Courtly Love (24 page)

W
hen Gyles woke—none the worse for a night spent on the stone floor—Serena was already gone. He rushed through his dressing in the hope of catching his wife still at table, halting momentarily as his gaze rested on the ruined nightgown. Gyles's mouth compressed into a tight line; that had been a mistake on his part, for Serena was not a woman who would forsake her anger and replace it with passion. Serena—even in anger she stirred him more deeply than any other woman in the throes of love. The door swung closed behind him as Gyles quickened his pace toward the dining hall, the tentative words of an apology already forming in his mind.

But once seated with a trencher in front of him, Gyles learned his efforts had been in vain.

"Serena left some time ago," Bryan informed him. "And were I you, I wouldn't go near her until she cools off a bit. She fairly snapped my head off when I bid her good morrow." Bryan hid a grin as Gyles pushed his food away. "I have already been told by Serena to mind my own business, but where her welfare is concerned, I will not hold my tongue."

"I need no advice from you on how to deal with my wife," Gyles told him bluntly.

"Nevertheless, you will hear me out." Bryan's eyes were grim. "If I must force you at swordpoint. I have never pretended that I approved my father's choice of you, but when Serena told me she loved you . . . her happiness has always been uppermost in my mind. Suffice it to say I wished her well, for the look in her eyes softened my heart.

"Then yesterday Catherine came to me in tears. I have seen you once before—several years ago—at court, with the Lady Elspeth. You hold an uncommon disdain for women, which I find most offensive, especially when it is directed against my sister. If you are going to return to that Norman harlot, do it in a manner that will cause Serena to replace her love for you with hate. Ruin as many lives as you please, but not Serena's. She is not ignorant, and the way gossip flies about this place, 'twill not be long before she learns of Elspeth." Bryan leaned forward and trapped Gyles's gaze with his own. "At least have the decency to tell her yourself before Serena discovers this secret from another source. Let her know why people snicker behind her back."

Bryan's words found their target in Gyles's heart, yet he resented the younger man's interference. "Serena can defend herself."

"Before she loved you, perhaps, but not now. Her love has left her vulnerable as never before. And I swear that if you cause her to suffer, I will personally separate your head from your shoulders."

* * *

Henry's slim hands clamped around Serena's waist and he swung her easily from her saddle to the ground. One hand rode casually at the small of her back as he signaled one of the royal guards to open the door to the armorer's shop and then return to protect the mounts. The heat from the forge hit Serena like a physical blow, making it difficult for her to breathe and the sound of a hammer beating relentlessly against steel was deafening. Henry shouted something in her ear and Serena shook her head and tilted her head upward to look at him.

Henry bent closer and tried again. "There is a bench over there." Henry pointed to the far wall. "Wait for me while I find the master."

Serena lifted her gold velvet skirt and made her way toward the bench, casting a wary eye to the floor and often hopping to avoid the redhot pieces of steel that flew from the hammers of the apprentices. Serena settled herself on the rough oak and surveying her surroundings, several pairs of eyes watched her covertly. Nervously, she smoothed the skirt of her gown and reached up to unclasp her cloak and throw back the hood from her face. Henry was striding through the room, a helmet jammed on his head, and a plump little man and several assistants struggled along behind with the various parts of Henry's armor.

"Your opinion, fair lady?" Henry turned in a circle in front of her and struck a pose.

"I think, Your Highness"—Serena tapped her chin thoughtfully—"that you should at least carry a shield. Of course, you would still need to worry about a rear assault."

Henry flipped up the visor and grinned. "A little more respect for your prince, woman, or I'll have you stretched on the rack."

"Oh, nay, I beg your mercy, sweet prince." Serena wrung her hands in mock horror, then slanting a glance at Henry from the corner of her eye she added, "But you still must guard your rear."

Henry threw back his head and laughed, his trim frame shaking with mirth. "Serena, your beauty is surpassed only by your insolence. My good man!" Henry motioned to the armorer. "The lady is of the opinion I have need of more protection. Come, let us see what wonders your forge has wrought."

It required four men to strap the armor around Henry; two worked on the leather straps that held the breast-plate to the backplate, while the second pair concen-trated on fastening the cuisse, kneepiece, and greave on Henry's legs. The only pieces missing were the sollerets, and Henry made an incongruous picture as he clomped about in leather boots beneath his full armor. Serena covered her mouth with her hands and laughed softly into them. Henry gave her a look of feigned anger and started forward, but the joint at the right kneepiece had not been well oiled, and when it locked, Henry lost his balance and fell heavily upon the dirt floor, raising a cloud of dust that choked everyone in the vicinity.

Serena could restrain her hilarity no longer—prince or not—and laughed outright. The master and apprentices were appalled, not so much by the distress of a member of the royal family as by the fact that anyone dare laugh at the prince. It was no easy task to help a man in full armor regain his footing: The apprentices' first priority was to turn Henry from his stomach to his back. Once that was accomplished, Henry's appearance resembled a beached fish ever more strongly, and Serena laughed until her sides ached. The men struggled gallantly to haul the prince to his feet, but the weight of the armor was too great and eventually Henry gritted out: "Take the damned leg-pieces off! I have no intention of spending the day on this floor!"

The apprentices rapidly complied and soon Henry was standing before Serena, while the remainder of the armor was unfastened. Serena had lowered her head to study the lap of her gown and to give her time to wipe the smile that still played on her lips from her face. When Henry asked curtly if she was ready to depart, Serena was able to meet his gaze with a sober countenance.

Serena rose and drew her cloak over her shoulders. "May I have a moment, Your Highness?" At Henry's nod she turned to the master. "I should like to view your swords—only the lighter, dress ones, if you please."

The master nodded and Serena followed him into the room at the back of his shop. The master led her to a low counter whereon were displayed an amazing assortment of dress swords. Serena studied each one in turn until after a dozen or so had been rejected, she halted at one whose hilt was not so elaborately scrolled. Instead a solitary emerald winked up at Serena from the crosspiece of the hilt, and in her mind grew a picture of a pair of eyes of much the same color set within a strong, angular face. Ever the good merchant, the armorer took note of the shadow of emotion that passed over Serena's face, and pressed his advantage.

"A fine choice, m'lady. I forged this one myself, and spent a great deal of time in its making. Tis a bit heavier than most swords of this type, but 'tis well balanced."

Serena hefted the sword with both hands and made a few desultory thrusts at the air while Henry watched from the doorway.

"Very good." Serena presented the sword back to the master, hilt first. "Wrap it carefully and then we shall discuss the price of such a blade."

Coins exchanged owners and the sword was presented to Serena in its wrapping of soft leather. With a wistful smile, Henry stepped forward and relieved Serena of her package. Once outside, Henry lifted Serena into her saddle and guided her knee around the pommel. The package he gave to one of the guards with instructions for them both to return to the castle. Henry swung onto his horse, then turned to Serena.

"The rest of the day is yours to command, as I am. What is your desire?"

Serena looked after the guards. "Is it safe for you to be abroad without them?"

"I am the third son, of no importance to anyone save my mother." Henry smiled. "Do not distress yourself unduly. 'Tis Christmas Eve and we will not be about when the sun sets."

Serena nodded. "Your Highness, it seems I must apologize for my . . . unseemly behavior. I meant not to cause you embarrassment."

Henry leaned over and covered Serena's hands where they held the reins. "I was not embarrassed, Serena, and your behavior was not unseemly." A chuckle began in his throat. "I can now see the humor in the incident, albeit at the time I did not. Never fear my anger, Serena, for of those I have met at court, you are the only one who has treated me with any kind of honesty. I would value it most highly if I could count you as a friend."

Serena's eyes misted. " 'Tis I who am honored, Your Highness, for of all the court, save for Catherine, you are the only one who I do not fear."

"And your husband?" Henry's brown eyes were sympathetic.

"I fear him most of all," she replied softly. They were silent for a moment, and then Serena shook herself mentally. It would not be fair to burden Henry's day with her problems. "Now, good prince," Serena lifted her nose in a haughty gesture, "since you are mine to command, I bid you find a place where I may ease my hunger."

"Your slightest wish, fair lady."

Henry preceeded Serena through the crowded streets, glancing often over his shoulder to make sure they had not become separated. At last he stopped before a tavern where he guided her to a well-secluded table. Meat, bread, and a flagon of red wine were set in front of them and both greedily devoured the fare. Satisfied, Henry regarded her with soft, brown eyes.

"You puzzle me."

The statement was so unexpected that Serena nearly choked on her wine. "Do I indeed?" she retorted flippantly.

"Aye." Henry looked as if he might say more, but apparently changed his mind and pulled her to her feet and, after tossing a small purse at the innkeeper, out to the horses. "Would you prefer to ride or walk?"

"Walk, Your Highness."

Henry agreed, and one hand held the reins while the other kept a firm grip on Serena's arm. "You know a great deal about weapons. The sword is for your husband —in the way of an apology?"

Serena bristled. "I have nothing to apologize for, Your Highness. 'Tis Christmas, and I had no gift for him."

"Fair Serena, you needn't snap at me." Henry's lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "Tell me how you gained your knowledge of arms instead."

As they walked, Serena told Henry of her childhood at Broughton while in turn he regaled her with tales of Normandy. If any article in a booth caught Serena's eye, Henry insisted upon stopping and allowing her to view the displays at leisure; but at only one did Serena make a purchase. When she turned back to Henry she offered one of the two meat-filled pies she held.

" Tis not seemly," Henry began, "that you—"

"Do not offend me, Your Highness," Serena told Henry with a twinkle in her eye. "Besides, you are far too thin." Henry shrugged and bit into the pastry while Serena looked on.

"Too thin, eh?" Henry spoke around the meat.

"Yes, Your Highness. In fact, I think I shall rename you."

"Do you not think my parents will mind?"

Serena swallowed the last of her pie before answering. "I had not thought to have your new name legalized by the Church, but if you insist."

"Nay! At least tell me what name you have chosen," Henry teased. "Or is it too private to be said in the streets?"

Serena laughed softly. " Tis not all that private, but I doubt you would wish to be addressed in public as the Starving Prince."

Henry guffawed loudly, his slender shoulders shaking at Serena's humor. "You, who look as if you have yet to sit down to an entire meal, dare to call me thin? At the first strong wind you would blow away."

Serena gave him a secretive look. "That, I assure you, Your Highness, could never happen. But I am sure you have difficulty remaining astride your horse without benefit of armor," Serena challenged.

"Dear Serena, I shall prove you wrong. When we return to the castle, we shall stop at the tourney field and test our steeds."

"And our ability," Serena added.

Henry checked their progress, for the afternoon was waning and they had only a few more hours before they must make their way back to the castle. He lifted Serena onto her mount before swinging into his own saddle.

"Do you still wish to see Westminster Abbey?" Henry asked. " Tis not far."

* * *

Gyles paced restlessly from one corner of the chamber to another, pausing often to listen for the sound of a familiar footstep outside the door. The day had been sheer torture for Gyles, as it seemed word had spread that young Henry had taken a decided liking to a certain young Saxon woman and had offered his services as a guide to London. Gyles had fumed silently at the innuendos that had flown around the tables at the midday meal.

Where were they? What was so fascinating about London that Henry had not yet returned with Serena?

Gyles paced and fumed. It was folly to have allowed Serena to accompany Henry. Jealousy, bitter as bile, sprang to his mouth and coiled its malignant lengths about his mind.

Gyles halted his movement abruptly. Jealous? He? Preposterous! His mind cried out. Jealousy lives only where there is love and you do not love. The lass is your wife, 'tis all, and no other man, therefore, should gift her with his attention. Your wife! Your possession! No other's!

Why should Serena seek Henry's company? Prince though he be, what could Henry offer her that he, Gyles, could not? A position as his royal mistress? No, Serena would never agree to such an arrangement. His friendship? Possibly, but the look in Henry's eyes when he gazed on Serena held more than friendship.

Love? Gyles's mind caught and hung suspended on the word while his heart gave a sickening lurch. Was that what Henry offered that he could not? "I love you," Serena had told Gyles. "You are my life." But how long could a woman go on giving when she received nothing in return? Pain, swift and unrelenting, tore through Gyles's breast and he drove a clenched fist against the mantle. I do not love her! Love is for children and idiots. I learned that lesson long ago and it has oft been proven true in my life. I do not love! Gyles's mind raged. Fool! A small voice somewhere within him whispered. Will you deny Serena then? Will you set her from you—allow her to become Henry's mistress? Or Richard's? Will you petition for an annulment so she is free to marry whom she wishes?

"Nay!" Gyles's voice echoed in the room. "The lass is mine and no other shall possess her. Ever!"