My dear wife, I am happy to see you looking so well,” Sir Udolf said.

“I am not your wife,” Alix responded.

“Why are you here?” Malcolm Scott demanded.

“A year ago I went to King Edward and asked him for justice. He interceded for me at York, and York interceded with St. Andrew’s. This marriage union you claim with my wife is illegal. Holy Mother Church orders you to return Alix Givet to me immediately. I have come to you openly and honestly, my lord. I travel with no great army of men, but only with a small party to guard me while I journey.” He reached into the leather packet he carried and withdrew several sheets of parchment. “Here, my lord, are the documents from York, including a recent letter upholding my claim upon Alix Givet. If you can read, read them. If you cannot read them, have your priest do so.”

To his credit Malcolm Scott did not leap up and throttle the Englishman, although he was tempted to do so. He was a man of honor, and he had given his word that Sir Udolf would not be harmed in his house. But he did wave away the parchments. Instead he said, “My lord, do you see this girl who sits by Alix’s side? It is my daughter from a previous union. The only mother she has ever known is Alix. Do you see the bairn in Alix’s lap? That is our son, James Alexander, named for the late king, who was my friend, and for Alix’s father. And there is another bairn in Alix’s belly who will be born at year’s end. Now do you really believe, my lord, that anything written upon those parchments will induce me to give my wife, the woman I love and prize, to you?”

“The church and the law are on my side,” Sir Udolf said stiffly.

“To hell with both the church and the law!” the Laird of Dunglais said vehemently. “Whatever your documents may declare, Sir Udolf, Alix is
my
wife.”

“My lord,” Father Peter said quietly, “you cannot take a mother from her children.”

“Priest! You overstep your authority,” Sir Udolf snarled.

Suddenly Fiona jumped to her feet. “You will not take my mam from me again,” she cried, launching herself at Sir Udolf to attack him with her small fists.
“You will not! You will not!”

The laird quickly rose and pulled his daughter from the startled Englishman.

The little girl yanked away from her father and tried to squeeze herself into Alix’s lap with her brother, who was now beginning to whimper nervously.

“Fenella, take the bairns from the hall,” Alix called out. She brushed a lock of black hair from Fiona’s small face. “I am not going anywhere with this man, Fi. I told you when I returned I would not leave you again. Now go with Fenella and play with James so he will not be frightened.” She kissed the girl’s tear-stained cheek.

“Aye, Mam,” Fiona said with a sniff, reluctantly taking her baby brother’s hand and helping him as he toddled from the hall. But before she left she gave Sir Udolf a fierce look that actually made him quail.

“The brat has the evil eye,” the Englishman declared, crossing himself piously.

“Let me see these documents you carry,” Father Donald said, quietly reaching out to receive them from his fellow cleric. Carefully he perused them, and then he said, “This letter purported to come from the bishop of St. Andrew’s does not. I know the handwriting of both of His Grace’s two secretaries and the four undersecretaries. The hand that composed this letter does not belong to any in St. Andrew’s precincts. Nor is the seal of the bishop attached, which it would have to be to be authentic. From where did this letter come?”

“It came from York, along with a document from the archbishop there declaring the dispensation valid and true,” Father Peter replied hesitantly.

“Do you believe the dispensation valid?” the Scots priest asked the English one.

“I am suspicious, for coin was exchanged several times,” Father Peter answered truthfully, “but I cannot be certain. The donations were said to be for the archbishop’s charitable works. I am no fool, and I know they could have as easily gone into someone’s pocket. But is not that how the business of the church is conducted? On a large scale for men of importance, and a smaller scale for those of lesser importance like my master?”

“Of course the dispensation is valid!” Sir Udolf shouted. “The archbishop’s seal is on it! It is true, and Alix Givet is mine by right! Are you suggesting bribes were exchanged? Are you offending my honor? For I am a man of honor!”

“If you call my wife yours one more time, my lord,” the laird said through gritted teeth, “I will throw you out of my house, for I have given my word not to harm you while you are in it. But once you have crossed my drawbridge my promise no longer holds.”

“The dispensation from York is valid,” Sir Udolf repeated stiffly.

“But the letter from St. Andrew’s is not,” the laird replied, “and so we are at an impasse. English law does not hold in Scotland, and Alix is my wife under Scots law.”

“And she is mine under English law,” the lord of Wulfborn said stubbornly.

“My lord,” Father Donald addressed their visitor, “is not possession nine-tenths of the law? And does not the fact my lady is the mother of my lord’s bairns overrule your right? Ask the lady what it is she desires in this matter.”

“What she wants does not matter,” Sir Udolf said. “The law is the law.”

“Since we speak of English law and Scots law then this matter must be settled in the courts, but of course then the question arises whose court? England’s or Scotland’s? And a civil court or an ecclesiastical court?” Father Donald said. “Would it not be simpler to relinquish your claim on the lady? I am certain my lord would pay you an indemnity for any damages you feel you have suffered in this matter.”

Alix spoke suddenly. “I do not love you, Udolf. The thought of being your wife is repellent to me. You were the father of my first husband. I think of you as a father. I could never consider you a lover. Indeed, the very idea is repugnant. But I do love Malcolm Scott and our children. Dunglais is my home and I will not leave it.”

He looked her, and as if he had heard nothing she had said to him, told her, “We have repaired the damage the Scots inflicted upon Wulfborn, my dear. The village is rebuilt and repopulated once again. There are sheep in the meadow, and the crop promises to be good by harvestide. When you come home, you will see.”

Alix stood up, smoothing her pale blue skirts. “I shall go to the bairns,” she said. “With your permission, my lord, I shall not return to the hall until this man is gone.”

He nodded. “Go, lambkin.” Then he spoke to his guest. “It is several hours until dark. I will not shelter you in my house this night, Sir Udolf. Get you gone from Dunglais, and never return. If you do, I will, despite my wife’s gentle heart, kill you.”

“I want what is mine!” the Englishman shouted.

The laird nodded to Iver, who came with several stout serving men and took the lord of Wulfborn from the hall and out into the courtyard, where they set him upon his horse and led it across the drawbridge to rejoin his men-at-arms. Father Peter followed but not before he and Father Donald managed to speak privately.

“I will send to you when I know what he means to do,” Father Peter said. “I am not being disloyal, but for months I have attempted to dissuade him from this path. There are at least two marriage prospects for him to choose from in his vicinity.”

“Thank you,” Father Donald said. “I have known Colm Scott since he was a boy. He will not give over. He loves his wife, and his heart is held captive by her. Godspeed to you, Peter.”

“And God bless you, Donald” came the reply as the English priest mounted his horse and set off after his master. When he had caught up with Sir Udolf he asked him, “And now, my lord, will we return home to Wulfborn?”

“Nay, we are going to find Queen Margaret” came the surprising answer. “Did she not give me her permission to wed Alix if I gained the dispensation? Surely she will have some influence upon my wife. And I will gain her aid in petitioning the bishop of St. Andrew’s. We will see if the letter I hold is false or nay.”

“My lord,” the priest said desperately, “let us go home, I beg you. The matter is settled for all but you. Why would you try to take her away from Dunglais?”

“Because she is mine,” Sir Udolf said as if the priest were simple-minded and could not comprehend. “She is mine, Priest, and I will have what is mine.”

But Margaret of Anjou had left Scotland with her son and returned home to France in the hopes of gaining aid from her family and from the French king so her husband might be restored to his throne. Henry of Lancaster remained in Scotland, moving from sanctuary to sanctuary within the borders. Some days his mind was clear, and some days it was not. While disappointed, Sir Udolf was not discouraged. He rode on to St. Andrew’s to gain an audience with Bishop Kennedy. The bishop, however, was not at St. Andrew’s. He was with the young king. But Father Peter was able to learn from one of the bishop’s undersecretaries that the letter that was supposed to have come from St. Andrew’s had not. None of the bishop’s people recognized it, or the hand that wrote it. And as for the archbishop of York’s dispensation, it would not be upheld by the bishop of St. Andrew’s.

“We must go home, my lord,” Father Peter said.

And Sir Udolf nodded. “But this matter is not over,” he told his priest.

The priest said nothing. A reasonable man would have admitted his defeat, but Sir Udolf had never been a man to give up easily. Still Sir Udolf had met with failure at every turn.
It is obvious,
the priest thought,
that God is answering my prayers. Perhaps if I pray harder my lord will give over and pick a new wife from among the women of our district.
Encouraged, Father Peter turned his face south towards Wulfborn Hall.

Alix had been both upset and astounded when Sir Udolf Watteson had appeared in the hall at Dunglais. She wasn’t certain that he was mad. But his refusal to accept the reality of his situation was disturbing.
Perhaps I should have let Colm kill him when he rescued me from Wulfborn,
she thought guiltily. Her husband had told her if Sir Udolf ever again attempted to enter their life and disarrange it he would indeed slay the Englishman. Alix had not protested his words this time. She was angry Sir Udolf had upset Fiona, who was now having nightmares and would wake up crying out for Alix.

The laird would not allow his wife to ride from the keep without a large party of men to guard her. After midsummer Alix refrained from riding at all, pleading her belly, but it was not her pregnancy that prevented her riding out. Taking men from the keep so she might ride endangered Dunglais. And Fiona had become fearful of leaving her home lest Sir Udolf come and take Alix away. Only remaining within the keep did the little girl feel truly safe.