Chapter One #3
“‘Tis true, and well you know it. Why, I would wager that Sybilla’s had no fewer than a hundred men in her bed. If you feel it your duty to lecture one of your sisters on Godly behavior, Saint Cecily, I would hope it to be Sybilla rather than me.”
“She’s not had that many … friends,” Cecily said awkwardly. “And don’t call me Saint Cecily, Alys—‘tis a blasphemy and mean spirited. You wound me.”
Alys did feel a pinch of regret for speaking aloud the popular nickname for her middle sister. “Oh, Cee, I am sorry for that. Forgive me. I’m only so frustrated I could tear at my hair!”
“Please, allow me.”
Sybilla had entered Alys’s bedchamber as stealthily as a cat on the prowl, and one look at her eldest sister’s sparkling eyes and squared shoulders left Alys little doubt that she was the intended prey.
Behind her, like a dusty old shadow, stood Fallstowe’s steward, Graves.
As usual, he stared beyond the group toward a corner of the chamber, as if completely disinterested in the women keeping his company.
Employed by the Foxe family since before even Alys’s father was born, Graves was as much a part of Fallstowe as the mortar between the stones.
“I will not apologize, Sybilla,” Alys stated flatly before her eldest sister had even come to stand before her. “To you or to that vicious dragon below. You were horrid to me before our guests, and I am not sorry the tiniest bit for anything I said to Etheldred Cobb.”
“I have had quite enough of your insubordination, Alys Foxe,” Sybilla said, trapping Alys where she sat at the window. Now even should she desire to stand, Sybilla’s powerful physical presence made it impossible. “Your behavior this evening was the final insult.”
Alys slapped the stone seat at her hip. “Insult? You would speak to me of ins—”
“I said I have had enough!” Sybilla repeated loudly, as close to shouting as cool Sybilla ever came.
The two sisters stared at each other for a tense moment, and then suddenly, Sybilla turned to grab a wooden high-backed chair, the twin to the one Cecily still occupied. She swung the piece around before Alys and sat down, positioning herself directly beneath the stone window seat.
“Alys,” Sybilla began, more calmly now, but a snowflake landing on Sybilla’s tongue would have still frozen to death. “You and I have had our quarrels, true. But I do hope you recognize that as—”
“Head of this family,” Alys supplied in the same moment as Sybilla. Her eldest sister paused, her lips drawn together in a thin line. “You’ve made everyone very aware that you rule Fallstowe, Sybilla, so get on with whatever punishment you’ve conjured in your power-drunk mind.”
“Alys!” Cecily gasped again from her seat by the hearth.
Even before Cecily’s chastisement, Alys realized she had once again let her tongue run away without her good sense, as any small glimmer of mercy was now gone from Sybilla’s blue eyes.
“I have always wanted the best for you, whether you believe that or nay. I understand that, as her youngest, Mother indulged you, and allowed you to claim your happiness by whatever means you chose. Running about Fallstowe like a rough squire rather than a titled young lady. Passing your time with the peasants. Saying what and behaving however you pleased. She did it out of love, I recognize, but I believe that she has done you a grave disservice.”
“Do not speak poorly of Mother, Sybilla, I warn you,” Alys said quietly.
“Not intentionally,” Sybilla placated. “And I loved her too, and miss her more than you will likely ever know. But she is gone. And I can no longer try to control you on my own. Mayhap your future husband will fare better than I. We will all pray that he does.”
“We’re not going to discuss finding me a husband again, are we?” Alys rolled her eyes. “Cecily is four years my senior, torment her.”
“I shall likely take the veil, Alys,” Cecily reminded, still seated in her chair, but now her stitchery lay forgotten in a jumbled heap on the floor.
Graves, now stoically studying the monkey who was leaning over the canopy in a crouch and returning his appraisal, sniffed loudly.
Alys had to agree.
“Oh, you will not, Cee,” Alys scoffed. “You’ve been saying that for years now. Sybilla is the only one who likely believes it anymore.”
“Nay, we are not going to discuss finding you a husband,” Sybilla said, as if the interchange between Alys and Cecily had not occurred.
“Thank God,” Alys sighed.
“For I have this night secured your match.”
Alys’s stomach tumbled. “What? Who?”
“Clement Cobb has asked for your hand, and I’ve given my blessing, as has Lady Blodshire. As a token of peace, she’s offered to let you keep the animal you absconded with as a wedding gift.”
“You promised me”—Alys slid off the window seat—“to Clement Cobb?”
“Yes. It was either him or Lord John Hart, and I took it upon myself to choose the match most appropriate to your age and temperament. Lord Hart is more than two score your senior, and a widower with no heir. Although he seems anxious to marry quickly, I believe he would have little patience for your immaturity and fits of temper, and would most likely beat you or send you home in shame. As it is, your rash behavior this evening is costing Fallstowe handsomely with your dowry to the Cobbs.”
“Sybilla,” Alys croaked. “No! No, I refuse to—no!”
“It is already done.” Sybilla rose from her chair.
“You will be married in thirty days, here at Fallstowe. I will make the formal announcement personally, this night. If you like, and promise to behave, you may accompany me and receive everyone’s well-wishes.
It is a fine opportunity to redeem yourself and show that you are not the child everyone thinks you to be.
” She turned her back to Alys and made to cross the bedchamber.
“Sybilla, you must not have heard me,” Alys said in a shaking voice. “I will not marry Clement Cobb. I would rather take my chances at the Foxe Ring.”
Sybilla’s laugh rang out before she stopped and turned to face Alys once more. “Oh, Alys—you are such the child, still. To put faith in a superstitious set of crumbling old rocks, for shame.”
“‘Tis how Mother and Father met,” Alys said defiantly.
“It is a tale. That’s all,” Sybilla chuckled.
Then she glanced toward the window, and her expression grew contemplative.
“But the moon is full this night. The weather kind for December. Hie yourself to the ring, if it shall give you some sense of control of your future. Sit there for the entire month if you like. Should a man appear—not only in the middle of Fallstowe lands, but within the very ring of grown-over stones itself—and take you for his bride, my best to the pair of you. I shall be so moved as to pay equal dowry to both Blodshire and your new husband, quite happily.”
Cecily stood. “Sybilla, don’t tell her such foolishness! You know she will attempt it!”
Sybilla shrugged. “I care not how she passes the month. But you will be married in thirty days, Alys.” She paused for a moment, and then lifted one of her rapier-slash eyebrows. “Are you coming below, or nay?”
“Nay,” Alys’s voice shook. She swallowed and gathered all of her hurt and anger. “I hate you, Sybilla.”
Alys saw Sybilla’s faint smile. “I know.” Then she turned to Cecily. “Would that you join me, Cee. I’d have at least one of my sisters at my side this night.”
“Of course, Sybilla.” Cecily gave Alys a disappointed frown but then an instant later, crossed the floor to embrace her tightly. Alys did not return the gesture, letting her numb arms hang at her sides.
“Don’t fight this so,” Cecily whispered into her hair.
“You yourself said that Clement is a dear man, and—God forgive me—I do believe you might find him quite biddable after his mother is dead.” She leaned back, grasping both Alys’s upper arms. “And don’t go to the Foxe Ring.
‘Tis cold and damp, and naught will come of it but further disappointment for you. If any should find out, they will mock you.”
Alys stared past Cecily’s shoulder to the fire in the hearth. “I cannot believe you of all people would stand against me on this.”
Cecily sighed. “I do love you. And I am happy that you are to marry.” She kissed Alys’s cheek, and then swept past Sybilla out the door. Alys turned toward the window once more, so that Sybilla would not see her childish tears.
From behind Alys, Graves spoke to Sybilla. “Would you have me bolt the door, Madam?”
“Nay, Graves,” Sybilla said. “Alys is now free to go where she would.”
“Shall I accompany you, then?”
“Of course. You are family as well, dear friend. This announcement will be a joyous one for Fallstowe.”
Alys heard her bedchamber door close.
Alone at last, she sank to her knees and dropped her head to the stone window seat with a sob. She barely heard the skittering behind her of the monkey clambering across the floor and then leaping up to sit near her head. The animal started picking at her veil and hair beneath.
The damned monkey! It had ruined the feast, ruined her life!
She gave a long sniff and rose up to gather the animal close to her, rubbing her cheek against its soft hair, staring, staring out the window.
Sybilla would not win. Not this time.
Likely the Foxe Ring was naught but a silly tale. So be it. But she would go there to make a point. Alys was not a child, and she would not be treated like one.
She would simply run away with her monkey, instead.