Joining (32 page)

Logically she understood that feelings could do this, completely change for many reasons. But she also knew she couldn’t depend on that being so; feelings could stay the same as well. And what did one have to base one’s outlook on except for current feelings? Thinking, even hoping, those feelings might change eventually didn’t help to abate them.

She was still furious over what she had just witnessed, but she said no more about it, letting Jhone get back to her sewing. As far as she was concerned, her opinion had been reinforced that she and Wulfric would never get along. What was plain now was how little difference it would make for him. He had other outlets to see to his needs. He had just shown her that quite clearly, and no doubt intentionally.

He
could
have picked any one of the other serving women if he could not wait the two days more till they were wed. Not one of the women there was like to refuse him, just because of who he was. And many were certainly prettier than the slattern had been, and no doubt cleaner.

Milisant probably would have thought nothing of it had he walked out with someone else. Even putting his arm about her could have meant nothing more than a friendly gesture toward someone he had known for years. She wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t have cared.

But he had instead picked the one woman there who was so blatantly obvious about what she was. Why else would he have done that except to point out to Milisant that he could, and there was nothing she could do or say about it?

Forty-four

Anger was an
unpredictable emotion. Strange how it could ofttimes backfire on the one experiencing it, or cause more harm than the original occurrence that prompted it. Such had been the case when Wulfric returned to the hall that day he had gone off with the whore, and asked Milisant if she would like to accompany him to the bailey to watch the archery competitions.

Of course, she had told him no. She had still been too angry to tell him anything else. And yet afterward she had railed at herself for letting her fury interfere with something she knew she would have enjoyed.

That he invited her at all, she attributed to a guilty conscience. Assuredly he would not have done so otherwise, thoughtless brute that he was.

It was probably just as well that she had refused. Had she gone with him, she would likely have resented the fact that she couldn’t join in the competition herself.

Her father would have let her do so, but then
all at Dunburh knew her skill with the bow and didn’t question it. The de Thorpes, however, would see it as an embarrassment to have their
daughter-in-law
win in a male sport; thus she would be denied the chance to even try.

Milisant’s new restrictions continued, though her time with Lady Anne did lessen the resentment of it. She still was forced to spend a goodly amount of time in the women’s solar those next few days, though her mounting nervousness kept her somewhat distracted from the ignominy of it.

With it being no longer expected, at least by Milisant, it was a surprise when Nigel arrived at Shefford the day before the wedding, and with a ready excuse for being so tardy. He had been sick. His pallor and loss of weight attested that it was no lie.

She was forced to admit she had been wrong in thinking he meant not to come at all, just to avoid hearing her present opinion of Wulfric. On the contrary, it was the first thing he questioned her about, as soon as they found a moment alone together that night.

She and Jhone had put him to bed early, sending his squires away so they could see to him themselves. He had not been well enough, really, to travel yet. That was obvious. Yet he had come anyway.

Milisant loved him dearly for that, though she had scolded him profusely for it. So had Jhone for that matter, and Lord Guy as well. Her poor father had been quite grouchy after all that scolding, but now he was merely tired.

However, he asked her to stay for a moment,
after Jhone bid him good night and left them. “What have you decided about young Wulfric? Confess, he’s a damn good choice for a husband, is he not?”

She wasn’t going to distress her father with the truth. Not because he was ill, but because it would simply do her no good. Even if the contract
could
still be broken at this late date, now that Wulfric had promised to interfere, she didn’t dare look elsewhere.

So she said merely, “He will do.”

That made Nigel laugh. It obviously pleased him greatly that he had been right and she wrong. She saw no reason to disabuse him of that notion. At least someone was happy about her wedding.

“Are you nervous?” he asked next.

“Only a little,” she lied.

She was in fact so nervous, she had been unable to eat anything all day, afeared if she did, it would come right back up. And she was not even sure what she was nervous about. The bedding? Or finally being completely and utterly under Wulfric’s control?

“That is to be expected,” he said, patting her hand encouragingly. “How is your shoulder?”

“What? Oh, that. ‘Twas so minor, it has long been forgotten.”

“And you would not tell me even if it still pained you, would you?”

She grinned. “Likely not.”

He chuckled. “Just like your mother, always trying to keep me from worrying about her.”

“I wish I had known her—better—longer—”
She broke off, sighing. “I am sorry. I know it still hurts you to think of her passing.”

He smiled at her to make light of it. There
was
pain in his eyes, though. “I wish you had known her better as well. Actually, I wish she could have known you longer. She would have been so proud of you, daughter.”

Tears came to her eyes. “Nay, she would not. She would feel as you do and be ashamed—”

“Hush! Sweet,
Jesu,
what have I done to you? Never think I am not proud of you, Mili. Verily, you are the one who is so like your mother in nigh every way. She was as stubborn, she was as willful, she was as fiery, and I loved her for all of that, not despite of it. There are women born to be different, though not all realize it or try to be. You and your mother were not meant to be as others are. Young Wulfric will appreciate that, once he gets used to it. I know I would not have had your mother be any other way.”

It was wonderful to hear him say it, yet she didn’t believe him—not completely anyway. How could she when she had all the times he had railed at her and bemoaned her behavior to recall, as well as the times he had specifically mentioned her shaming him? And yet…

“If you felt I was born to be different, as she was, then why did you try to curb my independence?”

He sighed. “When you were younger, Mili, you needed to
see
the difference, be made aware of it. You needed to understand that there would be others of less tolerance who would
not
accept the path you choose for yourself, and to save yourself grief, you should have learned to
adapt to such circumstances. Your mother
did
know when to give in gracefully, and likewise, she also knew when she did not need to. I had hoped to teach you that lesson at least, but…”

He didn’t finish, looked uncomfortable. She smiled. “But I failed to learn it.”

“’Tis not that you failed, you just—refused. You have a strong desire to do things you know you are capable of doing, yet are some of those things not appropriate for you to be doing. You choose to do them anyway, and bedamn any opinion to the contrary.”

“Is that
so
wrong?”

“Nay, not at all. What is wrong is the ‘bedamn’ part, and not accepting that
some
things are just so unnatural for you in particular to do that they require compromise, or at least restraint. Did you know that I sew?”

She blinked, then after a moment, chuckled. “Was that a trick?”

“Nay, I do sew, Mili. I find it relaxing. I love doing it. And even with these old, gnarled hands, I can turn a finer stitch than some women.”

She blinked again. “You are not jesting?”

He shook his head. “I made many of your mother’s clothes, though no one knew it besides us. I did it in the privacy of our chamber. I never would have considered sewing in the Great Hall where anyone could have seen me at it. Why? For the same reason that you just laughed. ‘Tis not something you would expect to see an old warrior doing—unless he had no one else to do it for him, which certainly is not the case for me, and even then he would only repair his own
raiments, not make clothes for women. ‘Twould cause snide comments and snickering, likely make of him a laughingstock.”

Milisant nodded, aware of how hypocritical she had just been, or rather, self-centered. She had always railed at the unfairness of it, that she couldn’t do all that she wanted to do, because much of what she wanted to do was in the strictly male domain, not to be breached by a lowly, incompetent female. She had never thought that a man might find himself faced with the same restrictions.

“‘Tis just horrid,” she remarked, with years worth of resentment in her tone, “that we must change and make compromises because no one else is willing to accept that some people are different. You do not resent that you must hide to do something you enjoy doing?”

“Nay, it does not lessen the enjoyment, that I sew in private, it merely avoids the ridicule. And I know that what
you
enjoy doing is not so easily concealed. I was not trying to show you that our difficulties are similar, just somewhat the same. But that is where compromises come into play. If you could just accept that what you like doing could be done some of the time, just not all of the time, I think you would be much happier, Mili.”

“I think I have finally come to see this, ironically, by witnessing another girl similar to myself make such compromises and yet still enjoy certain—restricted—freedoms. And since coming here, I have not really minded so much, the wearing of these cumbersome bliauts. Verily, ‘tis that I don’t want to see the lady Anne’s frowns
over my garb that I readily give it up—for now. I have become quite fond of her, and don’t want to disappoint her.”

He gave her a brilliant smile. “You cannot imagine how I have longed to hear you—”

“Faugh, I did not say I was completely reformed,” she cut in with a grumble.

He chuckled. She gave in and smiled back, grateful that for a short time he had taken her mind off of tomorrow—and the joining.

Forty-five

Thone had personally
made Milisant’s raiments for the wedding, allowing no one else to aid her. The result was a grand, beautiful bliaut of jade velvet worthy of a queen, richly detailed, encrusted with gems and thickly embroidered with gold thread. Along with the matching mantle, gold satin undertunic, and heavy gold-linked girdle, the whole ensemble likely weighed as much as Milisant did, which was why she was not looking forward to wearing it. However, she would never tell that to her sister, who had put much loving care into its creation.

But then another gown arrived that morning, just before Anne’s ladies presented themselves to help with the formal dressing. It was wrapped in lace ribbons, sitting on a tasseled satin pillow, delivered by a young, turbaned page with a cheeky grin.

He said merely, “A gift from yer papa.”

When she unwrapped it, a bliaut of silver was revealed, of a strange glimmering material Milisant knew to have been in her father’s treasure
trove from the Holy Land, for she had been fascinated, having discovered it there as a child. Soft as silk, light as down, it sparkled in the morning light. No other embellishment was needed on a material that unusually beautiful, yet two rows of tiny seed pearls did adorn the neckline. The undertunic was a pristine white silk with silver thread that made it sparkle as well.

Jhone, of course, was disappointed, staring at the two gowns laid out side by side over their bed. “I cannot imagine why Papa would have this made for you, when he should have known I would not let you appear at your wedding in leggings. And ‘tis too thin to wear for winter.”

“Not with an appropriate, thick mantle,” Milisant pointed out, then whispered a bit in awe, “Do not laugh, but I think Papa made it himself.”