Chapter 5
“Immediate!”
The lady went pale, and Brother Nils was not surprised. Was Lord Renald truly intending to drag the poor woman to altar and bed within hours of her father’s burial? There was no need for such haste.
“Brother Nils, the documents.”
The crisp words snapped Nils out of his worry, and swung the Lady Claire’s attention to him. Though not as beautiful as her aunts, she was a woman he could imagine marrying. If he wasn’t in Holy Orders, of course. Nils opened his pouch and pulled out the scrolls.
“Do you read, demoiselle?” Lord Renald asked.
Lady Claire turned back to face him. She had courage, Nils was pleased to see, and without her aunt’s foolish pride. “Yes.”
“English or Latin?”
“Both.”
Lord Renald raised his brows in that way he had. “Nils, give the documents to Lady Claire. She can read everything for herself.”
Nils went over to present them. “Lady, you have here the king’s commands for you and for this place, Lord Renald’s right of possession, and the betrothal agreement. The latter requires only the bride’s signature and that of witnesses.”
“How presumptuous.”
Lord Renald answered that. “The king has a right to presume obedience, Lady Claire. Do you deny it?”
From the tightening of her lips, Nils suspected that Claire of Summerbourne would deny King Henry anything she could, and he knew his lord was right to fear folly from these people. But at least she lowered her eyes and guarded her tongue for now.
Nils saw her hands tremble as she unrolled the soft parchment, and felt true pity for her. What would it be like for a lady to have to marry a stranger, and such a stranger? And she did not know the worst of it yet.
She read the documents aloud for her mother and grandmother, and in a clear, steady voice. A remarkable woman, Claire of Summerbourne. It was a shame, really.
Claire fought back tears as she read the first document, the one that declared her father traitor, and all his property attaindered. Had it been written before or after his death? She hoped he had never heard the words.
In the second, Summerbourne and all attached estates, rights, and duties were given to “the king’s right trusty servant, Renald de Lisle, knight and champion.”
Champion. She glanced up to find Renald de Lisle watching her. If stone had eyes, they would look like that.
Hastily, she looked down again, but the word jangled in her head like an alarm bell.
Champion meant that he could be called upon to fight in the king’s name in single combat.
It told of his quality as a fighter, but it also told her that he was a true blooded sword.
She could see for herself that he was soulless.
Her whole body began to tremble at the thought of such a man owning Summerbourne. It was almost sacrilege.
Though her eyes blurred, she sucked in a deep breath and continued. “Because of past kindness between Lord Clarence of Summerbourne and Henry, now King of England …”—as well to call it past, foul friend.
“… the king in his mercy commands Lord Renald of Summerbourne to take the said Clarence’s dependents under his care as if they were his own. For this purpose, Lord Renald is permitted and commanded to choose one of the three maids of Summerbourne and take her to wife without delay.”
That was the end. Claire looked up at him. “Permitted to choose, my lord? Why pretend that we have the choice?”
“Summerbourne may choose the bride.”
“Not by this document. This gives you the choice.”
“And I pass it on. It matters not to me.”
Claire rolled the parchments, trying to find a hint of untruth in that flat statement. There was none. He truly didn’t care which maiden was his bride.
Ludicrous to feel insulted, but she did. Her sacrifice, or the sacrifice of one of her aunts, meant nothing to the man.
The king’s will was clear, however. De Lisle must marry one of them, and “without delay.” What did that mean? She doubted a month or even a week would fit.
But a day? Surely they had at least a day.
It shouldn’t take even that long to persuade Felice.
Though cold, Renald de Lisle wasn’t a brute of a man, and he must stand high in the king’s favor. Yes, thought Claire, aware of persuading herself, he was a gift from heaven for Felice. She would only have to get a good look at him to appreciate it.
But a jolt of alarm shot through her.
Felice was out in the camp and Claire and de Lisle were here in the castle! What if he wanted the ceremony before he’d let the hostages back in? Keep a calm head, Claire.
She looked up, hoping her panic didn’t show. “I do see that the king expects speedy action, my lord. But surely we are allowed a little time to grieve.”
What was he thinking? She had no idea. She longed for a spontaneous word or gesture by which to judge him, but he was as incomprehensible as a text she’d once seen written in the Arabic script.
Those dark eyes studied her, shielded and quiet. “A little time, yes, Lady Claire. But do not try to avoid this.”
She started. It was as if he could read her.
Then let him. She would not pretend. Claire rose and stalked over to thrust the documents back into the clerk’s hands. Only his startled look alerted her to the fact that she’d crushed them in her anger.
She fought to stay calm, to keep her goal clear. She must, to delay any vows and get Felice back into Summerbourne. The best route to that goal was to sweeten him.
Though she hated to do it, she spoke meekly and gave him his correct title. “You must see, Lord Renald, that we are offering no resistance—”
“Must I?”
She swallowed. “No effective resistance. I pray you, my lord, bring my aunts back into Summerbourne. You have no need of hostages, and they must be in danger of an ague out there.”
His steady eyes never left hers. “The sooner we’re wed, Lady Claire, the sooner they can sleep in a dry bed. We can have the ceremony now, if you wish.”
“No!” She found she’d taken a step back.
“You prefer your aunts to suffer an ague?”
“I prefer them safe and dry in here.”
“Then marry me. What point in delay?”
“I need time to come to terms with—”
“Claire!” snapped her grandmother. “The man has a point. Get it over with.”
Claire whirled on her. “He has stolen my father’s property—your son’s property!”
“Whose father stole it from my father. Don’t forget that.”
“It’s not the same!”
“Seems the same to me.”
Then Claire realized she’d not been able to stay meek for a moment.
Lady Agnes poked her with her stick. “If you’ll take the advice of an old woman whose been through this before, you’ll either marry this instant, or stir people into producing a decent meal.
They’re probably all standing around letting the stew burn, and there’s nothing like good food to mellow a man.
Or at least”—she winked—“only one thing.”
Claire knew her cheeks had turned bright red. She wanted to scream that she’d rather poison this invader than feed him. But she’d much rather feed him than bed him. She glared at him, hoping he would read the message.
He simply stared back with that implacable, unreadable, complex expression.
He planned to marry his bride-in-the-hand and secure his claim to Summerbourne.
He didn’t care which bride. He didn’t care about the bride’s feelings.
He didn’t care about looks or temperament, either.
She’d sacrificed her hair for nothing. She and her aunts were pieces in a game, not people at all.
“Felice,” she said in desperation, “the Lady Felice might be more comfortable with this marriage than I, my lord.”
“Then she should have stayed behind.”
“If you would just bring her in—”
“I have already explained why that is impossible.”
“The Lady Amice could remain as hostage …” Oh, poor Amice. She’d faint with terror. “Or my mother could perhaps go out—”
“The choice has been made, Lady Claire.”
She heard a sob and realized it was her own. She sucked in a deep breath. Time. Perhaps he’d think better of it with time.
Felice was beautiful. If she could only stand side by side with Felice, he’d surely see reason, especially now Claire was in ash-stained drab and with ruined hair.
She needed time so she could do something about Felice.
Time.
Food!
Suddenly her grandmother’s words hit her. Food would soothe him and pass time, and arranging it would give her an excuse to leave the hall. To escape.
“I must go and see to the meal, my lord.”
She expected objection, but he nodded.
As she turned to leave the room, Lady Agnes said, “Take the boy with you.”
Claire saw Thomas standing in a shadowy corner, glaring at the usurper with bitter hate. Sweet Jesu, no. The last thing they needed was her brother doing something rash.
She went over to him. “Come with me to the kitchens, love.”
“I want to stay here.”
“Why?”
“To watch him.”
“Why?”
He looked up then, so at least she’d broken the spell of fear and anger. “I hate him. That’s Father’s chair. We should—”
She squeezed his shoulder hard. “Don’t, love. Don’t. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Felice said I’m the man, now. That I have to protect you all. And I am, aren’t I?”
Claire wished Felice an extra century or two in purgatory. “Thomas, there’s nothing any of us can do now. And it’s not really his fault.”
“But you’re going to marry him, aren’t you? Then you’ll take his side. Like Gran.”
“Gran doesn’t take his side. She just doesn’t see any point in opposing him.”
He shook his head, his blond curls bouncing with his frustration. “I mean after Hastings, when Grandfather came! Do you know Sigfrith in the stables?”
What on earth was he talking about? “Yes.”
“He’s Gran’s cousin. He was part of the family here, but now he works in the stables, and Gran doesn’t care! That’ll happen to me, won’t it?”
Claire pulled him to her, smothering his rising voice with her body. “No, love. No, I’ll make sure it won’t.” She pushed him back and looked into his wild eyes. “But, Thomas, the only way we’ll make anything out of this is to step carefully. Come.”