Chapter Three
Diamantha could hear Sophie in the next room, playing with her poppet.
She had a toy cradle that Robert had made for her and she liked to put her doll to bed repeatedly.
Sometimes the poppet was naughty and needed to be spanked, like now.
Diamantha couldn’t help the grin as she listened to her daughter scold the doll because it didn’t want to go to sleep.
The joy of the simple pleasure helped lighten her heavy and sorrowful heart.
It was late, well after the evening meal that saw Cortez demand that she be ready to depart for Sherborne on the morrow.
She’d had her trunks brought around and gave the servants basic instructions, but beyond that, she was incapable of doing much more.
Her fury, her outrage, at de Bretagne’s order had died down, leaving grief in its wake.
He was removing her from the chamber she had shared with Robert and from everything that was important to her.
She felt as if she were living her husband’s death a second time as de Bretagne tried to bully him from her memory.
George had tried to come and see her, twice, but she would not see him.
Every time she looked at him she could see Robert’s face and it was tearing her apart, great claws of sorrow ripping at her heart.
Now, everything was changing and she was loath to accept it.
She didn’t think her heart could be any heavier as she thought of her tall, handsome husband with the dark blond hair, of his ready smile and that roaring laughter he had.
She could still hear it echoing in her memory.
She could still see him as he bid her a farewell before leaving for the north, his gentle smile as she had gazed at him with tears in her eyes.
He had promised to return but he had not kept that promise.
It wasn’t a surprise to realize that not only did she hate de Bretagne for his role in all of this, but she was angry with Robert as well.
She was angry with him for putting duty over his family, for leaving her to raise their child alone.
Damn the man; she should have never let him go.
Breaking from her morose train of thought, she went into Sophie’s chamber and put the little girl, and her naughty poppet, to bed.
Neither wanted to go to sleep, however, so Diamantha spent a few minutes with her child, telling her a made-up story of a rabbit and a fox that were friends, and giving her at least two drinks of water because Sophie swore she was very thirsty.
Sophie went down to sleep resisting all the way but finally, she drifted off and Diamantha snuffed the taper by the bed and quietly crept from the room.
Back in her own adjoining chamber, she was in the midst of servants packing her things.
Trunks full of clothing, accessories, plate, valuables…
everything that reminded her of her life with Robert was being neatly stored away in cold and unfeeling trunks.
Struggling against the horrible sorrow of her life reduced to trunks and cases, she sat on her bed and collected a piece of embroidery she had been working on.
She needed something to distract her and to pass the time and, hopefully, she would eventually be tired enough to sleep.
Right now, she didn’t want to waste any time on it because these were to be her last hours within Corfe’s walls, walls that breathed and spoke of her husband.
She could hear the reflections softly, like the gentle patter of rain in her heart and mind.
She wanted to live these last few moments and speak to Robert, if only in prayer.
A knock on the chamber door distracted her and she set the embroidery aside to open the panel.
A male servant was standing there, an old man who usually tended the lower floors of the keep, and he was holding a small painted box in his hands.
When Diamantha looked at him curiously, he thrust the box at her.
“One of de Bretagne’s men brought this, my lady,” he said. “He told me to tell you that de Bretagne has sent this to you as a gift. It used to belong to his wife.”
Diamantha stared at the old man a moment, her brow furrowed in both curiosity and displeasure, but because her dear friend Helene had been mentioned, she reluctantly took the box.
“Is that all he said?” she asked, eyeing the pretty box colored in shades of pink.
The old servant nodded. “Aye, my lady.”
With that, Diamantha dismissed the man and softly shut the door.
Her serving women had paused in their packing to watch the exchange, curious about the gift, but when their lady turned around and glanced at the gaggle, they quickly went back to work and pretended they weren’t the least bit interested.
Diamantha had known the women a very long time, including Sophie’s nurse Annie, so she smirked at their seeming disinterest. They were all liars, the lot of them.
“Very well, you nosy hens,” she said, pretending to scold them. “You may come and see what the man has sent me.”
The women, all five of them, immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed over to the great bed. Diamantha sat on the edge of the feather and straw mattress and carefully opened the lid on the box.
The serving women strained to see the treasure inside, gasping with awe when Diamantha lifted the jewelry out.
It was a spectacular necklace comprised of a great silver collar, intricately woven, with a massive silver cross hanging from it.
As she inspected it, she noticed that the shape of a heart was interwoven into the fine silver chains at the head of the collar and the cross hung just below the heart.
It was an absolute masterpiece of craftsmanship.
Diamantha was impressed with it as she gazed at the truly spectacular piece.
As she continued inspecting it, she seemed to recall seeing Helene wear the piece at one time.
Helene was a little woman and something this big and fabulous clearly overwhelmed her small frame, so it was indeed memorable.
She also recalled that Helene told her that her husband had given it to her for their wedding.
Now, he was giving it again to seal another marriage.
Something in that knowledge irritated her.
Irritation turned to anger, and anger to outrage.
So he was purchasing another wife, was he?
Did he actually think to buy her with pretty gifts?
She could think of no other reason for the offering.
She certainly hadn’t done anything to earn it.
The man was trying to barter for her! Putting the jewelry back in the box, she slapped the lid closed and charged from the chamber.
The serving women watched her go with some dismay. Lord only knew what their mistress was going to do. Anger like that usually came to no good end in their world.
Clad in only a dark gray linen surcoat with a soft wool sheathe underneath, Diamantha ignored the cold of the keep as she took the narrow spiral stairs down to the entry level.
Throwing open the heavy entry door, she gathered her skirts and marched out into the damp night.
Fog had rolled in from the sea and the kiss of moisture was on everything.
Visibility was greatly reduced, leaving everything cloaked and eerie.
As she walked, she realized that she only had soft doeskin slippers on and they were already soaked and slick.
She ended up sliding in the wet earth as she made her way towards the lower bailey.
As she approached the upper gatehouse that separated the upper from the lower ward, she was met by two of her husband’s sentries.
“Lady Edlington,” one soldier said as he rushed to her side and grasped her arm to keep her from slipping further on the wet incline. “How may we be of service?”
Diamantha pointed to the enormous gates, lit by torches that struggled against the mist. “Open the gates, please.”
The sentries looked rather surprised by the request but dutifully yelled to the men inside the gatehouse.
Lady Edlington’s orders were not meant to be questioned or disobeyed.
Men appeared and threw the big iron bolt that secured the panels.
Diamantha moved towards the gates as the men lugged them open, slipping through the gap when it was big enough for her to pass through.
As she charged towards de Bretagne’s encampment, shoved down into the far south section of Corfe’s massive bailey, the pair of sentries that had greeted her filtered out after her.
They weren’t entirely sure about Lady Edlington being alone in a camp full of strangers, so their sergeant sent them after her.
It was a fast walk, however, for Lady Edlington was evidently very determined.
Her skirts were hiked up almost to her knees, keeping the linen free of the wet earth as she moved, but her shoes were soaked through and starting to come apart.
She ignored the shoes that were only meant for delicate travel, however.
She was clearly on a mission. On and on down the wet, misty bailey they went until she barked at the first of de Bretagne’s men that she came across.
“Where is your liege?” she demanded.
The men were slow to move, looking rather puzzled that a beautiful woman had emerged from the darkness and was now demanding audience with de Bretagne.
While one man openly leered over her, another went for his superior officer, who immediately recognized Lady Edlington.
Peter Merlin happened to be the superior officer and, jolted by the surprise appearance, he made haste to her side.
“My lady,” he greeted pleasantly though it was with a hint of concern. “How may I be of service to you?”
Diamantha was in no mood to be kind or sociable. “Where is de Bretagne?”