By Right of Arms (6 page)

“I will not dally with you, Aurélie. I’m not a patient man. Your staunchest vassals have come around to my ways and means quicker. Dress yourself and come to the hall. And I know you can make yourself look pleasant, if you try.”

She whirled to face him, her mouth moving well ahead of her head. “Perhaps my staunchest vassals were not widowed by your army and find your demands easier to meet.”

He took two steps into the room, a frown on his face, and she took two steps back, wondering why she had foolishly tested his temper. Had she not seen his quick hand move to maim?
“Seigneur,
I will dress and come to the hall,” she said quickly.

He stopped immediately. “Have a care with your appearance, my lady. My guest is your father … and he is concerned for your health.”

“My father,” she gasped. “Dear God, does he bring arms?”

“He is a welcome guest,” Hyatt returned. “And a friend.”

“But when he learns that you …”

“He knows Sir Giles is dead, madame. He wished it had not been necessary, as did I. But that is a hazard of war.”

“He cannot approve your … your …”

For the first time since she had seen him, Hyatt seemed uncomfortable. He looked away and shifted his weight, but he regained his composure quickly. “He approves my occupation of this hall and lands. The Flemish are not much for your French king.”

The depth of this betrayal left Aurélie standing mute and awestruck. Did no one understand her pain? Did all the world excuse thievery and murder by right of arms? Even her own father?

“I do not ask pardon,” he said, the line of his jaw stern and his voice, as usual, calm and even. “You need not forgive me, respect me, or even set aside your grief for me. You will obey me as you value your life, for any survivor of this occupation treads on the lord’s mercy.”

She watched him as he spoke, noting that there was no struggle to form his words; no regret or vulnerability. He spoke as if giving simple instructions to a falconer or messenger.

“I have been told you have a grain of wisdom, or I would not trouble myself with such lengthy explanations. Were you a hostile knight or simple village craftsman, I would beat my intention into your foolish skull and mayhap you would die before learning. But lest you think yourself more clever than those able to usurp this keep and town, listen to me carefully.

“You may cleave to your hate and grief and pain for as many years as you deem it your right, but every action you take, madame, must show me that your desire for peace and prosperity for this land and the sorely molested people equals mine.”

She looked at him closely. The words did not quite settle. He killed and maimed, yet longed for peace? He brutally ruined towns and families, but desired prosperity? Yet the entirety of his message was not lost. She was certain this was his final warning. He would stop using reason and begin using force if she did not acquiesce.

“Dress,” he said slowly. “Our concern is no longer winning; the battle is won. Our destiny is in building. By the grace of God, you will never see conquerors cross your bridge again.” He bowed most elaborately. “Adieu, for the moment, Lady Aurélie.”

As the door to her chamber closed, Aurélie turned glistening eyes to Perrine. “I will never forgive him,” she murmured. “I will not take a breath without praying for his comeuppance.”

* * *

She chose a gown of pale cream, trimmed in gold. It was a total departure from the black. She allowed her hair to be brushed until it shone, had it braided and wound around her head. A veil of the sheerest silk, fastened to her head with a modest cluster of pearls, trailed down her back. Her sleeves were wide and flowing, her bodice snug to accentuate her trim figure, and her train pulled around to be attached to her wrist for freedom of movement. That she wore no jewels to adorn herself did not detract from her beauty. The low neckline and her gently swelling bosom embellished her appearance more than any sparkling gem.

“Let him think I am resigned to healing this burg,” she said to Perrine when her dressing was complete.

“I beg you, madame,” Perrine whispered. “Take great care with your scheming. This Hyatt is not a man to deceive lightly.”

“I will use cunning,” she murmured.

“He sees more than …”

“Hush!” she commanded. “I am not so simpleminded as to be foolish with my methods.”

She went to the hall, telling herself that she made this concession for the sake of future vengeance; in no way did she strive to please his eye. Rather than lose her temper and openly fight him, she would try to trick him into believing her behavior obedient. Even docile and tractable. When Hyatt rose to greet her, his eyes glowing appreciatively and a smile on his lips, she thought she had been very clever.

She curtsied before her father. He took her hand immediately, causing her to rise so that he could embrace her. “Thank God, Aurélie,” he said hoarsely. “You must believe I suffered with worry.”

Three years had passed since Aurélie had seen him. When his mighty arms encircled her, it nearly brought her to tears. Her ambivalent feelings tore at her. Her beloved father! Her betraying father! She could not find her true emotions as they bombarded each other with painful, crashing doubt.

“But you are strong,” he went on, crushing her in his zeal. He held her away from him. “I beg forgiveness for Giles. I did not think he would take up arms; I thought he would yield the day.”

“You must have known he would defend De la Noye,” she said softly, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“My daughter,” he sighed, his tired, wrinkled eyes beseeching her understanding. His beard had bleached whiter, his skin was looser and sagging, and although he was generous of build, he crouched slightly now and she felt his aging bones as if they splintered in her hands. He was too old to live through many more summers. “What did I think?” he went on. She saw the tears gather in the fold under his eyes and for a moment she pitied him. “I thought Giles would send troops, that he would lose a fair number of archers and knights. I thought there would be sufficient damage to De la Noye.

I knew, my Aurélie, there would be war … I have seen much of war in my life.

“But I thought Giles would surrender when he knew he was beaten.”

Aurélie looked down at the floor, trying to still her threatening tears. She could not have expected more from her father. He appreciated Giles’s scholarly wisdom but criticized his lack of knightly skills. He had expressed his worry for her safety for years, accusing Giles of being unable to protect her. Had it not been for the vast richness of De la Noye and the power of the de Pourvre family, she would not have been given to Giles in marriage. But all that had changed when King Edward proclaimed himself King of France and the countries were at war. Her situation worsened when the old Sire died and Giles was left to manage armies, a prospect for which he had no talent. Giles had, many times in the past, chosen any alternative to fighting. Although her losses were great, Aurélie had to accept that her father neither desired nor aided her widowhood.

In a surge of grief, her honesty broke through her barrier of cunning. She completely forgot Hyatt’s close presence. “I begged him not to go,” she admitted. “His men-at-arms would have done better without him.”

Lord Lavergne clung to her again. “I did not think he would. God rest him, at least he died an honorable death.”

Again the aging lord held her away. “All is not lost, daughter. There is still much to salvage.” He looked at Hyatt. The younger knight nodded and moved to the stair. “We are allowed a private conference; a great concession from a man who cannot be sure he is among friends,” he confided softly.

Aurélie’s eyes were drawn to a movement across the room and looked past her father to see the large knight, Girvin, rise to his feet and begin to cross the room. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of the broadsword belted at his waist. His narrow, glittering eyes scanned the room and he came to stop just behind Aurélie and her father. His intention was clear; he would be closeted with them.

She let her eyes move from the fearsome vassal to Hyatt. “He does not jeopardize his safety, Father,” she said, an edge to her voice. “We will make all the concessions. Rest assured.”

Hyatt smiled at her remark and reached a hand out to her as if he would escort her.

She chose obedience and took the proffered hand, going with Hyatt to the lord’s chamber, Lord Lavergne and Sir Girvin close at their heels. The door was tightly shut and Hyatt seated her before the hearth. Lord Lavergne slowly found a place near his daughter, and Girvin stood at the closed door, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

Aurélie’s father sighed heavily as he adjusted himself in his seat. Hyatt stood a generous distance from them, leaning casually against the wall.

“Ahem,” Lavergne coughed. “I am most grateful to see you are fit. You, above all, have some right to this keep. Your dowry saw the building of the church and much of the outer wall. It shall be preserved in your name. There is no heir save the widow.”

Aurélie looked down into her lap, trying to keep her hands demurely folded and her heart still. “There are no heirs in war, Father,” she whispered.

“That you are mistress of this hall need not be questioned again. You shall remain so.”

She looked up at her father in astonishment. “That will be most awkward, Father,” she said, trying not to ridicule him too openly for this absurd suggestion. “I doubt Sir Hyatt could bear my chafing presence.”

“But he insists on your presence. You know the town, the people, and the lands better than any servant.”

She quickly looked at Hyatt to find him listening to the conversation with quiet interest. She tried to read his eyes, but they concealed his thoughts.

“Then we must soon find another,” she hastened, feeling her pulse quicken. “We must leave this man to rule his conquered lands.”

“You are best suited to aid his leadership, daughter,” Lavergne said. “And best suited to protect the interests of these people. You know them.”

She neared panic at the thought. Hyatt’s gaze, resting on her with enough heat to warm her, did not betray him. He seemed perfectly calm. “I am the enemy,” she said slowly, trying to keep the anger from her voice. “With all best intention, with the help of God, I cannot be suited to aid Sir Hyatt. Father, I would not be a good choice. The people here would suffer as I would.”

“Daughter,” he softly pleaded, “pray do not further injure yourself by rejecting Sir Hyatt’s compassion.”

“Nay,” she nearly cried, feeling herself becoming more agitated, more afraid. “It would bode ill for me to remain a prisoner here and …”

“You shall wed the man,” Lavergne said evenly.

Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. She looked quickly at Hyatt, the question on her lips. His mouth was firm, his eyes level, and she thought she noticed an almost imperceptible nod, but she could not be sure.

Her eyes were on her father again and she reached out to grasp his hands. “Oh Father, you must not. If I cannot leave here with you, let me take the veil. I shall never ask another thing of you.” She looked pleadingly at Hyatt. “My lord,” she nearly choked, “I yield all, but I beg of you, there is not wisdom enough in all Christendom, nor grace enough in all heaven for me to yield this. ’Twould be a bed of thorns.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unchanged. He appeared as unmoved by her plight as though he were watching the shoeing of one of his horses. “We shall manage, lady,” he finally said.

Aurélie felt hysterical laughter coming to her lips. “But I am barren,” she said victoriously. “Surely a knight so powerful must wish to sire many sons?”

“It is better thus, for I have a son. In himself, he is the equal of ten.”

She looked back at her father, angered at finding no help in his resigned expression. She whispered in strained agony, “Flanders or the convent, Father. I beg you!”

He simply looked down and shook his head.

“Father,” she whispered urgently, “you would have me wed this English bastard and …”

“Bah! He is no more bastard than you or I. ’Tis but a family disagreement. Perhaps it will be eased.” He looked uncomfortably toward Hyatt, then back to his daughter. “His family denies kinship, but he is not baseborn. Take heed.”

“You must not agree to this, Father. On my mother’s grave, I appeal to your kindness …”

Lord Lavergne closed his eyes as if contemplating his next words. “It is difficult for you, Aurélie, but in time you will see the wisdom in this. Marriage is but a means of ensuring your safety, protection for your dower purse …”

Her ears began to ring and his words blended one into the next. Lavergne droned on of marriages used to form alliances, to bridge rent families, to end wars. Brides could purchase peace, ease conflicts … all a matter of sound negotiation as estates changed hands or were won and lost in the event of war. She shook her head violently, her hands going to her face as if she would press back the tears. “I cannot. I cannot. I will
not!”

“Enough!” The command came as loudly and unexpectedly as any bolt of lightning. The stammering Lord Lavergne and weeping Aurélie both jumped in surprise, became silent, and looked at Hyatt. He no longer leaned against the wall in a relaxed manner, but stood to a full menacing height and held clenched fists at his sides. There was an angry scowl on his face and he appeared to struggle for control.

“Your reluctance comes as no surprise, madame, but do not carry the game to dangerous lengths. You do not have to love me or approve me. I need your close presence to lessen the rub on these villeins. I did not plan your husband’s death, nor did I intend your misery. In taking De la Noye in the name of my king, I allowed a sum to retire the deposed lord in some humble dignity. For the last time I tell you, I regret it was impossible. But ’tis over. English and French must parley if there is to be profit. There is no discussion.”

Aurélie swallowed hard and looked at her father. He shook his head. However angry she might be at his involvement in the matter, it was clear he was no match for this man. All the arguing Lord Lavergne could do in a lifetime would not alter the decision or strength of rule.