Joining (11 page)

“You should not
have shouted at him in front of his men, Mili.”

Milisant turned to see that Jhone had moved her small palfrey near, though not too close to the much larger Stomper. They had both fallen behind the others, though, so there was no need to worry that they would be overheard even with the distance between them.

“Think you I care if he gets embarrassed?” she told her sister.

“You should. Some men react very badly to that, even seek revenge for it of one kind or another. We do not know yet whether he is such a one.”

Milisant frowned. Several of Wulfric’s knights had been present in the bailey during their altercation, including his brother Raimund. So Wulfric had likely been embarrassed—if he had stopped being angry long enough to notice.

“Was I supposed to thank him for nearly hitting Stomper?” Milisant mumbled.

“Nay, of course not. ’Twould merely behoove
you to make sure no one else hears what you say to him—if what you have to say is less than pleasant.”

Milisant grinned and replied, “Less than pleasant, eh? Verily, I will needs speak to him always in whispers then.”

Jhone smiled back. “You jest, but just keep it in mind and your temper in hand. ’Tis easier for a woman to swallow her pride than for a man.”

“Is it? Now, I would think ’twould be the opposite, since we have the smaller throats.”

“Faugh, you will not take advice today, will you? I am merely—”

“Advice today will fall on deaf ears,” Milisant cut in. “For I expend all my effort on not bursting into tears after seeing how horrid that man can be.”

Jhone’s eyes widened. “Are you truly that miserable?”

“In the space of a few hours, he threatens me with mayhem if I do not dress to his liking, then threatens me with an immediate wedding if I do not join him on this hunt. He means to put me on strings, able to move only at his command. I am supposed to be happy with him?”

Her sister wisely noted there was more anger in that response than misery. “You are used to doing as you will because Papa has allowed it. A husband will be different—any husband.”

“Roland would not.”

“Friends do not think to command friends, but once a friend becomes a husband—Mili, do not deceive yourself that Roland would never try to direct your doings. He would be more lenient, surely, but there would still be times
when he would deem it necessary to command you—and expect to be obeyed. Marriage does not make us equal with them. We merely go from one authority to another.”

“And you can accept that?” Milisant asked with stinging bitterness.

“How can we not when that is the way it is, the way it has always been, and the way it will always be?”

And that was the reason Milisant despised the body she had been born into. It should
not
be that way. She was a grown woman, capable of rational, logical thoughts. She should have a say in directing her own life, the same as men did. Just because they were bigger and stronger did not mean they had any more intelligence or common sense than she did. They only
thought
they did.

“Did William treat you thusly during the short time of your marriage to him, ordering you to do this and that just because he could?” Milisant asked curiously.

Jhone smiled. “Will loved me, and so he did all he could to please me. And there is your key to happiness, to have your husband love you.”

Milisant snorted. “As if I’d want
his
love.”

“That is just it, you do want him to love you, for then he will want to please you, and you will have more freedom that way. Do you not see how easy that would be? And I did not say you have to return that love, merely that you would find it useful if you could have his.”

“Mayhap if I was forced to wed him, but I still mean to stop that. Papa has allowed me a month ere I must wed. He seems to think my
opinion will change about Wulfric during that time, but it will not happen.”

Jhone sighed. “Nay, it will not, not when you will not even try.”

Milisant stiffened perceptibly. “You
want
me to marry him?”

“Nay, ’tis just that—unlike you, I do not think aught will prevent it from happening, and since it will happen, I want you to find happiness with it. Did Papa actually say he would set the contract aside if you are not satisfied with Wulfric after the month?”

“Not exactly, but he did say we could then discuss it further.”

“Do you ask me, Papa is certain you
will
change your mind, and that is the only reason he said what he did. Keep that in mind, Mili, during this month. It would behoove you to make an effort to see Wulfric in a better light.”

“The brightest summer day would not supply a light bright enough for that.”

Jhone tsked. “Surely there is something you could like about him? He is very easy on the eyes, with such a handsome face. His teeth are not rotted, his breath not foul. He is young, his physique not gone to slouch or fat. Verily, there is naught wrong with him in any way—”

“Until he speaks or raises his fist,” Milisant cut in. “Then I find him as foul as any gutter rat.”

Jhone shook her head, giving up, though she had one last comment. “You tame the most savage beast to eat out of your hand. What makes you think you could not do the same with yonder knight?”

Milisant blinked, having never considered such a thing. “Tame
him?”

“Aye, to your liking.”

“But—he is not an animal.”

Jhone rolled her eyes. “To hear you describe him, one would think he was.”

“I would not even know how to go about it—if I cared to, which I do not.”

“You give the animals what they most need, yes?” Jhone pointed out. “Trust, your compassion, a gentle hand, so they do not fear you.”

“That man does not need compassion, nor does he need to trust me. What harm could I do him, after all? And ’tis doubtful he would feel a gentle hand if I clouted him on the head with one.”

Jhone chuckled. “You call that gentle?”

“Nay, just that he would not
feel
it. So what does he need that I could tame him with?”

Jhone shrugged, but then grinned. “William was fond of saying that all a man needs is a good lusty romp in bed to keep him happy.”

“Jhone!”

“Well, he did.”

“And that was all it took to make him happy?” Milisant asked incredulously.

“Nay, he was happy just being with me, but then he was very much in love. If you do not want Wulfric’s love, then just catering to what will keep him content might suffice to make living with him agreeable.”

Milisant smiled at her sister. “I appreciate what you are doing, Jhone, truly, and your advice might be beneficial if I was forced to live with him. But I would prefer that not happen.

To live with a man I could not trust to never raise a fist to me? He has been reared to react with violence. He did it as a boy, he still does it.”

“But that, too, can be curbed, if you would but gentle him with taming,” Jhone pointed out.

“Mayhap, yet that is not his only fault. He means to do exactly what you are suggesting I do, tame
me
to his liking. Think you I can bear such constraints and not soon wither away?”

“There
has
to be a middle ground here, Mili.”

Milisant snorted. “That would entail a measure of equality, yet were you not the one who just pointed out that very lack in any marriage? He does not
have
to give any ground here. He is the man, his opinions all that matter, his might able to enforce his whims. While I am less than naught, a woman who must concede all. Sweet
Jesu,
I hate this!”

Jhone’s expression turned bleak. It was not the first time she had heard how much her sister hated the woman’s body she had been born into. And all those times before, just as now, there was not much she could say to make it easier for Milisant to accept.

It could not be disputed that a man could direct his own actions—at least most of them. But a woman could direct none of hers. Most women never questioned the Tightness of this, that they were considered property by the church, by their king, by their families—by their husbands. Those who did question it, like Milisant, would never be happy with their lot.

Fourteen

They stopped in
a small clearing to release the falcons. There would not be many birds for prey at this time of the year, not that many small animals either, for that matter, but whatever there was, the falcons would spot them from their soaring height and swoop down for the kill.

For a hunter, it was a compelling sight, to witness a regal falcon in action. Though Milisant preferred to hunt using her own skill rather than that of a bird, she could still appreciate the sight of a born predator trained to perfection.

The Dunburh knights all had their own birds; the visiting knights did not, however. Though many people did travel with their own falcons, Wulfric and his men had not traveled with hunting in mind.

Most of the nobility, though, men and women both, owned such creatures, and some were so prized and beloved that they were never left at home. In fact, such birds would be regularly brought to table, no matter whose table, and
were hand-fed the choicest meats. A prized falcon could usually be found on its owner’s wrist or the back of his chair.

But like Milisant, Wulfric was there merely to watch. Ironically, she found herself watching him instead of the falcons in flight.

She wished Jhone had not pointed out how handsome he actually was, for she found that she could not disagree with that fact. The lines of his face were clearly defined and clearly masculine, even though he adhered to the old Norman fashion of keeping his cheeks and jaw smooth of hair. King John sported a beard, and most nobles followed the fashion of their king, but not Wulfric.

His hair was a bit longer than usual as well; actually, was as long as her own. This made her feel somewhat—strange. Though she did not begrudge him such a thick mane of lustrous, raven dark locks, she found herself wishing her own hair were a bit longer—actually a lot longer, which was absurd really.

He looked quite regal, sitting on that fine black stallion, his voluminous gray cloak spread back over the animal, halfway down its tail. Even when he was relaxed, Wulfric’s posture was straight, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders, the trimness of his waist.

Jhone had spoken true; there was no excess flesh on his body. She had not mentioned the muscles, though. Verily, he had those aplenty. They rippled beneath his black tunic. They were prominent on his long legs. Even his knee-high boots seemed too tight because of them.

There really was naught about him that was
not pleasing to look upon. It was too bad that he was a typical brutish knight, and that she expected much better than that for a husband. She knew she was being unrealistic in wanting a man who was violent
only
on the battlefield, but there it was, that
was
what she wanted—and what she could have if she could have Roland instead of Wulfric de Thorpe.

She had stared at Wulfric too long. He must have sensed it, for his dark blue eyes fixed on her suddenly and stayed there, as if he were now taking stock of her as she had done to him. It gave her a funny feeling to think so, and an even stranger feeling when he did not approach, just continued to gaze at her intently.

She tried to look away but could not. His gaze was too magnetic. She barely felt the cold, felt warm actually … That very fact chilled her and had her wrapping her cloak tighter about her body, an action that caused him to smile, as if he
knew
he was responsible for her discomfort.

And then he was riding toward her. She was only surprised that he had waited this long to approach her, after he had
ordered
her presence in the hunting party—then proceeded to ignore her as soon as they left the castle.

It took him a few moments to reach her side, since she had kept the greatest distance between them that she could manage while still being considered present. But reaching her, he meant to keep
his
distance from Stomper. His stallion had other ideas, however, and headed straight for Milisant’s hand for a gentle nose scratch, despite Wulfric’s attempt to jerk him away from her.

She heard him swear when he could not control his animal, then,
“Jesu,
what have you done to my horse?”

“Naught but make friends with him,” she said, smiling at the stallion as she scratched him. Stomper merely tossed his head to the side for a look, to make sure naught was threatening her.

“’Tis witchly, your way with animals.”

Milisant snorted, then wished she had not. Perhaps it could benefit her if Wulfric thought her a witch. He might not be overly harsh with her if he thought she might get even with him in some unnatural way. The thought was a pleasant one.

“The animals I befriend simply know I will never hurt them. Does your stallion think the same of you?”

“Why would I hurt him?”

“You just did,” she said pointedly, “in trying to get him away from me.”

He flushed red, then scowled. “Lady, you do try my patience.”