The Lion Triumphant (62 page)

“I came here,” he said, “to offer you marriage.”

“That is noble of you,” I said with sarcasm.

“I am a man to honour my obligations.”

“This one may pass. You could best make amends by going away and never coming into my life again.”

“And the child?”

“Will be taken care of. It shall never know that it was forced on an innocent girl who was drugged to satisfy a cruel man’s lust. If you will make amends, go away.”

“I am going to look after you and the child. We will marry without delay. Our son will be born a little prematurely for respectability mayhap but that is not a matter to cause us over much concern.”

“How could I marry you?”

“Simply. I could get a priest today. The sooner the better for the sake of our child.”

There was a scratching at the door and Jennet came in with wine and little cakes. She was dimpling as though it gave her great pleasure to serve such a fine gentleman. I noticed too that old as she was he was not unaware of her. It was that overwhelming sensuality in her, I supposed, which matched that in him.

I said: “Pray tell my mother that Squire Colum Casvellyn is here, Jennet, and beg her to come with all speed.”

He looked at me slyly as though he knew it was a cry for help.

When Jennet had gone he said reproachfully: “We did not need your mother to decide for us.”

“I do not wish to remain here alone with you.”

“We were alone, remember, all through that memorable night.”

“How dare you speak in that way. As though … I were a party to it.”

“But you were a party to it. You made no attempt to run away.”

“How could I?”

“’Twould not have been easy, I’ll grant you. But you were not in truth averse. I awakened something in you. Something you will never forget. That is why you will be wise to accept my offer, give our child a name and give me many more children. I need a wife. I want sons. I know you will be the one to provide them.”

My mother came in.

She stood on the threshold and her eyes flashed in rage.

“How dare you come here!” she demanded.

He bowed ironically. “Madam,” he said, “I came to ask for your daughter’s health and to offer her my heart and hand along with the marriage bond.”

“Marriage!” she cried.

“’Tis only seemly, since as you know we have already bedded and with results.”

“If my husband were here …” said my mother.

“Is he not? I wished to meet him.”

“It would be an ill day for you if you did.”

“Madam, are you being just? I have come to you to right a wrong. I have come to make honourable amends. I offer your daughter marriage.”

My mother was speechless. She glanced at me but I could not meet her eyes. I kept thinking of marrying him, spending my days and nights with him, and I felt a sudden wild curiosity which was almost desire.

He assumed an air of humility which was quite alien to him and gave him an unexpected charm.

“I am a sinner, Madam,” he said. “I will tell you the truth. I saw your daughter in the inn and as a young hot-blooded man must do, desired her. I behaved badly …” he shrugged his shoulders. “A sort of revenge, if you will, because I knew she was out of my reach. The next day I had the good fortune to rescue her from robbers. I tremble to think what her fate would have been had she been left to them. I rescued her; I searched for you; I could not find you; then I took her to my castle. It was there that the temptation overcame me. I deserve your contempt and hatred. But, Madam, you do not know what it means to be so deep in desire. There is no conscience, there is no thought for anything beyond the satisfying of that desire. Perhaps your husband could understand. I have heard tales of him and I think he would. My better nature was subdued. I behaved as I did because I could not stop myself doing otherwise.”

My mother said: “You behaved as no gentleman would.”

“’Tis true, alas. And having done so, your daughter has not been out of my mind since that day I brought her home to you. I determined to ask for her hand in marriage, to make amends. I knew that there was only one circumstance in which she would have me. What I hoped is now a fact and I have the temerity to offer myself. She shall be cherished all the days of her life; she shall be my honoured wife, the mother of my children; and there shall be no slur on this little one whom she now carries.”

My mother was silent. I could see the speculation in her eyes. It was a solution. He was the father of the child; he wished to marry me; I should not be so far from her if I married him. It would have been the best answer but for the fact that I must take this man for my husband.

She turned to me. “I think my daughter will refuse your offer.”

“Yes,” I said. “I refuse. I never want to see this man again.”

“You will see him in your child,” he reminded me. “And will you deny him his name?”

“We will make arrangements,” said my mother. “We are not without the power to do so.”

“I shall want my child,” he said.

“Since it was begotten in such a manner you have no right to it,” said my mother.

“A father no right to his child! Come, Madam, you are unjust.”

“What a pity you did not think of justice when you had my daughter at your mercy.”

“Your daughter was, alas, so desirable that my conscience was stilled; and you are to blame for that, Madam, for you have brought her up with a spirit and beauty to match your own.”

“Enough of this,” said my mother. “You have caused us great trouble. You can serve us best by going away from here and never crossing our paths again.”

“I have planned it well,” he said. “I will ride over with a priest and he shall marry us quietly. Then I shall let it be known that your daughter and I were so enamoured of each other, so eager for the sweets of union that we could not wait for the grand wedding you would certainly want to give us, so we married quietly in November, kept our marriage secret, and now that you know, you insist on a grand wedding if that is what you wish, Madam.”

I could see that she was thinking of my father. If he were told this story, he would accept it; and although he had hoped with my mother that I would marry Fennimore, I did not think he would be so delighted with him as a son-in-law as my mother would have been.

She was looking at me. Perhaps he reminded her of my father; she knew what her feelings for him were. Was she asking herself if while outwardly I seemed to hate this man he aroused some strange emotions within me? If she was thinking this, she was right.

His size, his blustering manner, the power that exuded from him had a certain magnetism. I could not understand what it was, but when I compared Fennimore with him, Fennimore seemed a little insignificant.

He leaned against the table and regarded the tips of his boots. His expression had grown melancholy. “If she will not accept me, Madam, what a plight she will be in! Your daughter condemned as a girl who grants favours before marriage. Oh, I agree, she was forced to it, but such is the way of the world that even so, a maiden’s plight is held against her. It is wrong, it is cruel; but nevertheless true.
I
am to blame. I have put her into this condition. I wish to make amends and I swear with all my heart, Madam, that I will do so. Tell me I may come tomorrow with my docile priest. You have a chapel here. We will have a ceremony in secret. I shall be your daughter’s husband. Then if you wish it we can tell our little secret to the world. We will have our grand wedding as soon as is possible and I shall take my bride with me to Castle Paling. She will already be with child but why should she not be when she was secretly married to the husband of her choice as far back as November.”

There was silence in the room. I was aware of the thudding of my heart as it shook my body. He was right. It was a way out. Even those who did not believe that we had been secretly married in November would not dare say so. My child would be born with all honour—the heir of Castle Paling. There would be no bitter subterfuge to darken my life. And I should be his wife. The thought I must admit filled me with terror and yet it was a delicious sort of terror. I was beginning to think it was a terror I must experience.

He was the first to speak. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I shall come here with the priest.”

“We must have time to think of this,” said my mother. “Tomorrow is too soon.”

“There is little time to waste, Madam. Remember our child grows bigger with every day. I will come tomorrow with the priest. By then you will have seen that this is the answer!”

He bowed and went out into the courtyard. I heard him shouting for his horse. My mother and I were silent, listening to the sound of his horse’s hoofs as he rode away.

Then she took my arm. “Come away from here, Linnet,” she said. “We must go somewhere where we can talk in peace.”

All through that day we talked.

“My dearest child,” said my mother, “it is a decision which only you can make. You must not forget that this is for life. Marriage with him would provide an immediate solution, but don’t forget you have to consider the future. If such a marriage were distasteful to you, you must not enter into it. Anything … yes, anything is better than that. What happened was no fault of yours. Everyone will see that.”

“Will people believe it?” I asked. “There will be hints. They will follow me all my life.”

“That is not so. You have the example of Romilly. She gave birth to a child and your own father fathered it. Can you imagine a greater scandal than that? Yet somehow she has continued to live here and she feels no shame.”

“I am not Romilly.”

“Nay indeed. The situation is different. He has wronged you and surprisingly has come to make amends.”

“He has come because he wants the child.”

“He could marry if he wished and have one. Yet he has offered you marriage.”

“Yes, it is true,” I said.

“But, my dearest, you must think clearly. You must not take a solution merely because it seems easy to you. Tell me what is in your mind.”

I raised my bewildered eyes to her face. “I do not know,” I said.

“Has he perhaps fascinated you a little?”

“I am unsure.”

“I understand it. There is something strong about him. You know something of what happened to me. I did not want to marry your father yet compared with him all other men seemed small and insignificant. You see how it is with us. We have always quarrelled. Often we have hated each other, and yet there is something between us. Is it love? I don’t know. It is a bond, the severing of which would take something vital from our lives. I suppose that is love … in a way. As soon as he came into the inn he reminded me of your father. They are the buccaneers of the world, such men; and this is an age of buccaneers. They are the men of our times—the ideal, one might say. The times are not nice and gentle. We are fighting for our place in the world … and we produce men such as these to make and hold our place there. That’s how I see it. But such talk does not help us. Tell me how you felt for Fennimore?”

“I liked him. His manners are charming and he is good to look at. I think he would be a good husband.”

“I think so, too. He is kind and gentle and would understand what happened was no fault of yours.”

“If there had not been a child … Perhaps I should try to rid myself of it, but I don’t want to, Mother. Already I feel that it is mine and in spite of everything …”

“I understand. And I would not allow you to rid yourself of it. Many girls have died through such a thing. Whatever the outcome, you will have the child. Shall we speak to Fennimore? Shall we tell him what has happened?”

I shook my head.

“Then you will go to my mother?”

“I couldn’t bear to leave you.”

“Then you need not. You could have the child here. You and I would bring it up together.”

“My father …”

My mother laughed and the derisive smile was on her face as though he were there to see it. “He will have to accept what is done.”

“There will be trouble. He will never let Colum Casvellyn escape his fury.”

“That’s true.”

“And if aught happened to my father …”

She put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me earnestly. “Linnet,” she said, “somewhere in the depth of your mind you want to marry this man.”

I lowered my eyes. I could not look at her.

She held me against her and stroked my hair. “You need feel no shame. I understand. So much happened to me. It is not always easy to understand one’s emotions. There is a virility about him. You need not be ashamed because you want to respond to it. It is natural. By marrying him you would be taking a great risk. It would be like going on a journey into the unknown, on a ship of which you knew nothing and an unpredictable captain in charge of the vessel. Well, Linnet, you are a sailor’s daughter.”

That night I could not sleep. It was after midnight when my mother came into my room. We lay in my bed together, I was clasped in her arms and she told me of her own youth and what had happened to her: and I knew that there was something of her in me and something of my father too. I knew that a perilous adventure lay before me but I could no longer turn my back on it than either of them could have done.

The next day, true to his word, Colum Casvellyn arrived at Lyon Court. He brought a priest with him. And in the chapel he and I were married.

I was amazed how sober he could be. When the ceremony was over he embraced me with gentleness; and he docilely agreed to go away until my mother had been able to speak to my father.

She would lie to him for it was necessary. She wanted no bloodshed. She would tell him that I had quietly married Colum Casvellyn some months before and, fearing his disapproval, as he had wished for an alliance with the Landors, had kept my secret until I was with child and realized it had to be told.

We stood together watching Colum ride away. Then she turned to me and looked at me steadily.

“So we found our solution, Linnet,” she said. “Pray God it was the right one.”

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Copyright © 1974 by Philippa Carr

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