Lost Love
Authors: Maryse Dawson
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Maryse Dawson
Lost Love
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-273-1
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The Year of our Lord, 1331…
Arabella Dufour silently crawled forward along the hayloft and settled herself down to watch her favorite spectacle: Ulric Griffin bathing. She had very nearly missed this wondrous spectacle, thanks to Marie, her little sister who was always asking for one thing or another—this time her favorite kitten. How should she know where the daft animal was? She had helped her look for a few minutes and then hastily left to see Ulric.
She sighed contentedly as she focused her eyes on him. The water sluiced down his body, dripping off his lean, muscular torso. She smiled longingly and placing her elbows on the floor, put her face in her hands, a dreamy look taking over her face. If only he would notice her.
But Ulric still treated her like a child. She was thirteen. There was hardly any difference in years between them as far as she was concerned. He was nineteen, yet he could not see her for the woman she was. He only had eyes for Mirabelle, her cousin. She pouted. It wasn't fair.
Taken in by her father, Ulric had been trained as a knight under the protective care of Arnscroft castle. He had lost his parents to the pox and would have been left to scour the streets for food if her father had not happened upon him. He had taken pity on him and, at fourteen, he had joined the household.
Arabella had immediately become infatuated with the dark, long-haired youth and followed him around like a puppy. At first he had tolerated her, but as the years went by she noticed that he seemed to spend more time with Mirabelle than her. She frowned and chewed on a piece of straw. What did Mirabelle have that she didn't? Except maybe age. She was eighteen and as dark as Arabella was blonde. Aye, she was pretty, but she was also self-centered.
She suddenly realized Ulric was staring at her. She went beet-red and backed away from the loft window.
"Arabella! Get down here!"
Oh, Lord. She crept stealthily along the loft and began to climb down the ladder, hoping to get away before he confronted her. But she had no such luck. He grabbed her as she reached the bottom and pulled her around to face him. He had thrown on his shirt, and it stuck to his damp flesh accentuating his muscles even more.
She blinked rapidly and tried to focus on what he was saying.
"Willst thou desist spying on me!" he accused. "I told thee last time to keep away."
"I was not spying!" she lied. "I was looking for Marie's kitten. She hath lost him again."
"A likely story!"
"I speak the truth, thee can ask her."
He folded his arms across his chest and pierced her with eyes as blue as the sky. "Thou knowest it maketh me uncomfortable when thee doth regard me so. Thou art too young to watch men naked."
She stomped her foot. "I am not too young! I am yet thirteen years of age!"
"Aha so thee doth admit it—thee didst watch me." He quirked an eyebrow.
Her face reddened even more at being caught out. "I didst not!"
His deep laughter rang out through the barn, and realizing the futility of protesting her innocence any further, she ran off. Why she loved him so she knew not. He could be infuriating!
* * *
The next day Arabella sat threading daisies on the grounds just outside the castle while watching Mirabelle flirt outrageously with Ulric.
She pouted sullenly and curled her hand into a fist, crushing the daisy angrily. Ulric was a fool. Mirabelle was only playing with him, she had said so on many occasions, but he couldn't see it. He was infatuated. Mirabelle's real love was for Merek, the son of her father's best friend. She had full intentions of marrying him. Ulric didn't stand a chance, but the addle-brained fool still had eyes for just her, when under his very nose was the love of his life…only he didn't know it just yet. She thumped the ground angrily. What could she do to make him notice her?
While she sat broodingly watching them, she tried to think on a plan, but came up with nothing. Suddenly, she noticed Ulric had his hand on Mirabelle's waist. She sat forward and her mouth fell open with surprise at his forwardness. Mirabelle made no attempt to push him away either, which was most unusual—especially as she professed only love for Merek.
Arabella was even more surprised, when Ulric leaned down and kissed Mirabelle fully on the lips.
A wave of jealousy washed over her. How could he? How could she?
Unable to witness their lovemaking any longer, she jumped up and ran into the bailey, throwing herself into the farthest corner to sob her heart out. If their father knew that Ulric had taken such liberties, then surely he would demand that he marry Mirabelle. That was so unfair, Ulric was hers. Mirabelle didn't even want him.
Suddenly a plan began to hatch in her mind. She gasped at her own audacity. Could she pull off such a plan? Would it work?
Feeling excited but nervous, she wiped her tears away and went off in search of her father. He was studying some maps with the castle constable, Brom, in the anteroom and looked up as she entered.
"Arabella." His eyes crinkled at the appearance of his eldest daughter.
"Father, may I speak with thee in private?"
He looked at Brom and nodded. "Leave us, Brom."
"Aye, milord."
He smiled at Arabella as he walked past, but she only had eyes for her father. Now she was here, she wasn't so sure if the words she wanted to say would pass her lips. But straightening her back, she sucked in a deep breath for courage and blurted out, "Ulric kissed me, father!"
Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't the outright anger that suddenly appeared on his face. "Kissed thee!" he thundered, his face turning a frightening shade of purple.
She shrank back, a little intimidated by his display of anger. "Aye, father. Should we not marry now?"
"
Marry him?
A man with no prospects, no land, art thou addle-brained, daughter?" He paced up and down in front of her, angrier than she'd seen him in a long time. Mayhap she should withdraw her lie, but her father would punish her soundly if he found out.
"Ulric will marry no daughter of mine! I hath other plans for thee, child, and they do not include a penniless boy."
"But father…"
"Go to thy chamber immediately. Thou will not see Ulric again!"
She gasped, and tears formed in her eyes at his harsh words. "Father cannot…"
"Go!"
He bellowed, pointing at the door. She quickly ran off, tears flowing down her cheeks.
What had she done?
* * *
Ulric was summoned into the castle by Brom. "Lord Dufour wishes to speak with thee on a matter most urgent."
"Me?"
"Aye, thou art to come forthwith."
Ulric frowned. Something in Brom's tone spoke of foreboding. He liked it not. Striding through the great hall, he was taken into the smaller anteroom.
Brom left them alone with instructions to wait outside the door.
Lord Dufour stood with one hand on the fireplace, staring down into the flames. Ulric shifted uneasily.
"Thee wished to speak with me, milord?"
He watched Lord Dufour's jaw tighten before he turned to face him, his expression full of anger. "Speak with thee? I wouldst prefer to run a sword through thee, thou upstart!"
"Pardon, milord?" He could feel his heart begin to race. Something was afoot.
"I take thee into my household, I feed thee, train thee, and this is how thee doth repay me? By kissing one of my progeny!"
Ulric's stomach lurched. How the devil had he found out? One kiss—that was all he had taken. One small kiss.
"Milord, prithee accept my humble apology."
"Apology! Didst thee think that I would approve a marriage betwixt thee?"
"'Twas yet a kiss, milord. We spoke not of marriage." He quickly realized it was the wrong thing to say as Lord Dufour's looks turned even more thunderous. "I mean to say…"
"I knowest what thou meant, boy. My daughter is yet only thirteen, and I wouldst see her married to a man of property, something thee will never hath. If thou thought to seek thy own satisfaction and take advantage of her youthful innocence, then thou art a knave."
"Thirteen, milord? Mirabelle is yet eighteen!"
A look of confusion passed over Lord Dufour's face. "Mirabelle? 'Tis Arabella thee kissed. I hath seen the way she looks at thee, but I thought thee a man of honor. I was yet wrong!"
"Nay, milord. 'Twas not Arabella I kissed, but Mirabelle. We art in love."
"Mirabelle dost not love thee! She is to be married to Merek of Blackstone this very year. Didst thee think to bed both my daughter and my niece? Arabella said it was she thee had kissed. If so, I should slay thee now!" He took a threatening step towards him.
Ulric held up both his hands defensively. "Milord, prithee upon my honor, I hath never touched Arabella—I sought only to court Mirabelle. I wouldst make her a good husband."
"Then thy words condemn thee, boy. As much as I am fond of thee—thou art banished from this castle and will leave immediately! I will not hath thee coming betwixt Mirabelle and Merek."
His stomach lurched. Since the death of his mother, this had been the only home he'd ever known. "Milord! I beg of thee, do not banish me. Where will I go?"
His mind was in turmoil. He had no coin, how would he live?
"I care not. Thou hath betrayed my kindness for thy own selfish yearnings. Thee will be gone!" He strode to the door and summoned Brom inside. "Brom, let it be known that from this day onwards, Ulric Griffin is banished from our lands." He turned his angry gaze on Ulric with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. "Take him from my sight!"
Ulric would never forget the look on his face for as long as he lived. With a heavy heart, he accompanied Brom from the room, vowing that in this life or the next he would have his revenge on that little vixen, Arabella.
* * *
Arabella lay sobbing on her bed. She had done such a bad thing. Jealousy had taken hold over reason—what had she condemned Ulric to? What did her father mean by saying she would never see him again. Fresh tears fell. How could she bear never seeing her true love again?
Her chamber door opened, and she rolled over to see her father enter the room. He carried a small stick in his hand. A stick she had encountered on many an occasion on her backside.
Her stomach roiled. Oh no. He'd found out she had told a lie. She wiped her tears away and stared at him.
"F-father?"
"Thee lied, did thee not, daughter? 'Twas not thee that Ulric kissed, but thy cousin!"
"I-I…"
"Deny it not. I saw in Ulric's eyes the truth. Why didst thee lie?" He sat down on the bed next to her and placed a hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.
Her lips trembled as she revealed her true feelings for Ulric.
"'Tis but a passing fancy, Arabella. Thou art destined to marry someone of noble birth, not a mere upstart without any prospects. I wouldst see thee well cared for. Ulric is not the man for thee, and when thou art older, thou will understand."
"Where is Ulric?"
"He is gone."
"Gone? But father…"
"Nay, Arabella. From this day, thou will forget his existence. Now, stand at the end of the bed and lean over. Thou will accept thy punishment for lying to me."
Arabella thought about defying him, but from previous experience knew that would only lead to making him angrier than ever. She did as she was bid and leaned over the end of her bed. As the first thwack touched her backside, she closed her eyes and accepted the pain. For how could it be as painful as a love lost forever?
* * *
Nine years later…
Arabella stomped her foot angrily. "But I do not wish to marry him!"
Her father regarded her angrily. "Thou willst do as thou art told, Arabella! This marriage will go ahead as planned whether thou art agreeable or not." He paced in front of her. "Thou art twenty-two and 'tis high time thou found a mate. John of Terryn hath come forward with a proposal, and I hath accepted. He owns lands on the Northern peninsular and hath accumulated wealth that will keep thee in the finest gowns."
"But I knowest him not!" she argued. "Wouldst thou hath me marry a man I hath never met?"
"Aye, daughter, I wouldst, for I hath met him and approved him myself, I wouldst give thee to no other man."
"Give me?
Give me!
Thou speaketh as though I am a parcel to be handed around! I am thy eldest daughter—dost my opinion mean so little?"
His face softened slightly, and he stroked her cheek gently. "Tis why I love thee that I am securing thy future. War is afoot and I wouldst see thee settled."
"But father…"
"Nay, child. Speak no more of it. Thou willst marry on the morrow."
He walked off before she could say any more, leaving her staring futilely after him.
* * *
The morning dawned with a strong wind blowing and rain buffeting heavily against the narrow apertures. She rolled over in bed and snuggled down into the coverlet.