Joust of Hearts (2 page)

“Have I revealed that it has come to me of late, the tale of William, the blacksmith’s son?”

“Maggie, you are some kind of friend who would keep such tasty bits from me! What have you heard?”

Melisande shifted upon her embroidery stool and stabbed her needle into the little handkerchief she was working on. Even to this day, it infuriated her when she thought about her parents and what they’d done. Without blinking an eye, they had bartered away their only daughter of ten and six years to the elderly Sir Liam Dupree. She had not even blanched when she found out that Sir Liam’s age went well beyond her own father’s. After all, she had been prepared all her life to marry into land and wealth—for that, she was told, was the making of a good match.

“You are familiar with William—and he is handsome to be sure. But when a diligent farmer’s daughter sought his company, and beautiful I hear she was, he shunned her.”

“Nay!”

“Aye. He promptly took up with some strumpet, who, from what has been told to me, wasn’t at all pleasing to look upon, but would agree to a toss in the hay as quick as you please.”

“I’ve heard of this poxy wench, before. S’wounds, my ears hear but my heart, it seems, wishes to deny!”

“Indeed.” Maggie nodded. “The man must have no control over his cock whatsoever to be planting seeds in such odious territory, when instead he could have had such a prize.”

As Maggie and Tilly chatted between themselves, she paused in pulling her thread through her embroidery hoop when she recalled how eager her parents had seemed to be rid of her. Pinching the needle between her fingers, she pushed it through the fabric once again and a soft growl emitted from her throat.

She caught Maggie’s and Tilly’s concerned expressions via a single glance their way, but Melisande refused to feel shame for displaying her emotions so.

“So, after the light skirt ran off with someone else who’d struck her fickle fancy, William set off to find the farmer’s daughter and try to rekindle her ardor.”

“And?”

“All for naught, I’m afraid. ’Twas too late. He’d already broken the farmer’s daughter’s heart and she would have none of him, nor his apology.”

“Serves him right that he shouldn’t get the beautiful, well-to-do, smart girl, but have to settle for a lonely bed. I abhor men who think they can sample every girl in the shire, only to decide later on which to take to wife.”

“Leaves every last one of us dismayed.”

Melisande shook her head.
What’s done is done—to all of us, I suppose
.
And we have naught to say about it.
The
fact of the matter was that Sir Liam had paid for her hand instead of requiring a dowry. Sold, to the lecherous, violent Sir Liam—by her own parents. That had served to sour her taste for
ever
seeing her relations again. Shaking off the familiar feelings of pain and guilt, she continued with her task.

“I can no longer abide the cold, wet kisses of Harold, now that I heard tell that he coupled with that same harlot whom William took up with,” Maggie complained.

Tilly agreed. “Aye, and the trouble with Frederick is that he wants to give his kisses to every girl he comes across, just like the rest of them. He said as much, too, the rogue.”

“’Twould be heaven itself to find the one man who wanted only me.”

Clearing her throat, Melisande attempted to quiet her maids, so she could think.

One of Melisande’s original excuses for not attending the Bergavnys’ festivities was that she hadn’t a thing to wear. The loquacious pair, who were each less than two years younger than Melisande, had persuaded her to take the journey by working day and night on four beautiful new robes for their lady. She had known, however, that the encouragement was not without ulterior motives. It was as if every season was spring and her maids were rabbits.

Melisande sighed aloud.

“Is aught amiss, m’lady?” Tilly tipped her head, her brow wrinkled with concern.

“Nay. All is as it should be,” Melisande placated the girl. She knew her servants meant well, but at this moment, she’d like to be left to herself to struggle with her fears and wrestle with the ghosts of her past.

Attempting to bring her attention back to needle and thread, Melisande’s thoughts again wandered back to her late husband.

Although Liam had insisted that theirs was a love match, to Melisande it had been in actuality duty. Duty to her family, though they were thoroughly undeserving.

“…with
child
. Just think on it. No help from the culprit forthcoming!”

Tilly shook her head. “And she never heard from him again?”

“Nay, the arrant, black-souled knave.”

Again Melisande stabbed at her cloth, but this time she pricked her finger. A ruby drop formed and she quickly stuck the abused digit between her lips to remove the blood before it stained the fabric. Bloodshed from the toils of garment embellishment was, quite truthfully, the only variety she could abide.

Despite the hurt Melisande felt from having found out her parents had practically taken her to market like a cow from the barn, she had decided to be the best wife she could for the venerable Sir Liam. That should at least account for
something
in the Kingdom of Heaven.

“I know naught what the boys are about these days.”

“Does one give in or does one keep the secrets of her heart from them?”

“The dangers fall on both sides. Danger of loving and losing, or danger of never loving at all.”

“I wouldn’t mind loving so much if I didn’t lose my heart in the process.”

Melisande’s four short years of marriage had been spent listening to Sir Liam and his talk of the glory days from his past. He’d spoken of the battles fought, the dismembered bodies that lay rotting on the battlefields, the weapons, the strengths and weaknesses of every armorer in Christendom and their methods of forming and forging—it was his life’s blood, the way in which he had made his fortune.
Praise be to God the nightmares of death and violent battles abated not six months ago
.

By the time Sir Liam had realized that life had more to offer, a wife, children at his feet, family traditions to be made, it was nearly too late for the elderly knight.

She was brought out of her musings by a statement from one of the girls.

“…and she never did find her underskirt. Who knows where it ended up?”

“That girl couples with anything with a cock.”

The girls tittered together like a pair of nanny goats.

Disregarding the unladylike comment, Melisande sank back into her thoughts. Her wifely duties had been the most embarrassing part of the marriage. Nay, not discomforting for her, but for him. Although Liam had been very vocal about his attraction to her, Melisande had had to do quite a lot of coaxing for his member to join her in the once or twice a month marital rituals. His culmination had come…some of the time.

Melisande was secretly glad that she had not produced an heir for him, although the thought riddled her with guilt more oft than not. She knew that Liam had been a harsh and immovable man despite his age, and would have taught their sons how to fight and kill. Of course, honor would have been imparted, which would have been all well and good, but if it had come with the rest, Melisande would not have wanted any of it.

“M’lady, what say you to this?” Maggie enquired, holding up the beaded collar.

Melisande glanced up and immediately back down to her rosebud border. “Aye, Maggie, ’twill serve.”

“M’lady, we are still going on the journey, are we not?” Tilly asked timidly.

“I…” She paused, not sure how to respond, as she’d been back and forth with herself with the subject all day. “I’ve not yet come to a final decision.”

Maggie and Tilly exchanged looks.

Once again, Melisande overlooked their harmless insolence as she continued upon her mental path. In the year after her husband had passed on, she had vowed never to marry a fighting man like Liam again. She had wealth, and from what Liam had told her, her family was secure. Melisande supposed it was time to start living life. However, her prime stumbling block was that she did not know
how
to start living life—what to do, where to go from here. It was much simpler, not to mention more practical, to stay home and oversee the running of Dupree Castle.

The probability was high that at the Willowbrook games some of the Bergavnys’ guests would bring to conversation things she’d hoped to forget—such as the great age difference between her and Liam—and ask her how she was feeling now.

“I am nearly finished. Naught but the trim left.”

“I have that much as well, and soon we shall have our answer.”

Melisande paused in wonder at the extraordinary events of her past. After the funeral, she’d felt that the situation in which she’d found herself was yet another lesson from God, instructing her to depend upon Him. However, her faith was solid, she had spent many hours in prayer asking for direction. Then, right away, the daily routine at Dupree had taken over and her fears had diminished regarding her soul’s destination. As the months went by, she’d felt as though she had been delivered both spiritually and physically from marriage to Liam. She was head of her household and had the respect of everyone around her.

Regardless of her feelings, in every circumstance, when speaking with the servants or in the privacy of her chambers, Melisande did her very best to respect the memory of the great Sir Liam Dupree.

Here at home, Melisande had been alone with no one but the servants for company for what seemed like an entire lifetime. She felt comfortable with the way her life had turned out. With her attendance at the Willowbrook games, she would have to face the Bergavnys and, likely, her past.

With her kerchief now complete, she set it aside and joined Tilly and Maggie in the beading of a surcoat.

“Remember when Lord and Lady Bergavny came to visit?” Tilly enquired of Maggie.

“Aye. They broke in every bed in which they slept,” Maggie scoffed.

“That will be enough,” Melisande warned.

When Liam was alive, Melisande thought it probable that Lord and Lady Bergavny had tolerated her only out of consideration for their friend. However, on occasion, the couple would ask her to recite poetry or play a musical instrument for them while they visited Dupree.

Always the brightest part of her married life, Melisande had loved to perform for their guests as well as for Liam. Since she was a child, Melisande had relished the gift of memorization and very much enjoyed sharing her abilities before an audience, large or small. Her musical skills were unmatched, according to Liam. Why, she could pick up practically any instrument and play it proficiently. Then there was her speaking voice. That alone would have been a sufficient enough ability, for she could boom like thunder or tinkle like little bells. It was intense yet elegant, resonant yet feminine, and carried well to everyone in attendance. Liam had made certain to vocalize his opinion on the matter. She recalled how he’d always been sweetest to her after a presentation.

Tilly made a sudden shift that brought Melisande back to ponder the situation at hand. Not only was the Bergavnys’ summons an initial request to present her talents beyond the walls of Dupree, but it was also the first social invitation she had received since her husband’s death.

* * * *

That evening, when the last of the seed pearls were sewn into the fourth surcoat, Melisande made the announcement that they would in fact be attending the games at Willowbrook. She instructed the girls to pack the trunks with her new wardrobe and a few of her instruments, and have everything loaded onto two wagons for the journey.

After assisting Melisande into her nightshift, Maggie and Tilly walked serenely out of the chamber. Once they had shut her door, she heard them running down the hall, giggling like children. But what did she expect? They were in great need of fresh company and news from beyond Dupree’s walls.

Melisande lay awake in her bed, hoping she would feel differently about the Bergavnys’ event as time passed. This tossing about served to disturb her peaceful existence and stir up all kinds of memories she wished could have remained buried. Perhaps she would become excited about seeing people other than the inhabitants of Dupree Castle. Melisande sighed, doubting very much that anything would change her heart about the games at Willowbrook.

* * * *

Quietly, so as not to awaken the randy woman, for she would surely arouse him yet again for another tumble, Devin drew the hem of his doublet down over his hose-covered thighs and slipped from the room.

She’d been adventurous, to say the least, but had he stayed until the dawn, it might have been his undoing.

He’d ridden hard the day before on his way back to Willowbrook and had made it nearly all the way. But he’d found himself drawn in by the come-hither smile of a noble woman who just happened to be stopping at an inn situated near a public drinking well at the last major crossroad before home.

Then he’d ridden her hard for most of the night.

In reflection of the situation, he grinned. His tastes had become much more refined of late. The higher up in social status he reached for his pleasures, the more creative he’d had to be to entice the women to join him in bed. Not that it was difficult, but a wealthy woman required more than a rakish smile and show of strength. Well, most of them, anyway. Of course, not the one from last night.

He hadn’t enquired, but he was certain she was a few years older than he. It was no secret that a mature woman’s body was capable of unparalleled heights in bed, and she was no exception. In addition her generosity, coupled with her eagerness for him, had set him at ease and made coupling with her quite pleasurable. She’d offered to pay not only for the best room the innkeeper had, but for his meals and two casks each of wine and beer, too—far more than even he could consume. And he’d been known to outstrip bigger men than himself in drinking games, even, on occasion, one after another.

If his confession was sought by a priest, he’d be obliged to admit to the man of God, after the admission of his sins, of course, that with every passing year, a night spent in revelry took longer to recover from the next day.