Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval
The Maiden Bride (8 page)
She slipped behind the chair, then glanced over to her left. The pantler’s chamber was shielded from the hall by a heavy curtain, and it was there she headed. But as she pushed blindly past the curtain, her foot met a hard, yielding form and she lost her balance. A yelp alerted her to some sleeping hound’s presence. But when she could not right herself and fell awkwardly onto the animal, its startled cry changed to a fierce growl.
“Be still e’er he snaps your head clean off your shoulders,” a youthful voice ordered. Linnea instantly obeyed. But it was bitterly done, for she realized without seeing him, that the voice belonged to
that
boy. No other lad of the castle would dare to speak in such lordly tones to her. Only Peter de la Manse, brother to her dreaded bridegroom, would do so. Who else came and went with such a huge hound ever at his side? Who else seemed to live to taunt her, the ill-mannered whelp?
that
boy. No other lad of the castle would dare to speak in such lordly tones to her. Only Peter de la Manse, brother to her dreaded bridegroom, would do so. Who else came and went with such a huge hound ever at his side? Who else seemed to live to taunt her, the ill-mannered whelp?
“To calm, Moor. To calm,” he ordered in his half-boy, half-man’s croak of a voice. “’Tis only a minor aggravation, not worthy of our attention.”
The animal had shrugged Linnea off as if she were, indeed, only some minor weight thrown heedlessly upon him and shed just as heedlessly. But though she lay crumpled ignominiously against the rough wall of the pantry, the dog stood over her as if to attack, his huge head lowered, his hackles raised. His great yellow teeth bared.
“To calm,” the boy spoke once more, though there was less of command and more of hilarity in his tone. But at least he gripped the beast’s studded collar now, affording Linnea the faintest reprieve from her fear of being eaten alive.
“Is it your wont to barrel unannounced through shielded passages? Methinks a bell to chime at your neck would serve us all a good warning.”
Linnea pushed herself upright, but slowly. Her veil had come loose during her fall and hung askew, so she pulled it off and knotted it in her angry fists. Her tumbled hair she thrust carelessly behind her shoulder as she faced the snarling hound and its grinning master.
“If you would let me pass,” she muttered, curbing her tongue though the effort came close to choking her.
“Go back the way you came,” he said with a smug moue. “Unless you do flee from something—or somebody. My brother’s body?” he added with the coarse innuendo too common to youthful males. Before this day Linnea had understood little of the vulgar implications, save that they
were
somehow vulgar. But after her grandmother’s unsettling explanation of what men and women did together, followed by Axton de la Manse’s disturbing hints and now this boy’s crude words, she understood far more than she wanted to.
were
somehow vulgar. But after her grandmother’s unsettling explanation of what men and women did together, followed by Axton de la Manse’s disturbing hints and now this boy’s crude words, she understood far more than she wanted to.
“Your brother is occupied with one of his men,” she bit out.
“One of his men? Ah, but you could not be more wrong. He is not of so perverse a nature—nor am I,” he ended on a boastful note.
Linnea glared at him. Was she to make sense of that? She chose not to even try, for she’d had enough of male coarseness for this day. “Let me pass. Boy,” she added, as fury got the better of common sense. She gathered her unfamiliarly heavy skirts in one hand and started forward as if to push past him in the narrow passage. But the dog lunged forward and she leaped back, and all the while the boy hooted in derision.
“Boy, you say? Man enough to control this mighty beast, and man enough to control you as well.”
Sweet Mary, but that was the very last straw. First his huge oaf of a brother threatening her with his husbandly rights. Now him, with his nasty smirk and vicious pet. “Know you how easy it is to fell one such as he?” she hissed, too angry to guard her words any longer. “To paint a joint of mutton with oil of belladonna and feed it to this thing you call a dog would be no difficult task for me.” She drew herself up in the face of his startled expression. “Best you and he stay well out of my way.”
Then, afraid to push past him, but more afraid to go back into the hall and chance meeting his brother, she stepped firmly toward the boy, though passing on the side away from the animal he held so tightly to him.
Thankfully he let her go and she did not dally in the short passageway that connected the hall to the castle offices. Through the chamber she hurried. But she noted the disorder in the office, the ledgers spread open on the table, the money box also open—and empty.
A curse upon them all, she swore. They were thieves who robbed her family of right and respect and belongings.
Once beyond the offices, however, she hesitated yet again. Where to fly, now that there was no solace to be found anywhere within these heavy stone walls? Sister gone. Father useless. Grandmother more torment than comfort.
The chapel bell tolled sext, and it was as if it called an answer to her desperation—or once again St. Jude did. Linnea knew that Father Martin was to aid in Beatrix’s escape. Maybe she was hidden in the chapel. Even if she weren’t, the priest might have some word of her for Linnea. Or he might agree to carry a message to her.
Father Martin was in the small apse opposite the altar where the lord’s family worshipped, but so was her grandmother. They prayed—or conferred—heads close and whispers low. No solace to be found here, Linnea told herself, backing away before they noted her presence. A wary search of the priest’s private solar and nearby storerooms did not reveal Beatrix’s whereabouts either. And so it was with heavy heart and slow tread that Linnea made her way back to the barracks. She could at least sit with Maynard a while and pray for him—for
all
of them. St. Jude, don’t abandon us, she sent her silent plea aloft.
Do not abandon us.
all
of them. St. Jude, don’t abandon us, she sent her silent plea aloft.
Do not abandon us.
To her surprise, someone was already praying over Maynard, a slight, bowed figure that started in alarm at Linnea’s entrance.
“What do you here?” Linnea demanded, fearing for her brother’s safety. Where was that squire, anyway?
“’Tis all right, sister,” came the response. “’Tis only … ‘Tis only Linnea,” she said, glancing warningly at the prone figure on the floor.
Thank God! Linnea flew to Beatrix’s side, enveloping her in a grateful embrace. “Oh, but I have feared for you—”
“Beatrix.” The rusty voice was that of Maynard, though a weak, cracking version of it. Both sisters looked down at him, Beatrix beaming with joy, Linnea filled only with relief.
“Beatrix,” he repeated. “I am hurt … My head … Why am I in this … this mean place?”
“The new lord does order it so,” Beatrix began.
“I spoke to Beatrix!” Maynard cut her off. Even in his suffering he did not forget which sister was firstborn—and which one was not.
The twins shared a look and an understanding. Beatrix stepped back and Linnea, wearing her sister’s rumpled finery, knelt beside their brother. He was weak and dazed, but yet possessed of the same unpleasant disposition as ever. “You are grievously injured but, God grant it, you shall survive. Only you must rest and allow yourself to heal.”
He stared up at her and in his eyes she saw both pain and bewilderment. She’d seen mockery in his gaze many times, and devilment. Also fury and cruelty. But never the vulnerability that was there now. He was but human, she realized, much like their father. But also a bully, she reminded herself. Like the boy Peter.
Maynard was in her power now, as Peter de la Manse had been in the fleeting moments following her threat to poison his dog. How gratifying was this feeling of power, she thought as she pressed a palm to Maynard’s head, testing him for the fever. No wonder men clawed and fought for power, and struggled ever to retain it. When compared to helplessness, there was no contest.
“I will tend your needs, brother,” she reassured him.
“And I will pray for you,” Beatrix murmured from her place just beyond them.
“Get thee gone!” Maynard gasped, his eyes darting accusingly at the disguised Beatrix. “’Tis your curse that has brought us to this pass—and laid me low. Agh, but my arm. My arm!”
Harsh sobs wracked him as he mourned his ruined arm. But Linnea’s sympathy lay more with her sister—and by association herself. Even in this worst crisis their family had ever faced, they would, all of them, blame an innocent person for their troubles. They would accuse Linnea—or whomever they mistook to be Linnea—for their fall.
She turned to find her sister’s face as white as a cold winter sky. Never had Beatrix appeared so stricken. She was not used to the scorn Linnea had grown inured to. On impulse Linnea reached for her and hugged her close. “Go now,” she whispered to her beloved sister. “Be safe and know my love stays ever with you.”
“I cannot leave you,” Beatrix sobbed, breaking down in her arms. “’Tis wrong of me, and wrong of the others to demand it.”
“’Tis right,” Linnea countered, restored by this unexpected moment with her twin. “’Tis right and … and everything shall come out for the best.”
Beatrix looked doubtful, but finally she nodded, drying her tears on her sleeve.
“Go now,” Linnea instructed her, though to keep her sister close by was what she desired more than anything.
“I shall endeavor to be there, at the chapel this evening,” Beatrix whispered. “And I will pray the whole night through for you.” Then with a last kiss, she was gone, pushed away before Linnea could change her mind and beg her to stay.
Tears spilled down Linnea’s cheeks as she turned, heavyhearted, to her brother. If he so much as said a word of derision to the sister he mistook for herself, Linnea would never be able to control her righteous anger.
But St. Jude interceded once more on her behalf, as he had in small ways repeatedly this long and endless day. For Maynard had subsided into a fitful repose. While she checked his injuries, he tossed restlessly and muttered unintelligible snatches, but nothing of his sisters, God be praised.
When Frayne reappeared, a silent, guilty wraith in the shadows, Linnea was too drained to take him to task for his absence. Maynard was better. It seemed he might mend. Perhaps she should leave his care to her grandmother now, for she had troubles enough of her own.
“Dribble this medicine between his lips and make sure it goes down,” she warned Frayne, giving him the small stoppered vial of sundew. “Also this, for pain. Then try to give him at least a dipper full of water every hour or so. And call me should he grow feverish or restless.”
The boy nodded, staring at her with round eyes in a dirty face. “What if you are …” He faltered and looked away. “Beg pardon, my Lady Beatrix, but I have heard the tale that you and the new lord …”
When his curious gaze turned cautiously back to her, it was Linnea’s turn to look away. Everyone knew. Everyone’s hopes for a peaceful future of one sort or another resided on her—and on how well she performed her wifely duties this evening.
“Perhaps it would be more prudent for you to rouse my grandmother than to send for me,” she admitted in an embarrassed mutter.
“Lady Harriet?” His brows rose in consternation. “I was thinking, well, that your sister would be a better choice.”
“No! Not … not Linnea. She is gone from here now and never to be spoken of again. Do you mind my words, Frayne? You must
never
mention her again, not if you value your position!”
never
mention her again, not if you value your position!”
Abruptly she halted her speech, dismayed by her shrill tone and rising hysteria. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and willed her trembling to cease. Only when she felt a modicum of control return did she speak again.
“Nothing of Maidenstone is as we have been accustomed to. Our lives have been turned upside down and now we must attempt as best we can to cope. My sister is lost to us. It would be better to pretend she had never existed.”
D
arkness rushed over the rolling lands of Wessex, heralded by a violent storm that lashed the castle, the village, and the fields beyond. The ancient ash forest that stood sentinel along the ridge bowed and swayed in fearful homage to the tempest. Sheep huddled beneath trees or in the lean-to sheds spotted around the valley. Wheat stalks lay down in the face of wind and rain, and nary a villager ventured outside the stucco walls and thatched roofs of their cottages.
arkness rushed over the rolling lands of Wessex, heralded by a violent storm that lashed the castle, the village, and the fields beyond. The ancient ash forest that stood sentinel along the ridge bowed and swayed in fearful homage to the tempest. Sheep huddled beneath trees or in the lean-to sheds spotted around the valley. Wheat stalks lay down in the face of wind and rain, and nary a villager ventured outside the stucco walls and thatched roofs of their cottages.
Only in the castle did activity continue unabated, for the wedding would go forth, storm or no.
Linnea stood in the middle of the third floor solar, surrounded by three maids, as well as Norma and Ida. Her grandmother watched as they dressed her, scowling from her place in a tall chair cushioned with rugs and positioned beside the wall hearth. Though the blaze threw a commendable heat into the chamber, cold yet hung over the place. It was not caused by the storm.
“You have not forgotten my instructions,” Lady Harriet said. It was more statement than question.
“No, Grandmother. I have not forgotten. I have thought of little else this day,” Linnea said.
One of the maids began to weep, not great sobs, but soft, heartfelt ones that touched Linnea to the core. Yet even amidst her fear and sorrow, she was cognizant that the girl wept for Beatrix, not Linnea. Would she weep if she knew the truth? Or would she rejoice in the deception, as Lady Harriet did, never caring that an innocent girl would be sacrificed this night all the same?
Linnea sought Norma’s gaze. Dear Norma who was tired and old, and who, though favoring Beatrix, had never been intentionally cruel to Linnea. Norma’s eyes were red-rimmed but she did not cry. Nor did she smile. Of all the servants, only she and Ida knew the truth. The other maids had not been present when Linnea bathed. Only when her shift was on and her hose pulled up and gartered over her birthmark, had they been brought in to dress her hair and arrange her clothing.
Now Linnea stood arrayed in her sister’s finest gown and costliest jewels. Her hair was washed and dried, scented with lavender oil and brushed until it gleamed like a rich, golden mantle. Her head was bare, save for the silken cord that circled her brow. Otherwise her heavy hair rippled loose, past her shoulders and arms to hang in living curls about her hips.
The gown was exquisite, but one Linnea had not been allowed to work on. It had been intended for Beatrix’s eventual wedding, and both Lady Harriet and Dagmar, the head seamstress, had deemed it bad luck for the second twin to even touch it.
Linnea stared down at the aqua flurt-silke, falling as gently as a waterfall, clinging to her waist, flowing over her hips, and pooling in luxurious waves around her ankles. She fingered the heavily embroidered hem of the left sleeve. She’d sewn every seed pearl on that hem herself. Beatrix had insisted on it. By moonlight she’d sat in the window and sewed them on, not caring that her back ached and her eyes burned. Beatrix had known how deeply hurt Linnea had been by her grandmother’s orders, and so, in the quietly determined manner she had, Beatrix had found a way to oppose Lady Harriet.
Linnea swallowed the lump in her throat.
Oh, Beatrix. You and you alone have cared for me. I will not fail you in this. I will wed this man, and bed him, and deceive him as long as is necessary for you to find a husband to challenge his rights to Maidenstone Castle.
Oh, Beatrix. You and you alone have cared for me. I will not fail you in this. I will wed this man, and bed him, and deceive him as long as is necessary for you to find a husband to challenge his rights to Maidenstone Castle.
And when the truth was finally revealed, Beatrix and her husband would take their place as lord and lady of Maidenstone, and they would honor Linnea for what she’d done. Everyone would finally accept her, and life would be good.
“Turn, milady, if you please,” the maid who’d been weeping asked in a soft voice. She placed a white silk girdle around Linnea’s hips, looping it twice, then fastening it with a heavy gold brooch encrusted with amethysts and aquamarines.
“Your bridegroom has sent you a key, Beatrix.”
Linnea looked over at her grandmother, perched in the chair like a gaunt, black bird, dressed more for mourning than for a wedding. Linnea wished she could wear black so blamelessly. She’d attended funerals with more enthusiasm than this marriage ceremony that awaited her. But she could not dress for mourning, not and please her husband as was her duty.
“Here.” Lady Harriet tossed the key carelessly to her, then cackled with laughter when Linnea made no move to catch it. “’Tis the key to his heart, methinks.”
With a grunt of effort Norma bent her great bulk down to retrieve the key, then offered it to Linnea. “’Tis for the end of your girdle,” she explained. “A symbol of the power you shall wield as wife to the lord. As lady of the castle.”
Lady of the castle.
Linnea reached out a hand, taking the cold bit of metal in her palm without being conscious of her action. Lady of the castle. Her grandmother had ever held that position, even when their father married—or so castle talk would have it. But the new lord was not likely to allow that to continue. No, with this marriage, Linnea would assume that role.
She lifted her gaze slowly to her grandmother, her mind spinning with this new realization. She felt again the same unfamiliar sense of power she’d had when she threatened that boy, and later, when she stood over Maynard and realized her ability to either heal him, or allow him to die. It was wonderful and terrifying. A sense of independence and freedom, but also of responsibility.
If
she
were lady of the castle, her grandmother would no longer exert a power over her; it would be the other way around.
she
were lady of the castle, her grandmother would no longer exert a power over her; it would be the other way around.
As if she read Linnea’s very thoughts, Lady Harriet’s grim expression tightened into a warning scowl. “Leave us,” she snapped to the serving women, though her hard stare never left Linnea’s face. Once the five maids were gone, she raised her walking stick and pointed it at her granddaughter.
“Beware any foolish temptation to forget your place, girl.” The stick wavered in her skinny hand, but still it managed to pin Linnea to her spot. “Beware any foolish thoughts of remaining Beatrix de Valcourt—of remaining lady of Maidenstone. That title is mine and mine alone—until such time as I relinquish it to either Beatrix or a suitable wife for Maynard. You—” She lowered the stick with a threatening crack of its metal tip against the unadorned plank floor. “You are your sister’s proxy only, until such time as the charade is no longer necessary. ’Tis a way for you to earn your family’s respect—if indeed you
can
.”
can
.”
Then she stood, and though she leaned heavily on her stick to rise, her physical infirmity in no wise lessened the aura of cruel power she exuded. “Remember, girl, that I can expose your true identity at any time. Think you that de la Manse will condone such a deception? To be rid of the wrong wife—
you
,” she emphasized. “He might elect murder over the slower process of annulment. Then he would have Beatrix and all of this would be for naught. Think on it, girl. Best that you play your part and keep your silence. And never think, e’en for a moment, that you could wield power at Maidenstone Castle. I would as lief let him kill you as let that come to pass!”
you
,” she emphasized. “He might elect murder over the slower process of annulment. Then he would have Beatrix and all of this would be for naught. Think on it, girl. Best that you play your part and keep your silence. And never think, e’en for a moment, that you could wield power at Maidenstone Castle. I would as lief let him kill you as let that come to pass!”
Then the old woman gestured to the door. “’Tis time. Your bridegroom awaits, and I would see my plan underway.”
Linnea had stood still, with her head bowed under the onslaught of the old woman’s hateful words. Now she started forward on wooden limbs. It was an automatic response, for all her life she’d obeyed her grandmother’s orders, whether terrified, furious, or sick at heart, as she now was. When she reached the door, however, Lady Harriet stayed her, blocking her path with the stick that seemed an extension of her arm. “You know your duty, girl. Do it.”
Linnea nodded, steeling herself against any display of emotion, especially tears. She would do her duty though it meant submitting to her enemy—though it meant allowing him to rape her and use her as he willed. But she did not do it because of her grandmother’s threat, nor even as duty to her family. No, she did this for Beatrix, no one else. Only for Beatrix.
It was hardly the way she’d imagined approaching her marriage, not that she’d thought much on that subject. Maynard’s marriage had always been important to the family, and Beatrix’s. But hers had never been discussed. Not once.
When she’d thought about her future, she’d always imagined life with an ordinary man, a tradesman or foot soldier who would marry her for herself, not because he expected to gain anything from the match. There would be no gain from marrying the second twin of Maidenstone, neither dowry nor even goodwill. Only herself would she bring to the marriage bed of her husband.
But even that was denied her now.
She took the stairs slowly, descending behind her grandmother, one halting step at a time. She was marrying as Beatrix, giving her enemy her body, but as Beatrix’s body. The only thing of value she possessed—her purity—was to be sacrificed this day and she would be left with nothing of value to give to her real husband. Nothing whatsoever.
The stair hall was dark, but light crept along its curving outer wall as they neared the hall. Light and sound as well. In truth, the warm, well-lit hall should seem a merry respite from the storm that battered the world outside the stout walls. But Linnea shivered as if from a bitter wind, and the torches that cast golden flickering light to the very rafters seemed to illuminate the dark passageway to hell.
When Lady Harriet entered, the hum of voices altered. When Linnea came into view, the voices stopped altogether. She stood on the last step, staring at the sea of faces, frozen somewhere between going forward and fleeing. Someone shifted near her—it was her father, dressed in the sapphire and argent of de Valcourt, his finest attire. But he looked an imitation of a great lord, she vaguely noticed. His rich garments proclaimed him a man of consequence. His posture and his expression revealed a man defeated. Even this sacrifice she made to gain them time to mount a counterattack was not enough to restore his courage.
Linnea closed her eyes, not wanting to see or acknowledge that fact. Then someone stepped forward—she sensed it, somehow—and she opened her eyes to
him
.
him
.
Axton de la Manse dressed not so finely as her father. At least the colors did not shout so boldly. But everything about him announced his dominance. He was lord here. Only a fool would deny it. And only a fool would oppose him, Linnea admitted, trying to swallow past the painful lump in her throat.
He crossed half the distance between them, then stopped. He was the very picture of masculine virility and confidence. Strong of body, well-formed, and beautiful in the harsh manner of a man, he waited there, forcing her to come the rest of the way to him.
How she willed herself to it she could not say. But she took the last step down, then proceeded, one slow pace at a time toward him.
His head was bare and his close-cropped hair, though black as his ebony tunic, yet gleamed in the brilliant light. His brows were two dark slashes; his eyes a pale color in his sun-browned face.
Linnea swallowed again, hard. He was to be her husband, this expressionless man who watched her as if he saw all the way through her. She wanted to look away, so unnerving was his relentless stare. Like a predator’s. But as if he compelled her, she could not turn her head nor avert her eyes. She moved forward, conscious of everything, the silence, the movement of her heavy skirt against her thighs, the patterns of air in the drafty hall, first cool on her hot cheeks, then warm. Even the smell, smoky with pitch, pungent with ale, fragrant with a whole roasted boar, imprinted itself on her mind.
But mostly it was him, so dark, so unknown, so threatening, that filled her senses. When she halted before him, a mere arm’s length away, she feared she had exhausted the last of her strength. She feared she would faint before him, crumple to the floor. He would defeat her before the struggle between them had fairly begun.
“Was ever a man so fortunate as I,” he said in a tone she might have taken for sincere, had his mouth not curved up on one side in a mocking half-smile. All the company leaned forward, straining to hear what word he had uttered to his reluctant bride. “I am in my own home again, after eighteen long and difficult years, and I am to be wed to as beautiful a maiden as a man’s eye could ever hope to behold.”
Now he mocked her outright! Linnea stiffened in opposition to him, but he paid her no mind. He took hold of her hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow. When she tried to tug it free, he only looked down into her face, a warning expression in his frosty stare.
“Let us greet our guests, Lady Beatrix, all those who would wish us well in our union.”
Then, as if her resistance were of no consequence at all, he steered her in a slow parade around the hall, displaying her to the people—
his
people now.
his
people now.
What did he hope to gain by making such an insincere compliment to her, she fumed as she was forced to accompany him in their farcical promenade. Bad enough that her arm must rest in his, that she must endure the disturbing heat and threatening strength of so intimate a touch. But he also made her pause before various of the retainers. His captain, Sir Reynold, and again before Sir John and Sir Maurice.
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