Medieval Ever After (7 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Joselyn woke up
the next morning alone in the small, dirty bed. It was light outside but she had no way of knowing what time it was. Stirring, she propped herself up on her elbows only to realize that at some point during the night, someone had piled a mound of woolen blankets on the bed and a fire burned low in the hearth. The wood was crumbling, indicating the fire had been burning for some time. Just the least bit curious, not to mention touched, she realized that Stephen must have returned at some point.

Sitting up, she swiftly remembered that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on. Her rough surcoat and shift were still on the floor where she had dropped them. In spite of the fire, the room was chilly and she moved to the edge of the bed, aiming for her clothing on the floor, when more items caught her attention that hadn’t been there the night before.

A bucket of water and a small cake of white soap sat on a small table just to the right of the bed. Standing up, she hooted when her feet hit the freezing floor as she hobbled over to the soap and water. A folded square of linen was placed behind the bucket, presumably to dry off with, and her lips twitched with a smile. She could hardly believe that the cold, hard man she had met yesterday would actually provide her with such luxuries and kindness that she could scarcely comprehend. Perhaps he was not so cold and hard, after all. It was too good to believe.

Just as she picked up the soap, the final surprise caught her eye; folded up quite neatly on a small three-legged stool next to the water and soap, were at least two layers of different colored material. Intrigued, she picked up the first bundle and watched it unfurl into a splendid surcoat the color of cranberries. She fingered the fabric, noting it was very soft wool that was long of sleeve and square of neck. It was also unhemmed and unfinished.

Underneath it lay at shift made out of a material so fine and soft that it was surely made of clouds. Awed, she picked it up, rubbed it against her cheek and was delighted to note that it did not scratch her at all as the wool did. In fact, she had spent the past ten years wearing rough woolen garments of all kinds and her skin was constantly red and scratchy from the material. It was miserable but it was all she knew. The introduction of the white shift made of angel’s wings had her reeling with delight.

Quickly, she threw off the dirty tartan and washed liberally in the cold water. She hooted and gasped as she lathered the soap and bathed, unassisted, in the corner of the dingy room. It had been the first bath she had taken in ages, so it was something of a delicious treat. The soap smelled strongly of pine but she didn’t care; it was a wonderful luxury in a world that had very few. After she had washed her slender white body thoroughly, she stuck her head into what remained of the water in the bucket and lathered her hair up with the pine-smelling soap.

Her hair was trickier to wash than her body but she managed to rinse it relatively clean. Anything was clean compared to what it had been. And with that, she dressed in the soft white shift and pulled the surcoat over her head. There were latticed-strings on the bodice of the garment, strategically placed the length of her torso under each arm, and it took some time for her to lace them up properly. She’d never owned anything even remotely fancy and was having a difficult time navigating the strings. But once they were properly tied, it gave her a wonderful curvy appearance as the bodice emphasized her slender waist and full breasts. She had never worn anything like it.

With that, she put on her worn hose and under garments, feeling better of body and spirit than she had in months. Taking the drying linen, which was now damp, she put the three-legged stool next to the hearth, sat down, and proceeded to dry her hair near the warmth of the dim fire. She was still sitting there a half hour later when there was a soft knock at the door.

She stopped running her fingers through her hair to dry it. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened and Stephen appeared. Joselyn did a double-take as he walked into the room and softly shut the door; in the light of day, he was far more handsome than she had remembered. She’d only seen the man in the dark or by weak firelight, never with the glory of the sun shining upon him. It made her heart pound strangely simply to look at him.

Stephen, too, was swallowing his mild surprise; since meeting Joselyn last night, her beauty, for the most part, had been completely obscured by her worn clothes and dirty tartan. The darkness of the night had also done much to shroud her. But sitting before him, clean and shiny, dressed in the new surcoat and shift he had brought her, she literally took his breath away. He’d never seen anything so lovely.

“Good morn to you, Lady Pembury,” he suddenly felt quite dirty and disheveled next to this glorious creature. “I hope you slept well.”

She stood up, a petite little thing against his enormous height. “I did, thank you,” she nodded. A briefly awkward silence followed as they continued to appraise each other in the daylight. When the pause because excessive, she fingered the surcoat as if suddenly remembering it. “I assume you brought this for me?”

He nodded, noting how the cut of the garment gave her a figure like no other woman he had ever laid eyes on. “I thought you could use something clean to wear,” he indicated the cranberry colored wool. “While checking the sentries just before dawn, I came across a merchant who was cleaning out his partially burned store. He had some women’s garments that he had brought over from Paris to sell, so I bought the whole lot of them. Most of them smell like smoke, so I turned them over to the serving women here at Berwick to wash. This was the only garment that didn’t seem to suffer any damage.”

She stared at him. “You… you bought me more clothes?”

He nodded, walking halfway around her to better inspect the surcoat and the way it draped over her luscious backside. “Aye,” he paused, gaining a good view of her rump. “I suspected you did not have much of a wardrobe given the fact that you were wearing peasant clothing and tartan. As my wife, I should like you to be well dressed.”

Joselyn was stunned, unsure what to say to the man. He had gone well out of his way to bring her something fine and she was momentarily speechless. “Then…,” she started again. “Then I thank you for your generosity. I do not own anything fine or glorious. This is the first lovely garment I have ever had.”

He moved back around to the front of her and faced her with his hands on his slender hips. “And it will certainly not be the last,” he replied decisively. “Your beauty already outshines every woman in England. Putting you in fine clothing and jewels is like adding stars to the moon and sky; it simply enhances what is already breathtaking.”

By the time he was finished, she was blushing furiously. When their eyes met, she grinned modestly and lowered her gaze. He laughed softly.

“You have never heard such things before, have you?” he asked.

She shook her head, still averting her eyes. “From the nuns of Jedburgh? I doubt it.”

He laughed again and she dared to look at him. He had a magnificent smile with big white teeth and a huge dimple in his left cheek. In fact, his entire face lit up when he smiled, changing his features dramatically. She was mesmerized.

“Well,” he rubbed his cheeks as his smile faded. “You had better become used to flattery. I have a feeling it will not be the last time you hear it from my lips.”

She continued to grin modestly, feeling his heated gaze upon her. Somewhat giddy, she went over to the bed and tossed aside the tartan in the quest to find her shoes.

“Have you broken your fast yet, my lord?” she was trying to slip her shoes on with quivering hands. The man had completely unnerved her with his glorious smile and sweet words. “I shall find the kitchen and procure some food.”

He shook his head. “Unnecessary,” he told her. “I have come to take you to the hall. There is food aplenty there.”

Shoes on her feet, she faced him. As he watched, the smile faded from her face. She suddenly looked quite upset as if the entire world had just come crashing down on her. His brow furrowed, wondering about the sudden change of mood, when she spoke. The first words out of her mouth explained everything.

“The hall…,” she swallowed and groped for words. “Would… would you please tell me where my mother is? How is she?”

His smile faded as well. He knew the question would come but he wished it hadn’t. He was enjoying the first pleasant conversation they had ever had and didn’t want to spoil the mood. Still, there was no use in avoiding the inevitable. She had to know the truth.

He sighed faintly. “Your mother is with God,” he murmured. “There was nothing I could do for her.”

The tears welled as he watched. “She is dead?”

“She is. I am sorry.”

“Was… was she dead when you returned to her?”

Stephen thought of the gored corpse and how her father had held it and wept. “She was,” his voice was soft and low. “She is no longer in pain, my lady. She is at peace.”

Joselyn turned away, struggling not to sob out loud, but it was beyond her control. Covering her face with a hand, she wept deeply.

Stephen watched her heaving shoulders, feeling badly that he had brought such terrible news. Truth be told, he had brought her the new garments and other luxuries before she awoke, hoping to soften the blow. He was not as heartless as she had accused him of being and he didn’t want her to think he was made of stone. It was no way to start a marriage. Moreover, there was more bad news to come.

“Your father and the rest of your clan were removed from Berwick before dawn,” he reasoned that he might as well tell her all of it so she could grieve for everything all at once. “They are being escorted to Alnwick Castle where they will be held for trial. Your mother’s body remains here for burial.”

She wept as if her heart was broken. “You sent my father away?”

Stephen drew in a long, deep breath. “He is the king’s prisoner, my lady. There was nothing else to do with him.”

“Please,” she went to him, her hands folded in front of her in a pleading gesture. “Please bring him back and I swear he will not cause any trouble. My father is old and unwell. I am afraid… afraid that confinement in the vault will only lead to his death. It will surely kill him.”

Stephen was not without sympathy. “I cannot grant your request, lady,” he said softly. “Your father is a prisoner of the king and only the king can make that decision.”

Tears dripped from her chin and onto the cranberry colored wool. “First my brothers, then my mother…,” she was growing increasingly hysterical as she once again turned away from him. “And now my father is gone. My family is destroyed. I have no one left.”

Stephen didn’t know what to say to that. She had every right to be distraught. Not knowing what else to do, he gave her a few moments of crying before reaching out and grasping her elbow gently.

“Come along,” he said softly. “You will feel better after you have eaten.”

She pulled her elbow away from him, although it was not cruelly done. “Nay,” she breathed. “I… I am not hungry. If you do not mind, I simply wish to be left in peace.”

Stephen watched as her small body was wracked with sobs. He was about to insist that she come to the hall and eat, but he thought better of it. The woman needed to deal with her grief in her own way.

He left her without a word, his heart heavy with sorrow for her. Somehow, between last night and this morning, he was coming to feel a great deal of compassion for the woman. It was apparent that life had dealt her a bitter blow at a young age, which didn’t seem fair to him. Certainly, most people had their share of hardships, but she seemed to have more than most.

As he crossed the bailey and headed into the great hall where Edward and Tate were sitting near the blazing hearth, he thought to take Joselyn some food so that she would have something to eat if she became hungry. Edward and Tate were discussing some future strategy, acknowledging Stephen when he began gathering hunks of cheese and a few apples.

“How is your wife?” Tate asked.

Stephen was picky with his apple selection; he inspected each one closely before deciding. “She is rested but understandably upset over the death of her mother and the departure of her family.”

“Did you give her the garments you bought?”

“I did. She looks marvelous.”

Edward elbowed Tate, grinning. “I told you she was a lovely girl, Stephen,” the king said. “So now you agree with me?”

Stephen looked at the young king. “I never disagreed in the first place,” he replied, tucking the cheese and apples into one hand and hunting for a nice piece of soft bread with the other. “Wait until you see her this morning. She looks like a goddess.”

Tate just grinned and shook his head. “It sounds as if you are not entirely displeased with your marriage, then.”

Stephen shrugged. “Time will tell once we’ve both had a chance to settle into it.”

“Why did she not come down to join us for the meal?” Edward wanted to know. “Is she too worn out from your wedding night?”

Stephen fought off a grin at the crass question. “I never touched her,” he said honestly. “When did I have time? From the moment we were married until this very second, I have been mostly away from her seeing to my duties as both husband and garrison commander. If this pace keeps up, we’ll both be old and gray before I have enough time to properly consummate the marriage.”