The Maiden Bride (31 page)

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Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval

BOOK: The Maiden Bride
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Linnea lost sight of Axton. In the first moments of her enormous relief, she lost sight also of what his victory actually meant. But when she turned, weak with elation, it was to face her distraught sister—Axton’s intended bride.
Beatrix had collapsed in her grandmother’s arms. Even Lady Harriet looked shaken by this final defeat of her hopes and plans. But the old woman was rescued by the core of iron which was such a part of her. Beatrix possessed no such core, and now, Lady Harriet showed no sympathy for her plight.
“Do not shame us!” she hissed at Beatrix, shoving her back and forcing the girl to stand alone. “Your sister showed a better mettle than this! Would you do any less?”
Lady Harriet met Linnea’s gaze, and though she did not reveal her feelings by either smile or scowl, there was yet an understanding between them. They were, the two of them, made of the same stern stuff. They were fighters and survivors. But Linnea would never let herself turn as sour as her grandmother had. No matter what her future held, she would not become cruel and inflexible.
“My congratulations, madam.”
Linnea turned at the sound of Henry’s voice. He did not address her though, but rather Lady Mildred, who was trying very hard to rein in her joy, but not succeeding. Relief and happiness exuded from her like heat from the sun. It brightened the interior of the tented pavillion, casting away all shadows, even the one that still haunted Linnea.
Lady Mildred murmured her thanks to Henry. When he turned back to the field, however, her happy gaze moved to Linnea. Circling Henry, she came up to Linnea and took her hand.
“I meant what I said.” Her voice was pitched low. “I would gladly have you accompany me to Caen. Peter shall journey there as well.”
The shadow returned to Linnea’s world. “I … I cannot. I think I must be farther separated from Axton than that.” She shook her head at the hopelessness of it all.
Then the sound of the crowd changed and when they both looked up, Axton strode directly toward the pavillion. He halted before Henry, his eyes steady on his liege lord. Not until a hush fell over the bailey did he speak.
“I have bested my rival and, as you requested, I have spared his life. I submit to you now, Henry Plantagenet, Count of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, and rightful king to all of Britain that I seek permission to wed with the daughter of Edgar de Valcourt.”
Linnea could see his chest still heaving from his exertion. She saw the sweat trickle down his brow and the strains of the battle in the lines of his face. She saw also the triumphant light of victory in his deep gray eyes.
At least he was getting his due. He would have his home, secured through both his line and his wife’s. If only she could be that wife. But she had prayed for his victory and now she must hold to the promise she’d made. She must leave him and his bride in peace.
Henry stared down at Axton. “She is yours,” he finally said. “I only hope you can keep straight this time which one is the wife and which one the sister.”
For an instant Axton’s eyes flickered to Linnea. Then as quickly they moved to the weeping Beatrix. Linnea saw his jaw clench. “I know well which is which.”
“Very well then. I shall depart within the hour, for duty calls me to Salisbury.” He grimaced. “It appears there will be many such disputes of ownership and I must resolve them all.” He turned, then spying Linnea, he paused. “Shall I take de Valcourt and his other womenfolk with me?”
Linnea held her breath. Before Axton could respond, however, the Lady Mildred stepped forward. “De Valcourt and his mother would be better served at Romsey Abbey. She is old and he is no longer right in his head. They will be well tended there.”
“And the Lady Linnea?” the young duke asked with one brow arched.
“As I said, my lord. I would have her accompany me to Caen. If that is not to her liking, then, by your leave, I will find her a place in a good household.”
“A place?” Henry repeated in a mocking tone.
“A
good
place, my lord.” Her voice was stern and motherly.
Henry shrugged then, and with a casual gesture, conceded to his mother’s longtime friend. Lady Mildred gave him a small smile while Linnea at last released the breath she’d been holding.
Was it over? Was her father to receive no further punishment than that? Would life at Maidenstone at last return to some semblance of order, though without the presence of the de Valcourt family?
It appeared it would, for now that the entertainment was done, Henry seemed more than ready to depart. As the crowd began slowly to disperse, the wounded Eustace was carted off to the surgeon, the duke’s entourage was rounded up, and the early tension of the day dissolved. The cook returned to his kitchen. The mason shooed the boys down from the scaffold and took up his trowel and mortar. An army of small boys hauled water to the kitchen garden.
Everyone’s lives went back to their prescribed order, save for hers and Beatrix’s. And perhaps Axton’s, she thought as she watched him stride away beside Henry. Would he have any regrets about marrying Beatrix?
At once she admonished herself for such foolish maunderings. Why would he regret it when it did gain him his most fervent desire? Hadn’t he just risked his life to that very end?
Remembering Beatrix, Linnea turned with a heavy heart to face her sister. She was seated on a chair, a stricken expression on her pale face. Despite her own grief, Linnea felt a spasm of pain for her sister.
She knelt before Beatrix and took her hands in her own. “It will be all right. A week from now you will wonder that you did shed a tear over this.”
Beatrix swallowed hard, and though it was clear she was not convinced of Linnea’s words, she nodded ever so slightly. Linnea managed a bitter smile. Then, spying Peter, she pulled Beatrix to her feet. “You will have an ally in Peter. He will be here awhile, should you need a friend.”
“But I want you to stay. Please, Linnea,” she begged. “For I will have no one if you go.”
Linnea could feel herself succumbing to the desperation in her sister’s voice. But on this point she could not waver. “I cannot stay. I cannot stay here …”
She trailed off. Her future was unclear, but to remain at Maidenstone or go to Caen were both impossible. “Perhaps I will travel with Father and Grandmother to Romsey. They’ll need someone to care for them. You will have Norma. And Peter—” She turned to Axton’s brother who stood now watching them both. “Peter, please help me to ease her fears.”
When Linnea beckoned, Peter came nearer. He’d meant to gloat, to taunt these two devious sisters and their witchy grandmother about their family’s complete fall—and his family’s triumph. But as the twin faces turned up to him, the one with wet and frightened eyes, the other pale with her own private despair, he could not do it. They were so alike, and yet so different.
He cleared his throat. “My brother … my brother is a fair man. He will treat you better than you deserve,” he added more gruffly.
“He hates me. He will punish me and I—” The damp-faced Beatrix broke into tears again.
He let out a sharp oath and stepped nearer. Linnea stepped back. “He is angry now, but it will not last. Linnea knows whereof she speaks. If you would but withstand his temper awhile, it will eventually wear itself out.”
But even as he spoke the reassuring words to her, he questioned their validity. Linnea had been able to withstand Axton’s temper. But could this other, gentler sister? More importantly, though, were Axton’s feelings. If he loved Linnea, as Peter suspected, would he ever find a peace with this meek and teary-eyed Beatrix?
His gaze swept over his brother’s new bride, noting her pretty face, her heavy golden tresses, the delicate line of her throat and the fullness of her breasts.
“By the rood!” he swore, raking one hand through his already disheveled hair. When Beatrix cast him a damp, imploring look, he swore again. He didn’t care how lovely she was nor how miserable, he told himself. He didn’t! His brother’s bride was none of his concern and he refused to involve himself in their affairs.
“I cannot help her.” He bit the words out to Linnea. “I will be in Caen. She must make her own way with my brother!” Then he turned on his heel and beat a hasty retreat.
But even as he did so, he knew with a sinking despair that he did but lie. He could no more see his brother’s new bride abandoned to Axton’s famous temper than he could the last one. Worse, this time he feared Axton’s fury would not be so easily tempered. The fact was, Axton had lost his heart to Linnea, the wrong sister. Peter feared that as long as Axton was married to Beatrix, he would always remain angry and discontented.
 
It was Peter who brought the news. “The wedding will be tomorrow morning.”
The entire de Valcourt family had gathered in the chamber given to Axton’s bride, the chamber opposite the lord’s chamber. Edgar de Valcourt sat at the window, staring out at nothing. The other three were equally silent.
“For now he wishes to sup privately with his bride,” Peter continued. He turned to Linnea. “Afterward he would speak to you, Lady Linnea.”
Linnea’s father did not move, as if words no longer registered in his mind. But Beatrix and Lady Harriet both turned to Linnea. On Beatrix’s face was a mixture of fear and resignation. On Lady Harriet’s a sad sort of defeat. Linnea knew somehow that her grandmother’s days were numbered. Without any power to wield, she would have no reason to live.
But that eventuality was not Linnea’s most pressing problem. Peter’s message was.
She cleared her throat and stared at him. “Why does he wish to speak to me?”
Her grandmother snorted at the word
speak
, and Linnea felt color rush into her cheeks. Even Peter blushed. It was painfully clear what Axton wanted of her. No doubt he thought it the perfect punishment. He would sup with his bride, then sleep with her sister. Or so he thought.
She steeled herself to feel neither longing nor pain. “I must tend to my family tonight, my aging grandmother and my father, who is ill.”
When Peter started to protest, she stood up. “I am firm in this.”
He frowned at that, then pulled her rudely toward the door. “He will come for you,” he whispered.
“I will go to your mother then. She, at least, will protect me from his improper advances!”
“He won’t care!” Peter hissed. “He will come for you anyway. Anywhere. You haven’t seen him since Henry and Eustace left. You don’t know how angry he is!”
“Angry?” This time it was Linnea who drew him away, out the door and into the antechamber. “What in the name of God has he to be angry about?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted back. “I only know that if you do not come there will be hell to show for it!”
She did not respond to that but stormed back into the room and shoved the door closed in his face. Inside, though, with all eyes turned on her, she knew she was well and truly caught. She could not stay, yet she feared he would not let her go. He would keep her and torment her, and she would die from a broken heart. Already she could hardly breathe or think, so excruciatingly painful was her fate.
“It appears I taught you well.” Lady Harriet approached her, click by metallic click. “Whatever it is you did—go willingly or fight—he cannot get enough.” She stood just before Linnea, her face crafty again, her voice lowered to a cracking whisper. “If you would just advise your sister as to his desires—”
“No. No!” Linnea recoiled from the old woman. “I will not be a part of any more schemes against him!” Then she jerked open the door and fled, oblivious to her grandmother’s call or her sister’s.
She had to get away! She could not wait another day—not even another minute! She must flee this place even though it be on foot with no plan or direction or coin. She must run from Axton, else she would surely fling herself into his arms.
 
He was irritated. He was angry.
No, he was nervous. Axton had planned to sup privately with his bride so that he might determine what sort of woman she was—beyond the mask of fear she always wore in his presence. But he just wanted to be done with this supper with her, and move on to his meeting with her sister. With Linnea.
It was the thought of dealing with Linnea again that had him so restless, with palms sweating and his gut in a knot.
She would fight him, and she would have many allies—his mother and brother, primarily. And, no doubt, his soon-to-be-wife.
Christ, but he was a madman to even think he could wed the one and bed the other! But he was not prepared to let her go. Not yet.
The curtain to the pantler’s closet parted and Peter poked his head in. “She will be here soon.”
Axton stood, scraping the chair backward. He’d chosen to meet with Beatrix in the castle offices, to allow them privacy from the many curious eyes of staff and servants, and prying family. Of a sudden, however, he wished he’d not done so. With Linnea he preferred the privacy. With Beatrix—
“Christ,” he swore, raking his close-cropped hair with one hand. “Just show the wench in.”
Peter frowned at his words. “She is to be your wife. To call her wench is to begin the union in a less than hopeful manner.”
“I started my union with her sister in a less than hopeful fashion,” Axton snapped. “Look how that turned out.”
“Disastrous?” Peter retorted sarcastically.
“No, damn you! With her more than content! With her melting beneath my hand! So shall it be with this sister. They look alike. They will respond alike!”
“They are not the same woman!” Peter pounded the air with his knotted fist. “Linnea fights you—and wins,” he caustically added. “But Beatrix will not be able to withstand your foul temper.”
“What do you mean, she wins? She has not—”
“She has won your heart! She has lied to you, deceived you, and brought you to the brink of defeat,” he pointed out, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Yet she nonetheless has won your heart.” Peter’s strident voice had softened at the last point. Now his young face creased in a frown as he stared at his brother. “You cared what became of her should you fall to de Montfort. But now that you have won, what do you intend to do with her?”
Axton was shaking with rage. But it was not his brother who deserved that anger, he recognized. It was himself. He was a fool to let a mere woman affect him so. Why couldn’t he be content with the sister, especially since she was just as fair, just as comely, and no doubt could warm his bed just as well on a cold night?
Because she was not Linnea, and he could tell the difference between them in every aspect of their bearing.
Still, in the dark one woman was much the same as another, he told himself. Hadn’t he always thought that? Hadn’t he proven it true innumerable times?
“What do you intend to do with her?” Peter demanded to know.
“I shall keep her,” Axton snapped. He glared at his brother. “I shall keep her as long as I want her,” he added, goading the boy, though he knew it was pointless.
“You cannot do that!”
“I can and I will.”
“You would take a vow to one woman—before God, your family, and hers. You would take that vow, knowing all the while you intend to break it?”
“Didn’t Linnea do as much to me? She took the same vows, but she lied.”
But Peter was obstinate. He shook his head. “Beatrix is not Linnea, Axton. She is not a part of your anger at Linnea.”
“She’s at the very center of it! She’s what this is all about. Linnea loves her so much she whored for her!”
With a furious cry Peter launched himself at Axton. Though smaller by half, his attack was nonetheless hard enough to set Axton back on his heels. But he recovered quickly and with a rough shove sent Peter sprawling.
That, however, did not stop the boy. He rose to his feet, his fists clenched in rage. “’Twas but a few hours ago that you lauded her loyalty. You said it was a rare thing. Now you would berate her for it?”
Axton winced under Peter’s painful accusation. It was true, all of it. Worst of all, however, was the bitter knowledge that it was not so much Linnea’s loyalty to her sister which did bedevil him as it was her disloyalty to him. He could never command that same sort of loyalty, that same sort of love from her as did her family members.
But he could not admit as much to anyone, not even his own brother. He glared at Peter. “She made a fool of me. I am entitled to my anger. Besides, we speak here not of Linnea, but of Beatrix.”
“Yes, Beatrix, who is so sweet and so mild-tempered that she did inspire her sister to make the ultimate sacrifice for her. Did you ever think, great lummox that you are, that Beatrix might just be worth that sacrifice? That Linnea loves her so fiercely for a reason?”
Axton gritted his teeth. “What I think is that you are as easily coerced by that wilting wench as is her sister.”
“And what am I to do, stand by and watch you torment the defenseless creature? She will not survive so well as did Linnea—”
“Do not speak to me of Linnea!”
“Very well! Then let us speak of Beatrix. You must not take your anger out on her when ’tis Linnea who has you so besotted!”
It was the last straw. With a string of the worst curses he could think of, Axton exploded. “Besotted! Besotted? ’Tis not I who is besotted, but you! If this damnable Beatrix is so sweet and good as you would have her then … then by all that is holy, you marry her!”
 
Axton did not remain in the castle office for his interview with Beatrix. Instead he retreated to the only place where he could be alone with his thoughts, and that was the chapel. No one interrupted him. No sound penetrated the thick stone walls or narrow glass-paned windows as he sat on a bench slumped forward in despair.
You marry her.
His final words to Peter echoed in his head, whipping him with their barbs, taunting him with an idea that was insane.
The words had been borne in anger, but they tempted him now with visions of a peace he’d thought vanished since the moment he’d received Henry’s devastating missive.
If Peter would marry the Lady Beatrix, then he … He shook his head and let it fall forward into his palms. How could he even consider marrying a woman who had done everything in her power to deter him from his goal?
Because he could not help but admire her courage, her spirit, and her deep sense of loyalty. To have such a wife standing beside him …
Again he shook his head. Who was the besotted fool now? Linnea would never agree to it. He’d treated her too cruelly too many times. And then there was Peter to consider, and Beatrix.
He took a slow breath, then raised his head. He was in a holy place. Perhaps if he prayed for guidance. Then he had a quick thought and he felt the first glimmer of hope. Perhaps the saint that Linnea was forever invoking, St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, would come to his aid.
He made a swift but fervent prayer. Then he quit the chapel and went in search of his brother.
He’d made many promises to St. Jude in the chapel, and he meant to honor them all. But most of all he meant to keep Linnea with him, though he must fight her and his entire family for that privilege.
 
Linnea slipped from the castle in the company of four village women and six or seven children. She’d dressed in her own clothes, an old but serviceable gray gown over a plain wool kirtle. She’d wrapped her hair in a couvrechef and clutched a sack to her chest. Though it was warm, she also wore a nondescript cloak and hood, and walked with an uneven gait, slightly stooped over. With her face averted, she could have been any aging matron returning home after a long day’s service at the castle.
Only she wasn’t returning to her home. She was fleeing it.
Once out of the castle, her deliberate pace let her fall farther and farther behind the other women. Though they sent her several curious looks, they thankfully did not approach her.
As they neared the village, Linnea veered away, toward the fringe of woods that lay along the river. Only when she was well away from this place would she feel safe, although she doubted she could ever feel happy.
Where she would go and how she would get there were two questions she could not yet answer. Even though the abbey was the only logical destination she could think of, she worried that she could easily be tracked there—assuming Axton tried to find her. Even without him in pursuit, however, the fact remained that she had no idea where the abbey was. And she didn’t dare ask anyone in Maidenstone village.
She paused in the shelter of an ancient yew, its trunk twisted and gray. It seemed to be crying out in a silent agony—much as she was crying silently inside. A magpie called down in scolding tones. A flock of blackbirds rose up indignantly at her rude invasion of their territory.
Coward, coward, their raucous calls seemed to mock her. Coward to flee. Coward to abandon her sister. Coward to remember even now the pleasure she and Axton had taken of one another in this very woodland.
She moved away from the tortured yew and pushed farther into the shadowed forest. No longer did she worry about disguising herself. On impulse she decided simply to follow the river against the flow. Eventually she would find another village. Eventually she would find someone who would direct her to the abbey, or perhaps an even more likely place. Meanwhile, she must travel as quickly and quietly as she could.
An hour passed without incident. She saw no one as the afternoon wore on into the long lavender dusk of summer, although once she did hear a distant whistle, as if someone did signal their dog. Where the riverbank was clear, she traveled easily. Through bracken and hip-high fern, the going was slower. Her cloak was a hindrance; she took it off. Her skirts were equally awkward, but she could do no more than hike them up over her arm, freeing her lower legs to stride more freely.

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