Chapter Two
Spring was in full bloom. It was a clear day, if not cold, with great puffy clouds scattered across the sky.
The land below was growing green with new sprigs.
Norfolk was lovely country in the spring with its gentle fields and relatively flat lands, conducive to the farmers that plowed into the thawed earth.
Everywhere there were signs of life, peasants going about their chores, and animals in the field. It was a lovely place to live.
The hulk of Framlingham Castle dominated the landscape, its cold stone facade a strong contrast to the brilliant life surrounding it.
It was the only bastion for several miles and the gates remained open for the peasants who conducted business within the walls.
And massive walls they were; fourteen enormous towers linked the curtain wall nearly thirty feet in height, creating a huge circle around an equally large inner ward.
Each tower was designed to function autonomously should the castle fall under siege.
Two of the towers were particularly large, one on the middle section of the western wall, and one on the east. They were longer, more spacious, and the tower on the western wall harbored a great hall.
There were also several outbuildings and stables to house the four hundred men-at-arms needed to maintain the safety and structure of the castle.
Framlingham was the property of the Roger Bigod, second Earl of Norfolk, but the earl chose to live at Norwich Castle to the north rather than in the wilds of Framlingham.
He entrusted his castle to Bertram de Rosa, a knight who had served his father, Hugh, for many years.
Bertram and his sons were essentially part of the earl’s family and the castle belonged more to them that to the earl himself.
They took great pride in the place and ran it with power and efficiency.
On the third floor of the larger western tower, a lone young woman sat in her chamber running a brush through long, honey-colored hair.
She had been listening to sobs and wails all morning.
Had she not known better, she would have suspected the person emitting them to be in some manner of horrible pain or grief.
But she knew too well of the dramatics behind them.
As the day wore on, it grew annoying and her patience waned.
The young woman sighed, making a face that no one would ever see, expressing her irritation at the screeching.
The brush strokes grew more furious as she used her hand to form curls from the strands that cascaded down her back.
She scrunched up her pert nose when a particularly loud cry pierced the air, rolling her eyes in disbelief.
In the corner, a serving maiden was sewing on a gown of pale yellow and silver. When another chorus of cries filled the air, she slapped the sewing in her lap.
“I cannot take this any longer,” she groaned. Into the air, she thrust the needle. “I would sew his mouth shut, my lady!”
The young woman glanced over her shoulder, an expression somewhere between tolerance and agreement.
“Weddings always affect him so,” she sighed heavily. “Especially mine.”
The serving maiden’s countenance softened. “Forgive, my lady. I did not mean to….”
The woman shook her head. “You did not upset nor offend me, Aglette. Do not worry. I have had months to come to terms with my future and surely time enough to come to terms with whatever angst I may have felt.”
“Three months, to be exact, my lady.”
The young woman paused in her toilette, gazing at her reflection in the polished pewter mirror before her.
A sweet oval face looked back at her, bright green eyes with long dusky lashes.
She had been called beautiful since the day she was born, yet the term had no meaning to her.
It hadn’t for years. Her uncles and brothers and father were biased and she knew it.
But there were times when other men had come, a few suitors, and had called her beautiful as well.
Still, she wasn’t sure if she believed them, though the reflection said otherwise.
She wondered if she would hear the same praise from her new husband.
Certainly she was curious about him as well, as she had never even seen him.
His father, an old friend of her father’s, had initiated the betrothal proposal and she had never once seen hide nor hair of her Intended.
All she knew was that he was a knight of independent wealth, newly returned from the Crusades. And they would be wed in one week.
A well-arched brow lifted. “The Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon. Has a rather musical sound to it, does it not?”
“It does, my lady.”
“The House of le Mon is an old, distinguished family.”
“It ’tis, my lady.”
“I shall be a baroness someday.”
“Indeed, my lady. Most honorable.”
Derica thought she sounded very much like a woman trying to convince herself that everything would be all right.
With Aglette echoing everything she said, she realized they were both trying to comfort her.
She set the brush down and stood up. Her long day-robe trailed along the cold floor as she went to her maiden to see how her wedding dress was coming along.
“What if he is hideous?”
Aglette looked up from her work. “Who, my lady?”
“My husband… what if he is hideous?”
Aglette could only shrug. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough, my lady.”
“I suppose.” Derica’s gaze moved from the exquisite gown to the young serving woman she had known her entire life; Aglette’s parents had both served the de Rosa household for many years.
Derica reached out and stroked the girl’s red head before turning away, wandering across the chamber with no true destination in mind.
“Garren le Mon has been fighting in the Holy Land for several years,” she said, more to herself than to Aglette.
“He could have been injured, or disfigured somehow. Mayhap that is the reason he did not come with his father during the betrothal negotiations. Mayhap… mayhap his father was afraid I would refuse if I saw what his son truly looked like.”
Aglette looked up from her fine stitching. “I believe you were told that Sir Garren was not yet returned from Jerusalem during the negotiations. He has only just set foot back on English soil.”
“Ah, or so they would have you believe,” Derica held up a finger as if correctly surmising the situation. “Or, if he is not disfigured, mayhap he is an ogre. Or a simpleton. Or he has a great pimpled face that frightens young children.”
Aglette giggled. “Anything is possible, my lady.”
“I shall wager there is something wrong with him. There has to be.”
“It matters not now. The contract is done.”
Derica’s composure took a hit. She was always in control of herself, sometimes unnaturally so. Being a woman, it was expected that she would be an emotional creature. But not Derica. Growing up among men had given her that element.
“Aye,” she agreed softly. “It is done.”
“Are you afraid?”
Derica thought a moment. Was she? “I am not. But I am apprehensive. And a bit surprised. I truly never thought I would ever wed.”
Aglette smiled; she knew the reasons behind that well. “Your new husband will have his hands full with your male kin.”
“It ’tis the truth.”
They smiled at each other. Perhaps that was why Derica was not frightened of her marriage; any hint of abuse or threat from her new husband, and her brothers and uncles would take care of him directly. There was comfort in the thought. But more than that, she did not have a fearful nature.
Sounds of a commotion wafted up through the lancet window.
It was enough to catch their attention. Crowding around the thin slit, Derica and Aglette struggled to catch a glimpse of what was going on; they could see a flurry of activity around the open gate.
There was the glint of armor that passed across their line of sight that was just as quickly gone.
From the sounds of shouting, the women correctly surmised that the mysterious Garren le Mon had just made an appearance.
From mild apprehension to a case of full-blown panic, Derica moved away from the window, her heart in her throat.
The sounds of the wailing, momentarily ignored, was suddenly back with a vengeance.
Aglette looked at her mistress, fear in her own eyes.
The moment they had waited for had come all too soon.
“I must be strong,” Derica struggled to regain her control.
“Aye, my lady,” Aglette agreed fervently. “You will be.”
“He must know that I am a woman to be respected.”
“Aye, my lady.”
“Yet I will also be respectful.”
“Aye, you will.”
Derica stopped pacing and looked at her. “There is only one thing to do.”
Aglette blanched. “Saints help us,” she whispered. “I am afraid to know what that may be.”
*
“You heard me correctly. I would see my bride before we wed.”
Bertram de Rosa was looking into the face of a very large, very stubborn man.
He could see a bit of his friend in the son’s expression, but for the most part, Garren le Mon had a look and feel all his own.
Having never met the man before, Bertram wasn’t sure what to think.
But he certainly sounded like a man who was eager to get a look at his fair English bride after having spent the past two years in the sand and sun with only dark women to view.
In that respect, he could hardly blame him.
But he was careful with his reply. In the solar of Framlingham where the castle business was conducted, the only move he made was to pour himself a cup of wine.
There was no desk, and only one chair. Bertram usually took it, leaving whomever he was conducting business with to stand and be scrutinized.
It worked amazingly well. But he did not take his seat this time.
Even with his three sons and two of his three brothers in the solar with him, Bertram wasn’t at all sure he would hold the advantage.