Authors: Rexanne Becnel
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval
The Maiden Bride (30 page)
A hard lump formed in her throat. Please don’t let him die, she prayed.
Dear Lord, blessed Mother, St. Jude, please keep him safe!
Dear Lord, blessed Mother, St. Jude, please keep him safe!
Sir Eustace appeared and another ripple of support sounded, though not as strong. Beside her Beatrix clapped her hands.
“There he is. Just look at him. He will defeat this de la Manse. Just see if he doesn’t.”
Linnea swung around to face her twin. “You go on and on about defeating Axton, but have you thought at all on what will happen if de Montfort wins? Are you so eager to wed with him, or do you simply fear to wed Axton?”
Beatrix started to reply, then abruptly turned away. But Linnea saw her chin tremble. For once, however, Beatrix’s tender feelings did not deter her. She pressed on without mercy. “Shall Eustace’s kiss be any gentler? Shall his demands of you be any less coarse? He looks as wont to kill you with his husbandly demands as Axton.”
Without warning, Beatrix burst into tears. Even that, however, could not soften Linnea’s feelings. Beatrix wanted Axton to die! “Axton is a lusty man,” she continued, so consumed with jealousy for Beatrix’s fate that she could not stop. “He will demand much of you, much of your body for his pleasure. But he will give it back tenfold. A hundredfold! He will—”
“Enough!” Lady Harriet interrupted, pinching Linnea hard on the arm. “Enough of this! Henry comes,” she hissed.
Somehow Linnea swallowed all the invective that burned for release. Somehow Beatrix managed to stifle her sobs and surreptitiously dry her tears. By the time the young Henry stepped up onto the raised dais and approached them, the three de Valcourt women were outwardly composed.
But Linnea seethed still with anger. How long had all her resentments been buried beneath a patient and compliant facade? All her life, she realized. But over the past two weeks the layers of that facade had slowly been peeled back until now the burning center of her feelings felt exposed for anyone’s casual perusal. How dare they think her feelings less important than their own. Her father. Her grandmother. Even Beatrix, it seemed.
And Axton was not exempt either. If anything, he was the most guilty, for he’d made her love him, then thrown her love away. The fact that he was justified in his suspicions about her did not matter at that moment. He should have recognized the depths of her love for him!
But Axton was not there with her, and so, as Henry turned to greet them, it was he who became the focus of all Linnea’s ire. For he was the least involved of all the participants in this dreadful drama. The least affected. Yet it was he who wielded all the power.
His sharp blue gaze flitted between her and Beatrix. When he spied her belligerent expression, however, it settled upon her. “Lady Linnea?”
She curtsied as required, but there was no other sign of greeting. That only made him smile, however. He studied her with undisguised interest, letting his gaze rake her body with a thoroughness meant to flatter, or else fluster her. It only made her more furious.
“Have you thought on your future beyond this day’s doings?” he asked. “I am certain my esteemed wife would be pleased to have so lovely an addition to her personal retinue.”
At that moment a commotion drew his attention, and before Linnea could respond to him, the white, fluttering canvas parted, and Lady Mildred entered the open tent.
Axton’s mother was robed in a fine gown of wine-colored silk. Her hair was dressed and covered with a sheer veil shot through with gold that shimmered and caught the light. Her carriage would have befitted the queen Henry spoke so blithely of as she acknowledged Linnea with a nod. She gave Beatrix a curious look, but the Lady Harriet she ignored entirely. Then she turned to Henry, and it was clear that while everyone else deferred to the young man who soon would be king, Lady Mildred was of a different mettle.
“Good morning, my lord. Have you come to see Axton fell yet another of your hapless men?”
Henry straightened up in his tall chair. It occurred to Linnea that the Lady Mildred had probably known him all his life. She had very likely dandled him on her knee when he was a babe. No doubt she commanded the same sort of respect from him as did his own mother.
“’Tis but men’s sport,” Henry replied, rising to seat the older woman himself.
“Yes. Sport,” she repeated. Then she turned to look at Linnea, a stare so serious it seemed almost to demand a reply from Linnea. “I could not help but overhear your question to the Lady Linnea,” Lady Mildred continued. “I believe, however, that she will stay with me as my companion.”
Linnea’s heart lurched. Stay with Lady Mildred? Though she was drawn to the woman and knew the offer of such a position was a godsend to one in her precarious situation, she could never accept. Never. For she could not bear to be so near to Axton and yet not be his wife. She started to shake her head, but an intent look from Lady Mildred gave her pause.
“I will not stay long at Maidenstone,” the woman went on. “I plan to leave for Caen once Axton is settled here.”
Henry twisted to look over at Linnea, a wry smile lifting his handsome face. “Caen. How nice. I am often there. My wife periodically resides at Argentan, but a day’s ride away. Mayhap we will have occasion to … to visit upon my return to the continent.”
Linnea somehow managed a tight smile. “Mayhap we will, milord.
” But only if I am not forewarned that you are coming.
” But only if I am not forewarned that you are coming.
A blast of a horn and the thunder of a heavy horse approaching the pavillion put an end to that dangerous conversation. Everyone turned to watch Sir Eustace’s approach astride a magnificent gray destrier. He was resplendent in gleaming mail and half-armor, and his steed was as handsomely draped in the yellow and green of de Montfort. He saluted the young Duke of Normandy, then everyone else, save for Lady Mildred and Linnea. When Henry rose to accept his man’s salute of honor, Axton’s mother smiled at Linnea, and in that smile was all the reassurance in the world. Win or lose, Linnea had an ally in Lady Mildred. As unlikely as that seemed, she knew it was true.
Then a second horse cantered up and both women turned to watch Axton’s approach.
He was dressed in heavy mail and a solid breastplate and had a square-topped helmet perched in his lap. His only ornament was the scarlet bristle that adorned his helmet, that and his weapons. The lances they would use were blunted in the hopes that neither man would be mortally wounded in the joust. But even so, Linnea knew the risk was great.
He saluted Henry, raising the lance up a long moment before lowering it, then did as much to his mother. The women of de Valcourt, however, he did not favor so generously. Instead he stared at Linnea so fiercely she was unnerved.
He must think she was Beatrix, she reasoned. He must. After all, it was Beatrix he fought for. That’s why he stared at her. When he turned away and cantered to his end of the jousting run, however, she was not so sure.
Though the yard was not large and the combatants were not far removed from the viewers, Linnea felt, nevertheless, that Axton was as far away from her as he could ever be. He was near enough that she could detect the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, and yet he might as well have been far across the sea, so completely separated were they now.
Then there was no time for such dismal speculation, for with another brilliant sounding of the horn, the first deadly contest was announced.
The crowd of onlookers quieted. People circled the yard, perched on walls, and leaned precariously from every window opening. Two boys swung like red squirrels from a mason’s scaffold. Even the castle hounds stood at alert, as if they knew the import of the coming conflict.
But while all else stilled, Linnea felt as if she’d begun to rattle apart. Her heart hammered; her blood roared in her ears; and her breathing came hard and labored.
Then, as if at some unheard signal, the two destriers charged, and Linnea forgot to breathe.
Dust rose in a cloud beneath the animals’ fierce attack. Like maddened bulls they charged one another. Then with a crash they came together.
One of the horses screamed and veered off. Both men teetered in their saddles, rocked by the force of the impact. But somehow they held on.
Linnea let out a gasp of relief; so did all the others in the pavillion, except for Henry. He only grinned at the women arrayed around him. “Good show. Good show!” he exclaimed.
A sharp reply lodged in Linnea’s throat. In her opinion it would be a better show to see the callous young duke drawn and quartered. But there was no time to confront Henry, for at the end of the run, the two knights turned and adjusted their armor. Then with fresh lances in hand, they again urged their steeds forward.
Linnea caught her breath. The earth fairly shuddered beneath the heavy animals’ hooves and she closed her eyes in terror for Axton. Then again came the crash, and her eyes sprang open.
A lance splintered. A man toppled and fell. Linnea bit down on her knuckles and a muffled cry escaped her lips.
Then one of the destriers broke out of the dust storm and Axton emerged unscathed from the fray!
This time it was Lady Mildred who cried out in relief. But both women caught their breath in renewed fear. For Axton flung himself from his mount before it came fully to a halt and turned to confront Eustace again.
Stay down, Linnea silently cried out to the fallen knight. Stay down, you fool! But with the help of two of his men, Eustace was set upright and handed a short sword.
By that time Peter had run forward with a sword for Axton. The two knights then faced one another swathed in steel, yet nevertheless vulnerable to the slicing power of a well-aimed sword.
Eustace was slower. Linnea saw that at once. He favored one leg and shook his head as if he were not yet clearheaded. He’d taken a hard fall and it clearly left him at a disadvantage.
Please, God, let this end quickly, she prayed. I will not interfere in Axton’s life again. I will wish him well, and my sister too, if You will but spare his life.
“Don’t let that beast kill him!” Beatrix cried, and for one foolish moment Linnea thought her sister gave voice to her own thoughts. But in the next moment she knew her error. Beatrix feared for Sir Eustace, not for Axton.
“Never fear,” Henry remarked. “I have given Axton strict orders not to make a fatal blow.”
“And have you given Sir Eustace the same instructions?” Lady Mildred demanded to know. Despite her show of composure, the woman’s knuckles were white, she clenched her fists so tightly.
Henry shifted in his seat. “Would it be a sporting match if I had? Eustace must have some advantage. God knows, Axton has enough of them.”
As much as Linnea wanted to strangle the conscienceless young man who could set two men upon each other, simply for the sport, she nonetheless knew whereof he spoke. She’d never seen Axton do battle, save against the hapless tilting dummy. But it had been clear to her, from Peter as well as the other men’s attitudes, that he was a warrior of uncommon skill.
Still, Sir Eustace was not without his own skill, and as the men began their dangerous dance, it was obvious his head had cleared. He attacked Axton, wielding his sword with no sign of restraint, slicing the air with deadly force. Axton parried every strike, but he fell back under the onslaught. The men’s grunts and curses as they fought carried to the silent crowd. Steel rang on steel, an awful clamor that sliced Linnea’s heart to shreds. No, she chanted the prayer with every awful blow that landed.
No, no, no!
No, no, no!
Then Eustace lunged and everyone gasped—only Axton was no longer in the path of his blade! He’d spun aside and with the flat of his blade, he struck Eustace hard on the back of his helmeted head.
Sir Eustace went sprawling and a small cheer went up. But the man scrambled swiftly to his feet and whirled around to once more face his foe. He had clearly lost his momentum, however. He charged as fiercely as before. His blows were as cruel, his advancement as determined. While he struggled to land a killing blow, however, he wielded the lethal blade in wilder and more erratic strokes.
But Axton repelled each blow, never striking back, only fielding Eustace’s weakening attack. The ugly clang of steel on steel rang across the yard.
Then without warning, Axton lunged and Eustace went down on one knee.
A gasp went up and Henry leaped to his feet. As if Axton sensed his liege lord’s presence, he tensed, his sword held just beneath Sir Eustace’s chin, where his throat was exposed between his helmet and breastplate. Axton’s blade dripped blood. Linnea saw that plainly enough. But though Eustace grasped his right shoulder and his groan of pain was clear to all, he had not released his own weapon.
He held it up, pointed at Axton, though it wavered from the pain of his wounded shoulder. Linnea knew Axton would not strike the man down. Henry had seen to that. But Eustace might still inflict damage on Axton.
Then to Linnea’s horror, Axton flung his sword aside, stepped within thrusting range of his enemy’s weapon, and grabbed the sword right out of the man’s hand.
An elated cry went up—Peter’s voice, she recognized. At once the whole castle erupted. Cheers from some, curses from others, and the dusty roar of a hundred people rushing the victor and his fallen foe.
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