‘I sleep in your bed and even lie beneath your touch and gain pleasure from it. And all the while you make no promises of mercy if I do carry a child now. Would you give it to some convent or villager to raise and then take your pleasure on me, breeding sons of your own?’ Surprise showed on his face at her words. ‘Do you fear raising another man’s bastard or only fear raising a Saxon’s?’
Fayth knew the moment she’d crossed some line with him, for his eyes burned and his face grew hard. He stood up so quickly that he sent the stool flying across the room and against the wall with a crash. Fayth backed away several steps but he crossed the distance with but one of his paces. Brice came between them, whispering to him in their language. So fast were the words that she stood no chance of gaining an understanding of them.
Before Giles could explode, as the fury in his eyes foretold, she stumbled away and ran from the table. Terrified by the expression of absolute rage on his face, she ran out of the keep, across the yard to the stone chapel. Pushing the door open and closing it behind her, she scrambled down the aisle to the front. Knowing there was no place to hide, she made her way to the half wall that separated the altar from the rest of the chapel and sat down in front of it.
Or rather she collapsed against it, for her legs gave out on her then. Sitting there, she did nothing until her heart ceased to pound within her chest and until she could breathe without tightness.
How foolish she’d been! She’d made good steps these last few days in organising the keep, but her doubts last night, being pleasured by this invader and enjoying his touch, had raged full this day until she overstepped herself. Where was her self-control?
Even as he confirmed her place and importance to him and the people, she undermined it. Instead of keeping her doubts to herself, she’d lashed out at him. And other than tempting her to passion, what had been his sins?
She did not diminish his part in the battle between her king and his duke, but, as he said, he fought for his liege as her father had. Fayth shifted on the cold stone floor. It was as men were and would ever be—fighting for honour and lands and power. With so much land to divide up amongst those who followed and fought well with him, the duke would give lands to men who could be good-hearted or cold-hearted in their treatment of their new subjects.
Fayth knew, after watching him proclaim his rights and those of her people, that he was a better lord than most. The promises he’d made today were ones that her father would have made and honoured if he were alive. And with her emotional reaction and inability to accept him for his own actions, she’d ruined any respect growing between them.
She sat there for a long time, pondering what she’d done and her feelings about her place in this Norman’s, nay Breton’s, keep, when the door that led to the priest’s small room opened and Father Henry entered. Fayth would have stood then if she could have, but her legs would not move. The priest bowed at the altar, spent a few moments in prayer and then turned to her.
‘Are you well, child?’ he asked, holding his hand out to her.
‘Nay, Father, I am heartsick and unwell, I fear,’ she answered, waving off his hand. He was not a strong man and she feared that they would both end up on the cold stone floor if she took it.
‘I miss your father as well, Fayth.’ He smiled at her and she feared breaking out into tears again at the warmth and concern there. ‘You are a strong person, my dear. You will survive this ordeal.’
‘I try to be a daughter my father would be proud of,’ she explained. ‘But…’ She paused, unable to say the rest.
‘It was easier to be your father’s daughter when he was here to advise and guide you? When it meant following his rules and obeying his commands?’
‘Yes, that is it, Father. Now there is no one to counsel me on matters big or small. I have no one now,’ she whispered.
Father Henry reached for her again and this time he would brook no refusal. He steadied her as she stood and straightened her gowns and veil. ‘He would listen to your questions and give you good counsel, lady.’
Had grief made his thoughts addled? she wondered. Surely, Father Henry did not think her father could speak to her now. ‘He, Father? Who do you mean?’
‘He,’ Father said with a nod towards the back of the chapel. ‘Lord Giles came to me and asked me to see to your welfare.’ She did not look behind to see him. ‘He said he had frightened you badly with his anger and did not wish for you to be fearful of him.’
‘He told you that?’ she asked in a whispered voice, still not looking back.
‘Yes, my dear. I think he is a good man, lady. I see much of your father at that age in him. I think you could trust him.’
‘You do?’ Fayth was shocked by Father Henry’s confidence in this new lord.
‘Yes. He may make mistakes in his struggles here, but he is willing to correct them. Not like many Normans, eh? And you are his lawful wife now. Your place is beside him, whether your father chose him or some other did so in his stead.’
A kind way of saying what had happened, but it was the truth, however phrased. Still her larger question was one she could not speak of with Father Henry. Or could she?
‘Father, but do I betray those lost by being his wife?’ She would never speak of the fleshly passion between them to this priest, but she needed his counsel.
‘Lady, you spoke the words joining yourself to him in this very chapel. For whatever reasons, you consented to this marriage and are now his wife.’ He pulled her closer and lowered his voice then. ‘And if there is some pleasure gained when carrying out the duties of wife with your lord husband, I am sure the Good Lord does not frown on such. And neither will I,’ he assured her.
Tears filled her eyes as she heard the words he spoke and she reached up to wipe them away.
‘So, child, will you speak to him or should I send him away?’ Father Henry stood straighter then and nodded once more towards the back of the chapel.
Unless she decided to seek refuge in the chapel for the rest of her days, Fayth knew she must face her husband and come to some understanding if there was to be peace between them. That he would go to the priest and ask him to intercede was remarkable and, again, something she suspected most of the other Norman noblemen would not waste their time doing when force in any measure would accomplish things even faster. It had been reports of just such atrocities that had made her consent to marriage with Edmund.
‘I will speak to him, Father,’ she said quietly.
‘Good, child. Let me escort you to him.’
