The Maiden Bride (5 page)

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Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval

BOOK: The Maiden Bride
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“She has corrupted you,” Lady Harriet fumed. She turned to her son, her face livid with her anger. “She has corrupted Beatrix! I told you this would happen, witless man! I warned you that she would one day cause the downfall of this family!”
“There was no harm done,” Sir Edgar said in the placating tone he so often adopted with his mother.
“No harm? No harm? What of your son? Did she do him no harm? Do you truly expect him to recover—”
“You said she did well,” Beatrix countered. “When you thought she was me, you said she’d done well with Maynard—”
A sharp slap from Lady Harriet cut off Beatrix’s words. In the awful silence that followed, Linnea finally found her tongue.
“Do not punish her. It was my idea and … and I thought only to protect her from the horror of our brother’s suffering.”
Lady Harriet turned toward her as if to slap her too. But Linnea stood her ground, her fists clenched in determination. “I healed Maynard, as well as anyone could, given the brutality inflicted upon him by de la Manse. I saved him,” she added, with a confidence she did not feel. “And … and if you would keep Beatrix from this dreadful man who has overrun us, well … I can save her from him too.”
Linnea hesitated. She must be mad to suggest such a thing! Yet to protect her beloved twin sister—and to earn the gratitude and appreciation of her grandmother and father, and all the beleaguered souls of Maidenstone Castle—she would do anything, she realized. Anything.
“Let me wed him—as Beatrix. It will weaken his claim to Maidenstone—”
“No, Linnea!” Beatrix cried. She grabbed her sister’s arms and swung her around to face her. “I cannot allow you to do such a thing.”
“Be quiet, Beatrix.” Lady Harriet pushed Beatrix back from Linnea, then stared at her younger granddaughter with eyes that had narrowed to slits. “You would marry this man who invades our home. Why?” She grabbed Linnea’s face with a hand that felt like pincers. “What do you hope to gain?”
Linnea was at a loss for words. How could she ever explain to this woman who refused to believe anything but the worst of her? “I love my sister,” she began.
“You love your sister,” the old woman sneered. “Better to say you love the idea of becoming mistress here.”
“No! No, I do this for Beatrix, not myself.”
Lady Harriet snorted in disbelief. But before the old woman could speak again, Sir Edgar did.
“‘Tis a good idea,” he admitted. Linnea had not expected any support from him, but she was glad to have it. “’Tis better for all of us that she wed de la Manse,” he continued. “We must save Beatrix for a more worthy man.”
Lady Harriet shot him a contemptuous look. Then abruptly, her expression turned crafty. Linnea shivered when the old woman’s hard eyes fastened upon her.
“If
she
marries him and keeps him happily occupied while Maynard heals … or else dies …” The old woman ignored Edgar’s strangled gasp at that and continued on. “We will still have the ability to find a suitable husband for Beatrix—a strong knight who can then challenge de la Manse’s weakened claim to Maidenstone, and win it back for us.” Lady Harriet smiled, only it did not reassure Linnea at all. She nodded her ancient head. “Yes, Linnea is the last in line to inherit Maidenstone. If de la Manse marries her, his claim will not be so strong. And it will purchase for us the time to plot against him. Besides,” she added, “if he weds her as Beatrix, they will not truly be wed. We can later petition to have the marriage annulled.”
Linnea stared fearfully at her grandmother. Her grandmother’s sudden glee at this idea had a sobering effect. What had she said? Keep him happily occupied? It struck her now precisely what she’d proposed. Wed this man who’d nearly killed her brother. Share a bed with that towering knight who’d stared at her so coldly, who’d inquired whether she was unmarried. Be a wife to the very beast who sought to steal her home.
A crushing wave of panic made her legs go weak. If Beatrix had not taken her arm, her knees surely would have buckled.
“You cannot do this, Linnea. I have benefited so long from being the firstborn of us, and you have suffered for being second. You cannot now step in to take this responsibility that is mine and mine alone.”
“Why can’t she?” Lady Harriet challenged. “This is her opportunity finally to do something good for this family. To make penance for her corrupt soul. To prove herself once and for all,” she added, as the idea took hold in her mind.
Beatrix started to protest again, but Linnea cut her off with a searching look. She did not want to take Beatrix’s place. Not really. The very thought terrified her. But how much worse it would be to let Beatrix go through with it. She knew that she herself could bear it; she wasn’t as certain about her sister. And then there was her grandmother’s point. She could finally prove herself to them. To
all
of them.
“Grandmother is right,” Linnea told Beatrix. “Though my suggestion was impulsive, now that Father has explained it all, I’m more determined than ever to go through with it.”
“But he will—” though Beatrix broke off, Linnea knew what she meant.
She clenched her teeth. “To share their husband’s bed is something women have borne through the ages. I will bear it.”
“But … but what if you have his child?”
“There are ways to prevent that,” Lady Harriet answered brusquely. “Besides, what will it matter if she has a child? Its father will be dead. There will be no need for an annulment and the child can be gotten rid of—sent away,” she amended with an offhanded shrug. “But enough of this debate. There is much we must do if we are to succeed.”
Without admitting Linnea’s idea was a good one, or that her son’s plan for restoring Maidenstone to their family was sound, Lady Harriet took over the planning of their deception. No one else was to know—save perhaps Norma and Ida. Linnea was to assume Beatrix’s role in everything, while Beatrix was to disappear. They would dress Beatrix as a serving girl, covering her bright hair and dirtying her lovely face. They would employ Father Martin to help remove her from the castle, perhaps to Romsey Abbey on the road to Winchester.
“Father Martin will not believe that you wish to spirit Linnea away from here,” Linnea pointed out. Though it was strange to think of herself in the third person, it seemed the only logical thing to do. She must become Beatrix now, in what she said and how she behaved. She must be quiet and calm—demure, though it would be nearly impossible.
Lady Harriet stared at her, dislike still evident in her lined face. “Father Martin is of no moment. Leave him to me.”
So it was agreed. As they prepared for the coming confrontation with Axton de la Manse, Linnea immersed herself in the details of their plot. She would continue to nurse Maynard—as Beatrix. She would meet the new lord of Maidenstone as Lady Beatrix, his soon-to-be-bride. She would take her vows to him as Beatrix, and she would go to her marriage bed with Axton de la Manse as Beatrix.
She could take some pleasure from the rest of the deception, some satisfaction at deceiving her family’s vengeful enemy. But to lie with him as his wife … Linnea could feel her heart’s pace increase and her palms grow damp.
No matter how well she played the role of Beatrix, the fact was, the woman who went to his bed would be Linnea.
Only Linnea.
 
T
here was no dinner in the hall the first night, at least not for the de Valcourts and their personal retainers. They kept to their chambers—or rather, they were locked in the two chambers on the top floor of the keep. Sir Edgar, Sir John, and her father’s manservant, Kelvin, occupied the west chamber. Lady Harriet, Norma, Ida, Linnea, and Beatrix crowded into the other chamber. Beatrix had been well disguised as one of Lady Harriet’s personal maids. Sir Reynold, de la Manse’s captain of the guard, had not questioned them at all about her. He’d simply had the rooms searched for weapons, assigned a pair of guards to the top of the stairs, and left. Bread, ale, and a vegetable soup had been provided for them. Then they’d been forgotten.
Below stairs the conquerors celebrated. Linnea could hear the drunken shouts, the raucous laughter. From the window she could see the spillover into the bailey. The villagers had gladly fled back to their homes, and now a veritable army camped in the bailey.
How did the castle folk fare? Linnea wondered. She’d heard tales of war all her life, how the victors robbed and raped whomsoever crossed their paths. Was that happening down there somewhere beyond her view? Was Hilda from the dairy being raped this very minute? Or Mary and Anna, the alewife’s budding young daughters?
She squinted hard into the darkened yard lit here and there with a torch or lantern. But though she searched for signs of violence and mayhem, she saw only soldiers. Drinking; telling tall tales of their exploits; relieving themselves in the shadows; and, as the evening progressed, vomiting in their hastily prepared beds. But she saw no rape and only a scuffle or two among the men themselves.
When she finally slept lying in the window enclosure with her head pillowed on her arms, dawn was already approaching. And when the first streaks of mauve-gold light fell across her face, she came instantly awake and recalled at once everything that had happened the previous day.
So did Lady Harriet, it appeared, for she was already up as well, sitting in a plain oak chair, staring out at nothing. Plotting, no doubt.
“Guard!” she called out, startling Linnea and jerking the others into an uneasy wakefulness. “Guard!”
A bleary-eyed young giant and an older grizzled fellow burst into the room. “What? What is it?”
“’Tis my wish to see my grandson. I would tend his wounds and pray over him. See you obtain an escort for me.”
The older guard scowled at her. “Sir Axton said ye are to stay put.”
“And verily I say that I have much to do this day. Say me this. Does he order his men to practice their superior fighting skills upon old women? Do you slay a one such as me should she choose to visit her dying grandchild?”
Linnea blinked and stared at her grandmother. Her voice still rang with authority, but she also managed to look older than ever—and completely harmless, despite her sarcasm. The guard muttered a moment to his compatriot. Then the younger man left and the remaining guard said, “If milord Axton says you may go, you may go. Otherwise you stay here.”
The young man was back in less than a minute. That must mean Axton de la Manse was nearby—probably ensconced in the lord’s chamber, immediately below this one. Linnea stared down at the well-worn floorboards. Such a very short distance away, sleeping in the bed she must soon share with him.
She swallowed hard and began nervously to finger comb her tangled hair. It had been
her
idea to marry him, she told herself. It was no more than most women put up with anyway: marriage to a man not of her own choosing, with no right to say no, no power to change her fate.
At least she had chosen to marry him, if this could be termed choosing. Still, that thought brought her no comfort at all.
“He says you may go. I’m to take you meself.”
Lady Harriet nodded like a gracious, though feeble, matriarch. “Come, Beatrix. Come, Norma and Ida … and Dorcas,” she said, using the name they’d given to the real Beatrix. “You too shall attend us.”
“Now hold a minute! You just said you,” the guard protested. “You didn’t say nothin’ about
five
of you!”
Lady Harriet fixed him with a benign smile. “The Lady Beatrix is healer here. You see in me merely an old woman who would pray over her grandchild. As for the others, had you been raised in a better household, you would know that a lady does not travel without several servants or retainers, even within her own household. Norma, Ida, and Dorcas we take to attend us.”
The fellow scratched his head a moment and frowned. “I dunno.”
“Well, then, why not send down to your master. Again,” Linnea threw in, hoping her voice did not carry too strong a note of hauteur, and hoping also that the man would not want to disturb his liege from his bed another time.
“I dunno,” the older man muttered once more. “What d’you think, Fergie?”
The younger man’s brows raised high. “If you want to ask him,
you’ll
have to do it.
I’ll
not be the one aknockin’ on his door again.”
Linnea stifled a smile. Even Lady Harriet seemed marginally pleased when the two men conferred a moment, then waved them forward.
“’Tis my wish to have the priest join with us as well,” Lady Harriet informed the much aggravated guard as they followed him single file down the two curving flights of stairs. “Have a boy fetch Father Martin. Most likely will he be in his quarters next the chapel at this hour, preparing for morning mass.”
There was no conversation after that, only a few indecipherable mutters from the unshaven fellow, and the soft pad of their leather-soled feet on the cold stone steps. Lady Harriet led the way with the real Beatrix close on her heels. Then came Ida, with Linnea and Norma behind. When they passed the second floor, the others hurried by. Not one of them, even Lady Harriet, wished an encounter with Axton de la Manse. Only Linnea paused, just long enough to peek beyond the dim antechamber toward the solid door that gave the lord’s chamber privacy.
He was in there, whether alone or with some poor woman unlucky enough to catch his eye, she could not say. Soon enough, however,
she
would be the unlucky woman—
“Move along, Linnea—I mean Lady Beatrix,” Norma swiftly corrected herself.
Linnea did not need to be told twice. But before they could begin the descent to the main floor, the door to the lord’s chamber flung wide, and her demon bridegroom emerged.
He was buckling on a wide leather girdle over a red knee-length tunic, so he did not at first see them. When Norma nudged Linnea, however, and they both hurried to catch the others, he looked up sharply.
That was all the glimpse Linnea had of him before the solid walls mercifully blocked her view. But as they flew down the steep steps, then weaved carefully through the throng of soldiers sleeping off the night’s excess in the hall and hurried to the barracks, that one brief glimpse of Axton de la Manse stayed fixed in Linnea’s mind.
Yesterday when she’d first laid eyes on him, he’d been weary and dirty, his cropped hair sweaty and plastered to his skull, his expression triumphant yet nonetheless grim. This morning, however, he was clean and refreshed. His night-dark hair had glinted in the erratic light of the wall-mounted torches. His eyes had been clear and bright.
He was a reasonably handsome man, she grudgingly admitted. Comely in the hard way some men were wont to be. But he possessed a hardness beyond that even of Maynard. It had sent a shiver of awareness through her that yet lingered in the pit of her stomach. For he had looked precisely as he proclaimed himself to be: Lord of Maidenstone.
And he’d looked at her, in that fleeting exchange, with the confidence of a man who ruled all he saw. Including her.
Especially her.
As if he’d seen beyond her wrinkled gown and inadequate ablutions, he’d marked her with those ice-cold eyes as his. God help her, but before this day was done it would be so!
Her limbs were awkward with fear as she scuttled along the dim barracks corridor behind Lady Harriet. What if he had confronted her then? What if he had addressed her as Beatrix, the woman he meant to wed? With only that one piercing glance he’d left her petrified. What if she had collapsed in fear and admitted the truth?
Linnea paused outside the curtained off area that served as Maynard’s sickroom.
You must collect your wits
, she told herself.
You make more of him than he is. After all, he is only a mortal man.
And she was the only chance her family had to hold onto its home. The only chance Beatrix had to keep her safe from that giant of a knight who would use her to guarantee his position at Maidenstone. She, Linnea, the reviled second twin, had been given this opportunity. She was the sole hope of her people now, and she could not let something as paltry as fear sway her in her mission!
“Beatrix. What gains you this delay? Your ailing brother awaits.”
Linnea was slow to respond to her grandmother’s sharp words, for her thoughts were so tangled up in her fear. When Beatrix—that is, Dorcas—tugged at her sleeve, however, she realized with a start that her grandmother was calling to
her
, the new Beatrix. The Beatrix who must learn to respond faster when addressed by that name.
“Yes, Grandmother. I am here.”
“He lies insensible still. What gave you him that he lies the night through in such a stupor?”
Linnea bent over her brother. Maynard’s eyes were closed, one of them swollen and dark with ugly bruises. As she removed the compress from his head, she could feel the heat that consumed him. “I’ll need water—several buckets—to bathe and cool his body.” As if awaiting any excuse to be away from such depressing surroundings, the squire Frayne, who’d stayed the whole night at his liege lord’s side, jumped from his place in the corner to do her bidding. Linnea began then to check Maynard’s wounded side, but before she could do much, her grandmother’s hand clamped down on her shoulder like a bony claw. “Will he live?”
Linnea looked up from her crouched position next to Maynard. “I hope so,” she said, not nearly as sure as she’d been yesterday. “But he will need our prayers,” she admitted.
It was not the answer the old woman sought, but the timely entrance of Father Martin diverted her attention from Linnea.
Linnea instructed Norma to begin bathing Maynard, exposing only one limb at a time, while she checked his mutilated arm. But she listened as Lady Harriet dealt with the parish priest.
“We are in sore need of your intercession, good Father,” she began. “After you pray over our beloved Maynard, I would have you pray with me in the chapel. Overrun we may be with heathens, but still will I hear my daily mass.”
Father Martin stared at her a long moment. It was clear he sensed some undercurrent in their exchange, but just as clear that he couldn’t determine what it meant. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if he chose his words with care. He was just as unwilling to cross the Lady Harriet as anyone else at Maidenstone.
“As you wish, milady. But … but if I might make a suggestion. Though you do not value her skills as a healer, Linnea might be better—”
“Yes, but she is not here, is she?” Lady Harriet cut him off. She had placed her hand on the priest’s arm, and now she tightened her grip. “Say your prayers anon, then will I accompany you to the chapel. Dorcas, attend me.”
He opened his mouth as if to question her, then abruptly closed it. The guard who’d accompanied them from the keep stood just beyond him, along with two others wearing the red and black of de la Manse. With a carefully blank expression, the priest moved up beside Maynard and placed his hand on the unconscious man’s head.
“In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Santi …”
While Maidenstone’s longtime priest prayed over the castle’s fallen son, Linnea concentrated on the task at hand. But even as she worked, drawing some comfort from the familiar, droning prayer, she chanced a sidelong glance around the small, ill-lit space. Aside from her and Norma, the others in their party had all bowed their heads in prayer, even Frayne. But the soldiers only watched, the three of them staring unblinkingly at her.
Because they think I am Beatrix. Because they know their lord will soon marry me—and bed me.
Her eyes turned in renewed panic toward her sister. Then an even crueler reality struck her. This was the last time she would see her for only God knew how long. Beatrix, whom she’d never been separated from before. Beatrix, who was her sole support, the only person who had ever truly cared for her.
As Father Martin ended his prayer and all the bowed heads raised, an even worse sort of panic seized her.
Don’t go!
she wanted to cry.
Please, Beatrix, don’t leave me!
As if she heard her sister’s silent plea, the expression on Beatrix’s dirty face mirrored Linnea’s. They were being torn apart and they’d have no chance to say a proper goodbye.

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