Velvet & steel (2 page)

Robert stood in his stirrups to rest his cramped legs. He and his squire had paused just outside London, and he was still trying to plan the words he would say to Royce. How does one tell a knight who has fought for his king that he is being rewarded by a forced marriage for that same king's benefit? And how does one mention marriage to a man who finds the very word repugnant?

"Ah, Sybella," he murmured. "How I wish the two of you had never met and wed. How much easier this would be, and how much more welcome. Now it grieves me ... and yet... " He remembered well the fragile woman who had first awakened Royce's heart.

He remembered how she had taught him to laugh and to love, how she had slowly filled the emptiness of his life with a new kind of happiness. Happiness was something Royce knew little of. She had been so pretty, with her mink-colored hair and her always smiling violet eyes.

He remembered how she had wooed Royce from the path of violence, and led him to see that there could be beauty and love in what he had always considered a barren and joyless world.... And he remembered grief after her death. He remembered how Royce had gone for days with no interest in food, how he had not seen or heard what was going on about him, and how near death he himself had been before Robert interfered. But he had saved Royce from lethargy, only to watch him plunge into battle and violence and self-destruction.

"My lord?"

He gave his attention to the young squire who rode beside him. "'Tis nothing. I'm getting old. I have reverted to conversations with myself," Robert said disgustedly. "Come, let's ride on, lest my courage forsake me completely."

The squire was truly astonished at this. The courage and bravery of his lord were well known. There was none alive who would question it. Those who did had been dispatched long ago. He shook his head in puzzlement as they rode on.

Even though it was just after five in the morning and the mantle of darkness still lay over the streets, London was astir. Shadows could be seen gliding out of back streets and into the main thoroughfare. The horses' hooves made a sharp sound on the cobblestones as the two made their way to a house near the center of the city.

It was lighted and astir as well, Robert observed as he dismounted. Soren took the horses to the stable, while Robert made his presence known and was welcomed inside.

"Is His Lordship still abed?" he asked a servant, but the answer came from the top of the steps before the servant could answer.

"Nay, Robert." The voice was full of amusement. "Did you not stir me awake with a boot at sunrise when I was a lad? I have learned that lesson well, and do not lie abed even now." When Royce reached the bottom of the steps, he embraced Robert, clapping his back heartily.

"I bring greetings from William. He asks how you fare."

"Very well." The reply was accompanied by a close look and an inquisitive rise of an arched brow. "But I do not think you have come all this distance to bring that simple question."

"Nay ... I have some words from William ... for your ears alone."

"Is something amiss?"

Robert studied the man he had thought of for nearly twenty-eight years as a son. The hard living, first as an unwanted and unnamed bastard and then as a warrior who had used his sword to make his way in life, could be seen only in the piercing gold of his eyes. Like a lion, Robert thought. Royce's strange golden eyes always gave him the look of a lion.

His hair was thick and somewhat unruly, which enhanced that leonine air. His face was a strong one and could be eased only by a smile, which he used seldom. But a smile could wipe away years, and it could melt a cold heart at the same time.

Robert had trained Royce, fathered him as if he were his own, and they had become companions during the years of turmoil as William sought his throne. Robert knew Royce looked to him for counsel, guidance, and friendship.

They had stood shoulder to shoulder in battle, but nothing in their time together had prepared Robert to bring this news. How proud he was of the tall, strongly muscled man before him, and how he prayed that what he was doing was right.

"Nay. Except I have not yet broken my fast, and am hungry enough to eat my horse, saddle and all."

Royce sensed at once that the news Robert brought was not good, but he knew Robert well. The news would not be given until Robert was ready to give it.

"I have not eaten yet either. Join me. Ferragus, Giles, and the others should be joining us soon."

"After we have eaten, will you ride with me?"

"Of course. Do we have a destination, or do we ride for pleasure?"

"We ride," Robert muttered, "so there will not be an audience for our words, especially those devoted guards of yours, who would slay the bearer of ill tidings."

"Is that what you are, Robert," Royce said quietly, "the bearer of ill tidings? And is the word you bring so bad that my comrades in arms cannot share it?"

"Who knows better than you that William has many problems? We are like an island, surrounded by a hostile force that outnumbers us greatly."

"Is danger afoot? Another uprising?"

"Nay. There are some problems that must be solved without the use of a sword."

"Robert, you test my patience and stir my curiosity. Can we not dispense with food and get to the heart of it? If William needs my help in any matter, you know my willingness."

"Aye, sometimes your too fervent willingness. At the last battle, you nearly got yourself killed. William cannot afford to lose a knight of your capabilities. He tells me to caution you to take better care."

"What tales have you been bringing him? You are ever my watchdog. A man lives or dies in battle at the will of God."

"A man should not tempt fate so often, or so rashly. William is not the only one who worries that you put too little value on your life." Robert held Royce's gaze with his.

"'Tis my life," Royce said pointedly. "And there are very few who would put any worth upon it."

"Aye, it is your life. But it would grieve many more than you know if it were to be lost. William now has other plans for it. He needs your loyalty, and has asked ... no, commanded that you comply at once with the message he has entrusted to me."

"What message?"

"It can wait until you have fed me and we can ride out."

"Robert, when you retreat from duty, it can only mean one thing. You do not relish this command."

"I believe it is the best plan under the circumstances."

"But you do not relish it?"

"Nay," Robert agreed reluctantly.

"Why?"

"Because it might bring you to anger ... even to disobedience."

At this Royce was not only shocked, he was disbelieving. He had never considered disobeying the sovereign he was pledged to, and whom he respected and loved.

"Think you I would disobey the king even if he asked for my life?"

"Nay, not if he asked for your life. But what if it were a command that you found impossible to obey?"

"Robert, do you insult me? Do you believe I would break my oath to my sovereign, no matter what the cost?"

"Then I remind you of your oath ... and tell you that it is William's will ... his command ... and his dire need ..." Robert took a deep breath, then continued, "that you wed the Lady Lynette of Creganwald before the end of the month."

Royce's face grew still and pale. He looked at Robert as if he had just blasphemed. "Wed?"

"Aye, wed."

"You cannot be serious."

"I am sure William has never been more serious. He would show his trust in you, for this Creganwald is vital to him."

"I cannot, and I will not consider such a thing." Royce's voice grew deeper. "You, of all people, know this is an impossibility."

"I know only that this is the king's ... command. Do you intend to ignore it? Do you intend to tell him you will not comply?"

"Nay!" Royce turned and walked into the next room. Robert followed, relentlessly forcing Royce to face him and give him a direct answer.

"You have already decided your oath is worthless?" Robert asked ruthlessly.

Royce spun to face him, his face stark and his eyes full of fury. But was it really fury, Robert thought, or a look of almost unbearable pain? He felt the hurt like a palpable force, and if he had not been of stout heart, he would have quaked and retreated before it. But he could not afford what Royce might think of as mercy now, because in the long run his strength now might prove Royce's saving.

"You are aware of my reasons."

"I am. But I am also aware that no matter what you do and what you suffer, you cannot bring Sybella back. William needs Creganwald to be held by a man to whom he can give his complete trust. There are few of them around. Also he wants... You must produce an heir of this union to insure that Creganwald's future will be secure."

"God! What more do you ask of me? I am not a fit husband for any woman, nor do I choose to be. Robert, for God's sake, bring another name before William."

"Royce, I would speak the truth. It was I who suggested you."

For a startling moment Robert thought Royce was about to strike him. His face was congested with rage, and a kind of despair.

"You, my trusted friend."

"Aye, a trusted friend, and one who loves you well. I, too, could not abide your loss."

"I cannot do this thing, Robert. Go to William, plead my cause. Suggest any other name than mine. If not for my sake, then for the luckless maid who would be a victim in this marriage, for it would be hell for her." This was as close to pleading as a man like Royce would go. Robert understood his plea, but he could not do what was requested. If he did, he was sure that Royce's life would end on a battlefield, and the death would be a waste. He made one last try.

"What of Cerise, if you were to die?" he asked.

"She would forget me. I ... I have not seen her for over six months."

"How old is she now?"

"She will soon be six."

"Royce, in the name of heaven, what have you done with her?"

Royce had guilt enough to flush and turn away. He spoke in a harsh rasp. "I cannot look at her. She ... she looks..."

"Exactly like her mother. I should think this would be a comfort."

"Perhaps there is something wrong with me, Robert. Each time I looked at her I saw Sybella. I could bear it no longer."

"The poor child," Robert whispered in disbelief.

"Aye," Royce said bitterly. "The poor child. And you would wish another woman... and maybe another child to suffer the same fate. Have pity on them, Robert, if not on me."

"You do not need pity. You are not to blame for something that was in the hands of God."

"Don't be foolish, my friend. Had it not been for me, she would still be alive, and you know it."

"I know nothing of the sort. She chose to do what she did. She was happy with you, Royce. It is time to put the past away." Robert inhaled deeply. "I will not ask William to change this command. The marriage must be made, and you are one of the few he can trust to govern the lands well, once her father is gone."

"Her father is alive?"

"Aye."

"Then if he is loyal to William, why is a marriage necessary?"

"Because the lands lie in a strategically vulnerable place, and ..." Robert shrugged expressively. "There are few William can trust, as he does you, not to squander the wealth or mishandle the lands ... or make the harbor and lands accessible to his enemies. You see, your loyalty has made you valuable. William cannot do otherwise."

"Robert ... I have never questioned any command from William. I have served him well. But can you not see what a tragic thing this would be? I... I cannot. Ah, Robert." Royce turned his back to Robert, for his voice broke. "Sleep eludes me... dreams fill my mind until I fear for my sanity, and still I cannot wash one moment's memory away. I see her everywhere, search for her in my lonely bed at night. I cannot even bear to look into the face of my own daughter because her mother's eyes look back at me. I am a man haunted and I cannot escape ... I don't want to escape. I have vowed never to marry again."

"And what of your pledge to William, who made of you all that you are? You have given an oath. Do you break it now?"

"You strike at the heart, old friend."

"Royce, you go to the king. If you can deny your pledge, if your honor will see you released from this vow, then I will say no more."

Royce gazed at him for the first time since his arrival with the bleak look of one defeated. He knew William well. William would not release him from his pledge, and to preserve his name, his honor, his pride, and all he had fought for in his lifetime, he could not break it either.

"I will need time to send for the child. When is this wedding to be?"

"You are to go to Creganwald before the end of the month."

The coast of England boasted no place more beautiful then Creganwald. The manor itself sat well back from the sea, but it commanded a perfect natural harbor. Eldwyn of Creganwald had held this manor and its lands all of his life, and ruled it with a strong but firm hand.

He had prayed one of his sons would inherit it when his life ended. But fate had taken his sons from him and left him with only his daughter. He lived in fear that a stranger would gain control over his holdings once he was gone. But his greatest fear was for his daughter.

Summer was losing its hold on the land, and the crisp breeze of early fall whipped the sea waves as they lapped against the shore, breaking into white froth when they reached it.

The same breeze swirled across a nearby meadow and brushed against the soft golden skin of the girl who walked there. The bright sun glistened on hair the color of ripe wheat, and reflected in eyes the color of the cloudless blue sky. She was slender of form, like a long-stemmed flower, and she walked with the graceful ease of one used to the outdoors.

She walked slowly, a heavy basket in her hand; it was laden with roots she had dug from the nearby woods. Some for the cook, and some for her. She had been taking instruction in healing from Maida, an old woman who had been her servant and companion ever since she could remember. As lady of the manor she had no reason to go gathering the roots herself, except that she loved being out and she often liked just being alone.

She had insisted on learning more medicine than she already knew, especially since her father had become so ill the winter before. She had hated the horrible feeling of helplessness. She wanted to learn how to care for her father should he ever become ill again.

How she loved the gauzy English sunshine, the long, slow days, the quiet winters, the fires of home, and English voices. The way spring came, when white daisies made a carpet on the dark, wet earth and when cattle lowed contentedly under a sun caught in a tangle of golden mist. The call of the cuckoo and the smell of hawthorn and the low green hills with the sheep grazing on them and sending out plaintive calls under an evening sky.

Though England was a conquered land, she considered this small corner of it hers—from the still, small blue ponds and lazy streams, to the thatched roofs of the serfs' huts, to the rutted roads and the huge oaks on their knolls.

She was as contented as a woman of a conquered people could be. She knew her safety depended on the strategic value of her home, and on the reputation her father held as an honorable and trustworthy man. He would be left to govern his own lands using the same justice he had always governed with. Gratitude filled her prayers always, for she had heard terrible stories of the treatment of others who had resisted the conquering army of the Duke of Normandy.

William the Conqueror was building castles in the most strategic places along the vulnerable Channel coast. She had heard he was building them in gaps in the hills and at river crossings, and in and about towns and villages whose inhabitants must be dissuaded from the folly of rebellion.

She supposed that he must feel he needed the huge stone walls of those castles to protect his tentative hold on the land. He piqued her curiosity, this Norman king. But she was not curious enough to leave Creganwald, or to welcome him or any other Norman within its walls.

Her attention was finally drawn to a young girl who was racing toward her. One of the young maids ... Bridget... what could be amiss? The girl was breathless when she reached Lynette's side.

"Mistress ... Mistress," she panted.

"Bridget, stop and rest, get your breath. I'm sure it's not as important as that."

"Oh, yes, ma'am. It be important. Yer father wants ye to come to him real quick. Come straight away, without stoppin' for nothin'."

"What is the hurry?"

"There was a man at the manor, ma'am, come straight from the king, he did."

"What has that to do with me?" Lynette questioned. But a shiver of apprehension raced through her.

"I don't know, ma'am. True to God, I don't know. You know I don't listen—"

"Bridget, I know that you do. Now what have you heard?"

"This time I didn't hear nuthin'. Klavin caught me. Cuffed me real good, he did, then sent me back to the kitchen. I didn't hear nuthin'. But he was from the king... and him and your father been talkin' for a long time. I heard your father roarin', I did. He was mad for a while, then he got quiet. After a while the man left, and your father sent me for you."

Lynette tried to make sense of it, but she could not help the terrible feeling that something was really wrong.

"I'd best go to Father right away," she said as she increased her speed to a half run.

When she reached the manor she entered through a back entrance. There, in a shadowed hallway, she stopped to catch her breath, and to gather her courage. Her father might need her strength, and her courage. He did not need tears, or panic.

Lynette gathered herself together, then went to face her father and to offer whatever help she could. When she stepped inside the door of his chamber, she looked across the room. Her father was standing with his back to her, gazing out the window. Last winter's illness had taken its toll on him. His face was not the ruddy, healthy one it had always been, and his eyes had lost the laughter and challenge Lynette remembered from childhood years.

He had always been a vigorous man, and even in his later years he was still strongly built. He had sired four children before his beloved wife died and the light went from his life. Her death was followed by two of Lynette's older brothers' when a plague struck. He had been left with Lynette and a younger brother, who had died only the year before. Eldwyn's only joy after the death of his wife and sons, was Lynette.

"Papa? Bridget said you had sent for me." His silence was alarming in itself, but when he turned to look at her, his pale face and clenched jaw alarmed her. "Papa?"

"Lynette ... child, sit down. I have something to tell you."

Lynette's legs grew weak, and she was grateful for the stool she dropped onto. She clenched her hands in her lap, and said a small prayer in her mind, yet she tried to smile at her father and erase the worried look from his face. However bad the news was, they would face it together.

"I have had a messenger from William."

"The king sent someone here? For what? You have given him your loyalty. You have tried to maintain the peace, and—"

"Lynette, it was not about me, it was concerning you."

"Me, Papa? Of what interest am I to the king? He has never set eyes upon me."

"I am sure his interest is in Creganwald. Should anything happen to me ... "

"I see," she said weakly. No one needed to tell her the message. King William was protecting what now belonged to him. Lynette knew that a woman was only a pawn in the schemes of kings, just as she knew there was no way to fight the inevitable. One day she would have to marry; it was only a dream to believe it would be a man of her choosing and one who would love not only her, but Creganwald as well. Love it as she did. She looked up to find her father's gaze upon her, and his eyes suspiciously moist.

"Lynette, I would not have chosen to thrust you into—"

"I know, Papa. But I would have married one day. Perhaps we are judging the king's choice harshly. Perhaps he is a man who will be fair and kind. When ...?"

"He will arrive here within the month."

"And his name?"

"Royce. Known as the Sword of William."

At the name, Lynette's face paled. Stories of the mighty warrior came flooding into her mind. He fought like a madman; indeed, there were those who said he was mad, for he laughed in the midst of battle and killed with a fury. How could a man such as this be expected to show mercy or kindness to a maid ... an enemy maid?

For her father's sake, she tried to gather her wits, but the thought of marriage to such a man as this Sword of William frightened her to death. But Lynette was, if nothing else, a realist. She knew it would crush her father if she resorted to wails of anguish and tears. She could already see he suffered greatly. She knew the futility of tears against the will of the new king.

Her father had always been her protector, her guide, and her strong arm. She refused to make this any harder on him than it already was. In a time when men bargained away their daughters for position and wealth, her father had always kept her away from view, had never considered her to be chattel he could use. He had loved her, taught her, and held her dear to him. Now she could plainly see that this command from the king brought him frustration and pain. She rose to her feet and went to her father. Putting her arms about his waist, she rested her head on his broad chest.

"Do not grieve over this, Papa. We are judging too hastily. The man cannot be a monster. We cannot say nay to the king, if it is his command that I marry, but maybe we can tame this wolf of a Norman, and find some peace."

Eldwyn of Creganwald embraced his daughter, enfolding her in his arms and crushing her to him. "You know I would have let you choose for yourself."

"Yes, Papa, I know. You have always been kind. But we must face the truth, as you have always taught me. We cannot run and hide from what must be. I will do what needs to be done, and I will make him a good wife. He will govern our lands in the name of the king. But, mayhap, there are things that he will learn as well... and mercy may be one."

"I would like to spit him on the point of my sword."

"Aye, and have the king's wrath descend on all of Creganwald without any hope for mercy. Nay, we must submit. I would not see you hanged ... or worse. And afterward, I would still have to go into this marriage, but without your love and support."

Lynette knew it was her father's inability to rescue her that made him so frustrated and angry. She had to swallow her misgivings and make this as easy for him as she could. He had been so ill the winter before, filling her with the fear of losing him. Even now she could see the pallor of illness upon him. Now she would need him more than she ever had.

"I must go and speak to Maida, and begin to make preparations. When he arrives, he will see the best Creganwald has to offer. He will see that we are not languishing at his feet, and begging. He is the conqueror... but in our own way, we can be victors too."

She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she turned and left him looking after her with great pride.

But when she had closed the huge oak door between them, Lynette sagged against the wall as if her strength had drained from her. Marriage to ... to a madman. A man who fought like a beast in war. How could she bear it if he were equally violent in the bed chamber? She put her arms about her body, feeling as if she were about to disintegrate. She had to agree to the marriage, all there was left to do was to pray.

Lynette went first to her chamber, where she went to her knees beside a huge wooden chest. This she opened and withdrew from it several bolts of fabric. A fine gold-colored wool, a cream linen, and three others of royal blue, soft green, and rich rust. This was to be the fabric for her wedding clothes, but the need for their use had come long before she had planned. Carrying them to her bed, she laid them carefully down. Then she went below in search of Edmee, who had the finest hand for stitching. It was time to begin the making of her wedding garments.

She found Edmee, with Bridget and several other women, clustered together and sharing the gossip that was spreading like wildfire. She gathered them to help her, and as they sewed they continued the conversation.

"Ye'll be the prettiest bride in England," Edmee said confidently.

"Are ye frightened, mistress?" Bridget inquired.

"Hush, girl," Edmee scolded. "She's nothing to be afraid of."

"But... Royce ... they say ... "

"Don't listen to rumors, Bridget," Lynette said. She tried her best to hide what fears she had. She'd heard the same tales. "You can't judge a man by what people say. You have to meet him and judge for yourself."

"I don't care," Bridget said obstinately. "I'd be afraid to wed a man like that. Where there's smoke, there's fire."

Edmee cast her a withering look and Lynette had to hide her smile. She wasn't afraid ... yet.

For over two weeks she and her women worked on the fine material, and Lynette replaced in her trunk the finished garments, which were fine enough to make any young bride proud.

She made plans for the finest feast their limited supplies would provide, taking care not to omit anything that might bring satisfaction and comfort to the new lord of Creganwald.

She meant to show this invader that the pride of Creganwald had not been broken, and never would be. She meant also to prove to him that she did not come to him on her knees, but by royal order of the king.

She intended to see to it that his time here at Creganwald was the most uneventful and tiresome time in his life. He would soon realize that none of the gaiety of court life existed here, that he was buried in the least exciting place in England. She would trust in his desire for power and a place at William's side at court. Before long, they would draw him away and leave her and Creganwald in peace.

She laughed softly to herself. She would give orders to servants who had known and loved her since childhood. Royce, the famed Sword of William, invader of her life and her home, would soon be so inundated with pretty problems, arguments, and annoyances that he would be grateful to run back to William and his court.

There was nothing left for her to do but think of him and what was about to happen. She had not given thought to sharing his bed. In fact, she had done everything in her power to keep that thought at bay. But now she was caught with too much time on her hands, and too many frightening things to think about.

She would belong to him, as his horse and his mail belonged to him. Not even her father could intervene between them even if he chose to beat her. The idea of this marriage kept her nights sleepless, and her days restless. She tried to imagine what he looked like, but the descriptions that had come to Creganwald were always of brutality, battles, bloodshed, until he took on the characteristics of a monster in her mind, and she trembled in fear. She,who had never known fear in her life, dreaded the coming of a man who would put an end to her maiden ways and make her a wife, forever in his hold.