Yearning Heart (29 page)

“You will listen to me, Lady Rebecca, or I will shout for the household to hear.”

Malvina's voice took on an authority out of character for her, but she stood straight and defiant two steps away from Rebecca.

“Then speak, if thou hast something I must hear.”

Malvina inclined her head slightly and murmured, “My lady.” Then she looked straight into Rebecca's face and spoke quickly.

“Sir Stephen's servants and workers did not know he would bring you to Glastonbury. He did not plan to marry again, he said many times, after the death of his wife. He did not desire another woman in his home,” Malvina said.

“Sir Stephen could have refused my hand in marriage, Malvina. He is a nobleman of the king, and he should have claimed Sir Oliver's debt. It was an honest game, was it not? No one forced him to marry me.”

“Nay, my lady.”

“I would have been most happy to stay at Grinwold.”

Rebecca turned away. What would have been her fate had Stephen not taken her from Sir Oliver's unhappy house? Would she be there yet doing hated housework and needlework, stealing hours across the field on papa's horses and at Richard's heels?

Had she not been Stephen's wife, she would never have known the sweetness of his love, the joy of waiting to hold his son. She would not now be waiting to hear how he would solve King Henry's latest problem, the worst one to be imagined—murder of the archbishop by the king's knights.

Stephen would support the king. If the problem had a solution, Stephen would find it for his royal highness.

Malvina had no knowledge that Rebecca was payment for her own father's gambling debt. A big debt.

“I paid well for thee,” Stephen had told her.

Ah, yes, Stephen ‘tis a vast amount thou hast paid in trials and care of an unwanted bride, one who argues with you and runs away when you are unable to love her and do not wish her body to carry your seed.

“It must have made Stephen unhappy to accept me as payment for papa's lands,” Rebecca said. “If he did not desire a wife, his decision was wrong. Papa deserved to lose the land, but then, he was glad to rid himself of a plain, arrogant daughter and in doing so, gained it all back.” She laughed a little. “Stephen won the games of chance but he lost his precious aloneness.”

“There is more, my lady.”

“I care naught to hear more woeful tales, Malvina. I tried to help Stephen by leaving, ridding himself of at least one problem, but he returns me to this, this...”

She wanted to think New Sarum cold, but the weeks spent here almost a prisoner had changed her mind. In the spring the courtyard with its flower beds would be beautiful, the colorful stones set in the walls, stained glass windows to catch and reflect sunlight, and walks for strolling in the moonlight. Mayhap ...

But Stephen must ask her, not order her, to stay or she would be gone once more. She doubted not that she must have his love, and know it was hers, ere she could remain in New Sarum.

“I left Glastonbury because I could not be happy there, and Stephen would not admit to his mistake. I can admit such. It does not bother me to say our marriage is not a good one. When a wife is forbidden, so many things ...” she looked up at Malvina. “Did you know he would not like the scent you gave me to enhance my body for him on our wedding night, Malvina?”

“I am ashamed, my lady. I thought he would enjoy it on thee, but he did not.”

Rebecca smiled. “He did, indeed, not like it on me, Malvina. I thought he would beat me ere he could rid me of the perfume. Thou canst not imagine how unhappy he was on our wedding night.”

“I am sorry, my lady.” Malvina's voice was but a whisper as she stood, head bowed, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Sir Stephen loves thee, for truth.”

Rebecca's heart pounded, slowed, then beat painfully in her chest.

“He, he loves me?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“He has said naught of love. He ordered me to stay away from Tor, to keep out of his way, to visit Mama and Papa, to learn ways to keep from getting with child so he would not have to bother with a son or daughter. He has never mentioned love.”

“Thou didst misunderstand, my lady. Sir Stephen wished only to keep you safe and healthy.”

“How couldst I be happy when he did naught but forbid me to do that which I wanted? I dared not love him nor get with child nor ride Tor nor journey to London save one Christmas.” Even to Rebecca, her many complaints sounded childish.

I am a woman of twenty summers, she thought, her eyes fastened on Malvina's worried face. I fret like the child of sixteen I was when Stephen ...

Why am I at New Sarum when Stephen is in danger even now in London? The idea clicked into her head, and she moved.

“I wouldst have thee pack clothing for a fortnight, Malvina,” Rebecca said. She stepped to the clothing shed to remove a black case. “I am going to London to be with Stephen.”

“No, my lady. ‘Tis no place for thee. Sir Stephen will be most angry.”

“Aye, ‘tis true, Malvina, but I am going. It is a wife's place at her husband's side in time of trouble. Mayhap I can see Hugo and Margaret if they art performing for the queen.”

Malvina protested, but Rebecca went about throwing dresses and undergarments on the bed for the maidservant to pack.

Would that Stephen's pants fit me, she thought. ‘Tis the only way to dress in such foul weather.

“ ‘Tis snowing yet, Malvina?”

“Nay, it is rain now, my lady. Not a good time to journey to London.” Malvina folded the clothing Rebecca flung at her, watching her mistress with worried eyes. “Sir Stephen...”

“Malvina, thou knowest Sir Stephen well, but I am his wife, and I love him. I will not abide seeing him face such hardships alone.”

Malvina had stopped packing and sat on her heels.

“Thou admits to loving your husband, my lady? Hast told Sir Stephen?”

Rebecca laughed, a merry sound that caused Malvina to smile. The long, wide halls had long been without laughter, and it was good to hear it once again.

“I shall tell him the moment I see him.”

She turned to Malvina, her smile fading.

“Dost think he will be happy?”

“Aye, my lady. Methinks Sir Stephen will greet thy confession with much ado.”

Michael, a peasant who farmed a parcel just outside New Sarum, drove Stephen's team to the village to meet the carriage going to London. Malvina rode with Rebecca to the village, worrying about my lady's journey alone.

“ ‘Tis not far,” Rebecca chided her.

“ ‘Tis true, my lady, but unrest is dangerous after the murder of Sir Thomas. Sir Stephen will not be happy we let thee go.”

“Sir Stephen will not lay the blame to you, Malvina. I will speak the truth that I and only I can be faulted.” She patted the maidservant's gloved hand. “Take thee home now out of the rain. I will return within the fortnight. Do not worry.”

Malvina watched the carriage from sight before turning back to Michael's watchful eye.

“ ‘Tis a stubborn child, the Lady Rebecca,” she said. “And I pray no harm comes to her. Sir Stephen would have all our heads.”

* * * *

Rebecca's thoughts scattered as she huddled in the carriage between the rounded figure of a monk and a velvet-covered nanny hovering over a sleepy five-year-old girl. Across from her, a man in gray topcoat, its fur collar turned high on his neck, eyed Rebecca's black velvet cape, her matching muff, and the coil of pale hair slipping from a loose fitting wimple. Wide pink lips pursed, blowing tiny bubbles, and then his tongue flicked out as though to catch them.

Rebecca thought he looked not unlike the fat pigs cleaned up before slaughter, rooting into the troughs and blowing bubbles around their pink snouts. Her insides curled with distaste and she closed her eyes, pretending sleep. Mayhap a bit of sleep would help pass the time.

The jouncing of the carriage ceased, and Rebecca sat up, wide awake. The rain was only a drip now, but fog closed in, wrapping the cottages and low buildings in a ghostly veil. She did not know this place.

“Art near the courtyard where the jongleurs perform outside the city?” Rebecca asked.

“Aye,” the monk said, his friendly features wreathed in a smile. “Careful thou dost not get too close. The gypsies there love beautiful young women such as thyself. They will take thee far away, and thy family must pay ransom for thy return.”

Rebecca laughed. She could not imagine Hugo or Gerald or Margaret or Bevin or Dolan or the beautiful gypsy fortuneteller, Lilith, harming anyone. Stories went around, she knew, but Rebecca had lived with the gypsy families and feared not that they would do her harm. They were her friends.

“I am not afraid,” Rebecca said.

She pulled the dark lace across her mouth and lowered her head to peer with sultry and mysterious gaze at the man.

“I will cast my spell upon yon gypsies and hie them away to my castle to be my servants. Thinkest thou they would steal me blind, my lord?”

The monk nodded. “Aye. Blind and remove thy teeth also art they not fastened well.”

Rebecca was about to launch forth with another tale when she looked into the big brown eyes of the little girl huddled in the circle of her nanny's arms. Rebecca smiled, dropped her lid in a wink, and placed her forefinger against her mouth.

“Shh-h. Give not the minstrels and gypsies ideas on making trouble. Methinks they can find enough of their own.”

The little girl blinked, and then turned her head against the voluminous robes of the older woman. Rebecca smiled at the monk and the man sitting next to him, pulled her cloak around her, and made ready to depart the carriage.

The carriage driver removed her case and placed it at her feet.

“Art certain this is the place for thee, my lady?”

“Aye. ‘Tis safe enough, thank you.”

She waited until the carriage moved away, then she took her case and stepped over the muddy tracks, past three small tents into a larger, black-and-white striped awning-covered space. Inside, a swirl of jongleurs and clowns practiced, sang and danced, and the noisy acting brought a smile to Rebecca's face.

It felt like being home again.

“Rebecca?”

There was a shout and a green-and-yellow dotted figure tumbled over two plank tables and landed in front of her.

She laughed.

“Gerald. Thou art a wonderful sight.”

Gerald grabbed her up and squeezed her, his hand, gloved in an oversized yellow mitten, brushed the wimple from her hair and ruffled the soft blondeness.

“ ‘Tis a sight for mine eyes, thou art.”

“Gerald, my love,” Rebecca said. “Hast missed me?”

“For truth, but come, Margaret and Hugo would see thee.”

He led her across the busy grounds into a corner of the tent where a fire burned, sending smoke curling upward. Pieces of iron surrounded the fire, hot and sending warmth into a larger circle than open flame would. Hugo studied a program while Margaret stirred a kettle of soup hanging from a wire down to the flames.

“ ‘Tis a royal guest I bring, Margaret,” Gerald shouted.

“Gerald, thou art the noise of the world when thou wishes to be. What say a guest in this hovel?”

Margaret stopped stirring and looked up. Her mouth opened and she dropped the spoon into the kettle.

“Rebecca? Is it really you?”

Margaret was around the fire and folding Rebecca to her.

“Ah, ‘tis good to see thee, child. Hugo, come forth and see Rebecca.”

Hugo's grin matched his big strides until he reached Rebecca's side. He hugged her, and then held her away.

“Why art thou in London? ‘Tis an unsettled place with the murder of Sir Thomas.”

“Give the child tea, Gerald.” Margaret pushed Rebecca onto a stool and sat on a blanket near her feet. “Yea, ‘tis troubled times. It is rumored Sir Stephen Lambert is closeted with King Henry and no one can see them. Is it true?”

“Aye, Stephen left New Sarum days ago, but I know not where he and the king are. How dost the queen see the tragedy?”

“Ah, Queen Eleanor.” Hugo shook his big head, and concern lit his dark eyes. “Palace gossip sayeth she urges their children to rise up against their father. Should she not stand behind him and support him in his anguish? Canst see a mother causing grief to her children in such a way as this?”

Rebecca could see it in the royal family. By Stephen's word, the king and queen had set examples of distrust and jealousy throughout their marriage and had never loved each other. What other path might the children follow?

Mama and Papa mayhap did not have the perfect marriage, Rebecca thought, but Lady Elizabeth did not seek to turn Rebecca against a non-loving father though there had been times she could have. Sir Oliver was not a man to seek love. He did not need it, nor did he have it from Rebecca. Nor Richard. Richard respected Sir Oliver as his father, but he knew him for the shallow man who thought only of himself.

Certainly the royal couple Stephen loved and protected and worked for was not perfect. Their faults caused alienations and accusations among subjects of the kingdom, among the pillars of the church, among their children. Long years before King Henry had stolen Eleanor from the King of France, but once owning her, seemed to have forgotten his burning desire.

“The queen is stubborn, but she is protective of her children.” Rebecca spoke slowly. “She has borne much sorrow at King Henry's hands, and he has flaunted his women in Eleanor's face. ‘Twould be easy to hate him, do you not agree, knowing his latest lover slept in the apartment where your husband once bedded you?”

Rebecca stared at her small hands clasped around the clay mug of tea Gerald had brought her. Should Stephen flaunt his loves in her face, perchance she would kill him had she not the means to leave his household. If he was Malvina's lover, at least he did not flaunt their unions.

Does the queen love King Henry the way I love Stephen? she wondered. No, else she would be at his side, protecting him with her life, and though the king was far from perfect, their children would be waiting to welcome him home with open and loving arms.

King Henry and Queen Eleanor did not seem a pair of loving parents.

“Where sayst Stephen and the king are now, Hugo?”