Medieval Brides

Unable to remain still, and eager to feel the summer breezes flow over her face, Emalie gathered her skirts and stood, easing the bench away from the wooden frame so she could step back. The room grew quiet as her actions were noticed.

“Milady? Is there something you require?” her maid asked, putting down the embroidery frame and rising to attend her.

“Nay, Alyce. You may continue here. I am just anxious for a breath of air. I shall return anon.”

She expected that none of her household would question her leaving, but she was unprepared for Lady Helene’s challenging frown. The lady was one of the queen’s retinue and had spent most of the past week trailing behind her and reporting, Emalie knew, directly back to Eleanor. Every move she made and every person she spoke with was the subject of scrutiny. And it grated on her that, after months of being in charge of her father’s estate, she was now relegated to the role of hostess only.

Eleanor had banished John and his minions after the near-debacle the day she had arrived, and placed her own people in key positions both in the keep and throughout the demesne. Emalie now spent her days in the solar sewing and weaving, or in the chapel praying. Eleanor’s feelings on the power and importance of prayer in a young woman’s life were made clear on her second day at Greystone. A new priest arrived and proceeded to offer the Mass that morning and on every one since then and Eleanor insisted on Emalie’s attendance.

A new captain of the guards worked in tandem with her own captain, a new cook fought to wrest control of the kitchens from her own and even some of her personal servants had been replaced. Eleanor was nothing if not thorough in her attempts to get to the truth. Where John had been devious and dangerous, Eleanor was simply persistent and irresistible.

Emalie ignored both Lady Helene’s glare and her attempts to follow her out of the room. With a nod to her maid, Emalie walked quickly from the solar, down a corridor to the stairway that led to the highest floor in the corner tower. Not slowing for a moment, she pushed against the door and was soon on the walkway that surrounded the keep. The wind, wild and warming in June’s strengthening sun, tore through her hair and against her clothes. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and let the power of the breeze calm her ragged nerves.

Leaning against the crenellated stone wall, Emalie fought back the tears that had threatened for weeks. Her life was now completely out of her control. Oh, she knew that as a woman she had little control to begin with, but her father had encouraged her to believe she was in charge. And now, rightly or wrongly, she longed for the days when only the Montgomeries had ruled Greystone, the days when her parents had lived and loved, the days when she had dreamed of a husband to love and protect her.

Well, her dreams were shattered now and her life was no longer her own thanks to the insatiable hunger of John Lackland and his cronies. Although she had managed to circumvent his latest ploy, she knew it was just a matter of time before her property fell to him as so many others had. In spite of Richard’s return from captivity, John still moved to claim England as his own fiefdom and she knew that Greystone was an attractive target for his greed.

His attraction to her, however, had been a surprise. ’Twas at times such as these that she truly missed her mother’s guidance and presence. She knew the ways of men and women. One could not be raised in the close company of a castle and village and not witness the physical realities. She may have been a foolish optimist, but she was not stupid.

She knew also that Eleanor was looking for a husband for her. It would be the only way to keep John at bay and keep William from making another attempt to “persuade” her into a union with him. Tears filled her eyes as bits of a conversation drifted back from her memory. Turning away from the wind, Emalie pushed her long, streaming hair out of her face and tucked it back once more into the mesh coif meant to contain it.

Wishing that the past would return would not make it so. Wishing for a future of her choice would not make it so. Her only choice was to face whatever would come her way and to face it with the dignity and honor that her parents had instilled in her from her childhood.

Gathering her skirts, Emalie prepared to return to the solar. Her few minutes alone outside, enjoying the freedom of the wind high above the keep, had accomplished exactly what she had hoped for and she would enter the women’s enclave with a renewed sense of calm and control. Although not ready to face her fate, she was ready to face Lady Helene’s displeasure at her escape.

The door opened as she grasped the handle and the force threw her off balance and against the wall. She was just catching the breath that was squeezed from her when the perpetrator stood before her.

“Milady!” Sir Walter, the captain of the troop of soldiers who guarded Greystone, grabbed her and pulled her toward him. “I beg your pardon, lady, I saw you not behind the door.”

Emalie rubbed her injured elbow as the man she still trusted with her life aided her in standing once more. “I am fine, Sir Walter. Truly. Were you looking for me or just making your rounds?”

A red flush crept up the big man’s neck and face, making his ruddy appearance even more red. He reached up and ran a beefy hand through his thick russet hair before stammering out a reply.

“Her Grace requests your presence below, lady.” He would not meet her gaze.

“’Tis I who must beg your pardon, Sir Walter,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “You should be in charge here and not relegated to delivering messages. Your service has been too valued here at Greystone for you to be treated in this manner.”

Emalie was embarrassed that she could not promise to restore her loyal captain to his place of honor and responsibility within the hierarchy of Greystone. Until the matter of her marriage was settled by the queen, Emalie had no say in the decisions about the running of her own estate. She sighed and turned away from her man. And she would have even less power once the matter of her marriage was settled. Now it was her turn not to meet his gaze.

“Will you accompany me or do you have other duties?”

“I would be honored to give you escort to the solar.” He held out his arm and she placed hers on top. Turning, he held the door open wider and guided her to the stairs. They were silent until they stood just outside the solar and still far enough from the queen’s guards not to be heard.

“Remember, lady, I promised your father that your safety would be my duty. I will always be here for you should the need arise.” His voice became gruff and her own throat clogged with unshed tears at his loyalty.

“I will remember that above all else, Sir Walter.”

“Lady, we all know—” he began.

“Then let us not speak of it any further,” she interrupted. She would not, could not, speak of what had happened.

The queen’s guard turned to open the door to the solar and Walter bowed to her and stepped away. Into the lion’s den, she walked, without the one protector she trusted. The one who had been sent away the night that…

Taking a deep breath and pulling her pride around her once more, Emalie walked in to face the queen. Surprised to find Eleanor alone, Emalie closed the door behind and approached her godmother.

“If my memory serves me well, you will find him quite fair of face and his build is that of a practiced warrior. His family has held Chateau d’Azure in Poitou for generations,” Eleanor began. The queen stood by the window, staring out and not looking at her as she spoke. Her words were confusing to Emalie. The queen spoke of someone unknown to her, but the tone loosed tiny shivers of foreboding that crept down Emalie’s spine.

“Of whom do you speak, Your Grace?” She heard the tremble in her own voice as the words passed her lips.

“Christian Dumont, the Count of Langier. The son of one of my dearest cousins. And your betrothed husband.”

Emalie could not take a breath. Fire burned within her eyes and throat and chest as the queen’s words sank into her mind. She had thought herself safe. She that thought John’s departure placed her back in control of Greystone. She had thought she was safe from marriage.

Betrothed to Christian Dumont? How could this be? Eleanor had said not one word of her plans and Emalie had had no warning of this turn of events before the queen’s softly spoken declaration.

“Your Grace, I do not wish to marry. As I told your son, there is no reason for it.” Emalie forced herself to maintain control as she tried to talk her way out of this predicament.

“Emalie, please come and sit with me here. We have matters to discuss.”

Eleanor seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs and waited. Unable to postpone the inevitable, Emalie followed the order and sat next to the queen. When she had gathered her calm once more, she looked at Eleanor.

“I have been married to two kings and birthed at least one more,” Eleanor began. The queen’s gaze rested on her squarely, and Emalie fought to return it in just the same direct manner. “I have plotted and planned and held a kingdom together these last years. I know my sons and all that they are capable of. One thing I am not is ignorant of the ways of men of power.”

The tone of Eleanor’s voice struck a warning note to Emalie and she waited for the coming truth.

“I have ways of finding information and determining the truth in situations that my sons can not even begin to imagine, and I think you already know what I have discovered here in Greystone Castle.”

Emalie searched for something to say, some way to divert the queen from this course. She had no chance.

“William DeSeverin has indeed had carnal knowledge of you, as my son planned. Your virginity and your honor are lost.”

Emalie could feel the blood rush away from her face. Her hands trembled and her stomach clenched in reaction to the words of her damnation. So her secret was hers no longer. Emalie wondered who could have been the weak link in her household. ’Twas of no matter now.

“Only marriage can save you, Emalie. And a marriage done quickly and quietly may be the only way to save your name and your life.” When Emalie would have argued, Eleanor delivered the telling blow. “And your people.”

Emalie closed her eyes in defeat. She and her father had planned carefully to protect their people from John’s rapacious greed, during the time when Richard was away on Crusade, then held for ransom. Their efforts saw their people healthy and hearty where other keeps were decimated. And when the death of her mother had caused her father to lose his dedication, Emalie had carried on their efforts.

In return, her people would protect her. John had been unsuccessful at breaching their defense of her. Her servants and villagers had steadfastly backed her word in the matter of William DeSeverin. And at great risk to themselves, if they all failed in this plan to prevent John’s machinations to gain control over Greystone and its lady.

“How did you discover the truth?” Emalie asked, no longer even attempting to deny Eleanor’s words.

Eleanor waved her hand and Emalie knew she was not to learn the queen’s methods. “How is not important, my dear. Know you that I have, and that I now know the true danger you are in by remaining here. DeSeverin has made another attempt to meet with you, has he not? And with this attractive holding taunting John to commit further sins to gain control of it, it is only a matter of time before he, they, act once more.”

“And you propose that I marry this Christian Dumont?” Emalie whispered, unable to deny William’s failed try at another visit. She thought she’d been successful in hiding that from the queen. Apparently not.

Eleanor straightened in her chair, her face taking on a regal countenance once more. “I do not propose this. As an emissary of the king, I am in a position to order it.”

Eleanor reached to a nearby table and lifted several parchments. As she held them out to Emalie, Emalie could see her gaze soften. Emalie’s hand shook even more as she took hold of the papers that would change her life. Although she possessed the skills, it was the tears in her eyes that prevented her from reading the finely scrolled Latin writing before her. Blinking to clear them away did not work. A moment later, a handkerchief was pushed into her grasp.

“The Count of Langier is renowned for his prowess on the battlefield and in the tournaments. His blood is as noble as your own and he carries several minor titles as well. He comes to you without the need for funds as some husbands would, Countess.”

Eleanor’s words caused more questions to form in her thoughts. Something was missing, something about this prospective, nay, ordered, betrothed of hers.

“I hear these many good things you say about the count, Your Grace. I can also hear in your words and phrasing that there is more you do not say. Pray, continue and tell me the rest of it so there would be no surprises.”

Emalie dabbed her eyes once more and tucked the linen square into the cuff of her sleeve. She wondered what would make this supposedly excellent specimen of Pontevin manhood drag himself across the Channel and lower himself to marry an Englishwoman, even a noble one with a rich estate to offer. She had met others from the French provinces of the Plantagenets and had recognized the inherent snobbery and arrogance they harbored when comparing themselves to the Plantagenet’s English kingdom.

Eleanor did not answer, but instead rose from her chair and walked slowly across the solar toward the door. Emalie rose, as well, for one could not remain seated when a queen did not. She clasped her hands, trying to stop their trembling and took several deep breaths, trying to stop the panic that threatened to overpower her.

Stopping a pace before reaching the door, Eleanor turned back to face her. Her godmother smiled at her, and a genuine expression of concern filled her face as she finally responded to Emalie’s question.

“No, I think not. We all have our own secrets that we bring to a marriage. He has his,” Eleanor said quietly. “And you have yours. It will be up to both of you to come to some accommodations within your marriage.”

Eleanor tugged on the knob and pulled the door open. She raised her voice so that all those waiting in the hall could hear her words.

“Emalie, the Count of Langier arrives at Greystone this day. The betrothal agreement has already been signed by the king—since you are his ward—and the count.”

Emalie heard the gasps of her servants and household even where she stood inside the solar. She could only imagine their confusion. Alyce appeared in the doorway, concern etched clearly on her face.

“The wedding will be celebrated on the morrow. Even now, the good father makes his preparations in the chapel.”

The murmuring in the great hall increased and Emalie understood her people knew not whether to applaud this latest event or protest it. Her Montgomerie pride asserted itself once more and she felt the shield of her parents’ love surround her. She was the Countess of Harbridge and would demonstrate just what that meant. Knowing that her actions could be seen and would be reported back to all in Greystone, Emalie approached the queen and knelt before her with her head bowed.

“I thank you, Your Grace, for being so concerned for the welfare of Greystone and all its people.” Lifting her face to Eleanor, she noticed the twinkle in the queen’s eyes. Eleanor saw the move for exactly what it was—a political way of insuring her people’s compliance and cooperation. And most importantly, their acceptance. “I will make preparations now for a feast to celebrate the count’s arrival in Greystone and our betrothal this evening.”

Rising gracefully and steadily from her knees, Emalie followed the queen into the great hall and finally saw the expressions of her people. Disbelief, confusion, anger, acceptance. She was certain that they mirrored her own feelings, though she had not the luxury of exposing hers to them. Eleanor called out to her own ladies and walked off with them on some task, leaving Emalie standing alone.

She did not have time to stand around wondering and worrying about her impending marriage. There was much to do before her betrothed husband arrived and the rituals began.

“Come, Alyce,” she called out to her servant. “The Count of Langier will see Greystone at its best.” She smiled as she realized her thoughts included her people, her keep and village and herself when she spoke of Greystone.

Chapter Four

Although he tried to fight it, a wave of admiration passed over him at his first sighting of Greystone Castle and village. Mayhap ’twas that its size dwarfed his own estate. Mayhap it was that the layout of the village and surrounding farmlands gave the entire estate a look of well-managed care. Whatever the cause, Christian found himself impressed with the demesne that lay before him, even if it was in the middle of dismal England.

Touching his heels to his horse’s sides, he moved forward with his escort toward Greystone and his yet unknown task for the king. He knew that one of the men accompanying him carried messages to Queen Eleanor, but that messenger did not or could not speak of his instructions. The few times Christian had attempted to discern more information from the man, the only response he’d gained was a few grunts and nods.

Christian felt a knot begin to form in the pit of his belly as each minute brought them closer and closer to his fate. What if he discovered he could not carry out what the king demanded of him? What if it was something that would endanger his soul? Or something that would make his honor suffer even more than it already had? His mount noticed the tension in his body and soon danced nervously beneath him. Releasing his tight hold on the reins, he quickly brought the horse back under his control.

How he yearned for his own mount. Though, in his still-weakened condition, he knew he would never be able to keep his massive destrier from overpowering him. He would wait at Greystone as the king had suggested and leave his horses at Chateau d’Azure. But once this onerous assignment was completed, he would return to his family’s estate and train once more with his magnificent bloods. And he would oversee Geoff’s recovery.

Of course that all depended on him surviving whatever it was that lay ahead. The ignorance of his impending future weighed heavily on his shoulders. If it were just him, he could face this unknown much easier than he did, knowing that Geoff’s fate was entangled with his own. What would become of Geoff if Christian failed?

His escort moved forward down the rough road leading to the main entrance in the castle wall. ’Twould seem that his future was moving quickly toward him. Taking a deep breath, Christian urged his mount to keep up with the rest of the riders. Wrapping the pride of generations of Dumonts before him around his shoulders as a shield, he rode to meet his fate head-on.

His unease grew as they were permitted entry without challenge. Men-at-arms patrolled along a walkway that surrounded the entire castle. The gate, open as most were during the day, was closely monitored by both the men above and several guards standing on either side. It was obvious that they were expected, even welcome. Had he been summoned to take over protection of this estate? Mayhap it and its people faced threats from outside and Richard believed him capable of defending keep and village?

But what of the owners? How could a demesne of this size and apparent prosperity not be protected? Christian felt the tension grow once more in his arms and shoulders as they passed en masse by the startled inhabitants. Men and women stopped and stared as they rode on to the steps leading to the keep itself. Finally, and not a moment too soon to his way of thinking, the group reached its destination and drew to a halt. Christian dismounted in one motion and nodded as a boy came forward to take his mount. Any hesitation on his part about the boy’s ability to handle a horse so much bigger than he was disappeared as he observed the skill and caring with which the boy led the horse away to the stables.

Brushing off the dust of the morning’s travel, Christian waited for someone from within to greet them. He did not wait long before the doors at the top of the steps opened and a huge man approached them. Nodding at them, he paused until the royal messenger stepped forward and announced himself as such. After conversing in hushed tones, the messenger climbed the steps and entered the building. Then the man addressed the rest of the group, in heavily accented English.

“I am Walter, lately captain of the guards here at Greystone. I bid you welcome in the name of the Countess of Harbridge and in the name of Eleanor, Queen of England, who is also in residence here. Come this way, so that you may refresh yourselves from your journey.”

The big soldier stepped aside and motioned for the group to follow him. Only the promise of some decent wine and shelter from the gray English weather enticed Christian to enter in haste. At least if Eleanor were here, some tasty food and drink were probabilities as well. The queen did not suffer herself to travel without the comforts to which she was accustomed.

Entering the great hall, Christian inspected the room and its inhabitants. The people were all busy, cleaning the floors, replacing the rushes, rehanging huge tapestries on the wall behind the raised dais. All he saw reinforced his notion of the prosperity of the estate and the good handling of its resources. A short, thin man separated himself from a small group talking among themselves and approached their burly escort.

“Sir Walter, please allow me to escort our guests to table.”

The captain’s relieved expression told Christian more than words could of his discomfort at this task. Nodding brusquely, he stepped aside and waved them on to follow this newcomer.

“I am Fitzhugh, the steward. Allow me to see you settled with food and drink to refresh yourselves. Right this way.” The steward led them up the steps to the large table and guided them to seats. Fitzhugh called out to servants and, within a few moments, platters of bread and cheeses and cold meats were placed before them. Pitchers of ale and wine along with goblets were placed on the table. Serving women circled them, offering more food and drink, until there was a full trencher and cup before each man.

Christian lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply of the wine. As the drink washed away the dust in his mouth, Christian was overcome with a wave of homesickness for his own demesne and his own vintage of wine. Chateau d’Azure was known far and wide for its excellent quality of grapes and the wine they produced. He craved a bottle of his own even as he swallowed once and again of this local brew.

“Milord, is something wrong with the wine?”

Christian was pleased in one way that Fitzhugh had been so observant—it spoke well of his abilities. However, he knew that his own foul mood and the tension spiraling even tighter within his gut were not the steward’s problems.

“The wine is acceptable,” he answered, drinking down the last mouthful in his cup and placing it back on the table. “I fear that I am simply weary from our journey.”

“Since neither the queen nor the countess will be able to greet you at this time, I have been instructed to show you to your rooms so that you can refresh yourselves before meeting them at supper this eve. Once you finish eating, of course.” Fitzhugh smiled as he spoke. He was much younger than Christian had first thought.

Christian wanted to argue about not seeing Eleanor immediately, but his bone-deep fatigue got the better of him. After tearing off some bread, he chewed it slowly as he cut a wedge of cheese. He continued methodically eating everything before him and did not pause until all the others at table had finished. He recognized this as a sad remnant of his recent brush with starvation, however, even knowing this did not stop Christian from eating as much as he could at each meal. Only his willpower and the thought of the possible humiliation at being discovered kept him from taking food from the table and hiding it within his tunic and in his pockets.