“Nay. What will a smile cost you when it will ensure his speedy compliance with the marriage contract?”
“Is his compliance in doubt?”
“Nay, but there is no time to lose. Fulkhurst is now inactive, but only because he has just defeated Tures.”
Rowena blanched at this information. She had known that two of her keeps near Dyrwood had been taken, one without even a fight, but Tures Castle had been the largest of her father’s properties, his stronghold, and was much farther north. She had grown up in Tures. All that she knew of love and happiness she had learned there, inside those stone walls. Now an enemy warlord held it—nay, enemies had held it these past three years, so what difference to her, one or another?Shecertainly had not held it, nor did she ever expect to. Even if Lord Godwine could win it back for her, it would be hers in name only.
Gilbert mistook her expression and thought to reassure her. “Do not despair, Rowena. Lyons has become rich in bleeding his town merchants these past twenty years that he has held Kirkburough. The mercenaries his wealth will buy will quickly defeat Fulkhurst and send him back to his own domain. You will have Tures back within the month.”
Rowena did not answer. She had already been told that the marriage contract had been worded to her benefit; that her properties, once they were won back, would be hers, not her husband’s, which meant nothing to her in this day and age when law and justice were ignored, but would mean everything if only Henry would come to rule. Lyons no doubt thought to have full use of her properties. Gilbert obviously thought to have them back in his control, which to her mind meant that if Lyons did not die soon enough of his old age and ailments, Gilbert would help him along to that end. But Gilbert wanted her to bear Lyons a child first. As she had done every day these past three years, Rowena shuddered and prayed for Henry of Aquitaine to win the throne of England. Her father had been Henry’s vassal, and Rowena would swear herself to him quicker than she could blink. Then and only then might she escape Gilbert d’Ambray’s control.
Instead of remarking what was in her mind, she asked Gilbert, “Does that mean my vassals will be brought to swear to me this time, or will they again be too busy fighting in your wars?”
Color stole into his cheeks. This was yet another way his father had ignored the letter of the law, for when the Belleme properties had changed ownership at her father’s death, his nine vassals should have come to pay Rowena homage for the properties they now held through her, yet she had not seen one of those knights in these three years she had been kept isolated at one of Hugo’s smaller keeps. Each time she had ever mentioned it, she had been fobbed off with excuses that her knights were besieged, or in the middle of a campaign, or some other such thing. Like as not her men thought her dead. That would have been the easiest way for Hugo to have gained their service without having to answer their concern for her welfare.
Gilbert said now in a hard tone that discouraged further comment, “Five of your vassals have died fighting Fulkhurst, and whether Sir Gerard lives or not is undetermined, as he had been made castellan of Tures. Likely that monster butchered him, as he has done to my own knights.” He ended with a shrug that stated clearly he did not particularly care whether Gerard had been spared or not.
What color had returned to Rowena’s cheeks left again. She did not question further, but only because she dreaded to know which knights still lived and which did not. Who should she blame for their deaths, Fulkhurst for striking the killing blow, or Gilbert and his father for gaining Fulkhurst’s ire? God’s mercy, when would this land be returned to peace?
Quietly, she asked Gilbert to have her released. At his nod to his men, she was immediately let go and started toward her mother. Gilbert’s hand caught her arm and steered her instead toward the door.
She pulled away from him, but his hold was firm. “Let me go to her.”
“Nay, her women will attend her anon.”
“I have not seen her in three years, Gilbert,” she reminded him, but should have known it would not make a difference.
“When you get yourself with Lyons’ child to secure his lands will be soon enough for you to see her.”
More manipulations and coercions. She could not be silent any longer, but released her feelings in a hate-filled hiss. “You are despicable, worse even than your father. At least he was honest in his cruelty!”
His hand tightened on her arm, the only indication that her words affected him. “I have only your best interests at—”
“Liar! I will do what you want, but if you tell me once more that I am to benefit by it, I will scream.”
He did not argue with her. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her, for the fire of her fury stirred his desire for her even more than her beauty. But he did not dare even a kiss. Did she go to Lyons’ bed without her maidenhead, he could repudiate her, thereby ending Gilbert’s hope of getting his hands on the old lord’s wealth.
So all he said was, “Then come, we ride for Kirkburough today. You will be wed tomorrow.” And be in his own bed at the very first indication that she was safely breeding.
Chapter 2
They arrived at Kirkburough just as the sun was setting. The gates of the town were still open, but it was to the keep overlooking the town that they rode. Rowena found it appropriate to see the high walls of this large fortress awash in a red glow, a portent reminder that she was entering hell.
Gilbert had wisely kept his own counsel during that twelve-mile journey, for Rowena had reached the point where she no longer cared what she said to him. Legally, he was her stepbrother and her guardian, and there was no one to decry that he was both of these by foul means. But if it were not for her mother, Rowena would have utterly balked and done anything to escape her present situation. She thought she might even be able to kill Gilbert, so much did she hate him after today. But she could not escape, for she had no doubt whatsoever that her mother would suffer horribly for it, and her mother had suffered enough at the hands of the d’Ambrays.
She understood more fully now why she and her mother had been separated immediately after they had been taken from Tures. If Rowena and Anne could have somehow escaped together, they could have found aid from one of the powerful magnates who were opposed to Stephen, as Walter Belleme had been. Likely Rowena would have had to marry then to protect herself from the d’Ambrays, but it could have been to a man of her choosing.
None of which mattered now. She was here, to be wed on the morrow. If only…God’s mercy, how often she had thoughts that began so.
If only her father had not loved her so much, she could have been safely married at the tender age of fourteen, as most daughters were. Her betrothed was an honorable man. He would have waited to consummate the marriage until she was older and better capable of bearing children. But her father had not wanted to tempt that kind lord with her budding beauty, nor had he wanted to give her up so soon.
If only he had not ridden out himself to face d’Ambray’s army, he might still be alive. Tures would have been besieged, but they could have escaped and gone to Henry’s court, or even to one of the other lords who supported him.
If only the laws governing women were upheld, if only Henry were king…if only Gilbert would die. But ’twas too late even for that. She was in Lyons’ keep, which put her effectively in Lyons’ control, as if they were already wed. He would still marry her to have whatever it was he sought, whether Gilbert was there to force her into compliance or not.
Rowena was almost numb with despair as she mounted the stairs to the Great Hall. ’Twas immediately apparent that Gilbert had not spoken falsely of Lyons’ worth. Just crossing the bailey, Rowena had counted nine household knights, and the towers and walls teemed with men-at-arms. There were more knights inside the hall, where tables were set for the evening meal with gold plate and fine linen. Even the walls displayed the lord’s wealth in useless weapons of polished silver and gold, most encrusted with fine jewels.
Servants abounded, surely one or more to serve each guest, but in this Lyons did not waste his money. Their clothes were nearly rags, their bodies none too clean, their demeanor cowed to the point of trembling hands and haunted eyes, and no wonder. In the space of crossing the hall to the raised dais where Lyons sat like a king in state, Rowena saw three servants cuffed for no apparent reason, one struck so hard that he fell to the floor, only to be kicked twice where he lay unmoving so it could be determined if he was merely shirking his duties.
