Knight's Honor (16 page)

"Surely not, madam," Elizabeth intervened. "He has said nothing to me of leaving Hereford, except, of course, to make a tour of my dower lands. It is true"—she laughed self-consciously—"that his lordship was so kind as to offer to allow me to stay behind because of the dreadful weather, but I could not allow that and I will attend him."

Another series of glances and smiles passed around the circle. Apparently Hereford had no intention of giving up his loose way of living and was already seeking to make his shackles as light as possible, while Lady Elizabeth seemed equally determined to watch her prize closely. Elizabeth recognized what they thought, but she did not object to blackening her husband's character or making herself ridiculous in a good cause. Lady Leah's hand closed imperceptibly on hers. Elizabeth cast her brilliant eyes around the watching group, daring any comment, but Leah leaned a little closer and spoke, her soft voice lowered but clear enough to carry well.

"I think Lady Hereford is right though. My lord has also been restless since Lord Hereford has come home, and I know messages have traveled to and fro from our keep to Hereford."

"I do not think," Elizabeth replied stiffly, "that these are matters we should discuss."

Leah opened wide the innocent eyes of seventeen. "Surely we are among friends here. Lord Radnor is not one who allows me to know too much of his business."

Elizabeth resisted a sudden impulse to laugh in spite of the seriousness of Lady Hereford's slip and the desperate effort she was making to cover it, for a woman more closely in her husband's counsel and looking less like she might be was impossible. Leah was party to every thought and plan in Lord Radnor's head and was not unlikely to have put some of the ideas there.

"But," Leah’s childish voice continued, while an expression of happy vacuity played over the innocently pretty face, "I listen, and it seems to me—"

"Lady Radnor, I think you should not discuss what you hear talked of among your menfolk," Elizabeth interjected sharply, playing the game.

"Let the child speak," Lady Warwick said. "What she says will go no further."

Elizabeth looked acutely uncomfortable, as was necessary if anyone was to believe what Leah said. She herself could not make idiotic statements, she was well known to be in her father's counsel if not in her husband's, but she could give weight to Leah's wild remarks by pretending reluctance to allow her to make them. She blessed Lady Warwick, who was her senior by many years and at least her equal in social position, for providing the necessary opening which she could not with courtesy oppose.

"Well, I think that Hereford and my lord intend to settle a few old scores," Leah said, looking smug.

"Old scores?" Lady Warwick was, by virtue of her husband's association, at peace with King Stephen, but she always had an eye to the main chance and kept both ears open.

"Yes.” Leah nodded decisively. “The Earl of Shrewsbury caused both of them a great deal of trouble some years ago, and I believe they intend to make him pay for it. They know the king is powerless to stop them; they are too big for him. Also Shrewsbury has fallen out of favor, and—"

"Leah," Elizabeth interrupted again, "I never showed you my wedding dress. Perhaps you had better come and see it now since you will have to help me dress tomorrow."

"I would love to," Leah cried, getting up at once.

"But, Lady Radnor," the Countess of Warwick tried to hold the young woman, "do you not think—"

"You must pardon me, madam," Leah replied with a light-minded giggle, "I have been teasing Elizabeth to show me her things all day and she has been too occupied. I cannot forego this pleasure. I will return straightaway." They escaped. Leah's voice and expression changed at once. "Elizabeth, you had better go and tell Hereford to stop his mother's tongue. Good Lord, how can a woman of that age say such things! I will tell Cain what is going forward and what we have done so that he can drop similar hints among the men, and then I will go back and see what other bad fish I can cast along the trail." Elizabeth nodded and began to turn away. "Elizabeth," Leah said, detaining her, but with averted eyes, "Roger looks horrid and you look unhappy. If I can help you in some way, I beg you will allow me that favor."

Elizabeth shook her head and murmured her thanks. The bed she had made, she would sleep in without complaint. She found Hereford without trouble in a group of gambling men.

"Roger, I must speak with you," She could see the muscles bunch in his jaw as the teeth set together.

"Just now?"

"Please."

"Very well. You must pardon me," he said to his companions, "if this lady speaks, I must obey." He followed her docilely into his own room but stopped a few feet past the door and spoke in a rigidly polite voice. "How may I serve you, madam?"

"You are not going to like what I have to say, but it is more important that you act upon it than like it."

"Elizabeth, if you have any sense, do not now tell me that we are making a mistake and you do not choose to have me. I will not argue with you, and I will marry you even, as I have said before, if I must drag you to the altar by the hair."

She bit her lip. "I am not that much a fool. This is something far different. Roger, your mother is telling a whole group of women that you have been talking mysteriously of great plans. Leah and I turned it so that it would seem that you plan to attack Shrewsbury, but if she begins to speak of your having met Gloucester—"

"Women!" Hereford groaned. "She loves me more than her life, she says, yet she will get me hanged. I wish she loved me less and thought a little more. Who was there?"

Pressing a hand to her lips, Elizabeth looked away. In a quieter way than Hereford, she was equally unstrung, and little things loomed as large as mountains. "I am sorry, Roger," she faltered, almost sobbing, "I have failed you in this. I know I should have paid attention, but I did not. I do not know. My stepmother was there, and Lady Warwick, and Lady Lancaster." She covered her face with her hands. "There were others, five or six, but I do not know. I was not thinking or listening. Your mother must have said other things too, because Lady Leah drew my attention. I am sorry, I was thinking of other things."

"So you might. Do not be so troubled about so little. I can do nothing now in any case. To call her away would but make her words of more note. Tomorrow I—I will see what I can do."

His voice slipped off into indefiniteness and Elizabeth spoke impulsively. "Go to bed, Roger. You are pale and cold as death." To that he made no reply, almost seeming not to have heard; she went and grasped his wrist as he started to return to the main hall. "Roger, you are asleep on your feet. Have some sense—go and lie down."

"It does no good," he answered dully after a slight pause. "I am so tormented—"

He stopped. There was no need to load his problems onto Elizabeth's shoulders; she had troubles enough of her own. Without meaning to, once again he hurt her for she took the remark as a deserved reproach to herself instead of a general comment. She flushed painfully; Elizabeth did not like to apologize but she knew she had been wrong to speak as she had and this was her first opportunity to try to redeem herself.

"If those words said in haste and shame hurt you, Roger, I am sorry. You know I often say things I should not. Nonetheless, it is your own fault," she added, quickly reverting to a more natural imperative tone, "I have tried all week to tell you this, and you would not listen. I swear," she cried, her voice rising, "if you have suffered you have deserved it for your stubbornness."

Hereford's face started to come alive then; he covered her hand, which still held his wrist, with his own. He would not for anything disabuse her of the notion that she was the single cause of his unhappiness although it was not completely true. One of the surest roads to a woman's love was that she should believe that the man loved her beyond anything else. Hereford had been greatly distressed by Elizabeth's reaction to his love-making, but he knew enough about women, when he was calm enough to consider the situation objectively, not to be hopeless of winning her or alarmed by the violence of her words.

He told himself that a greater immediate problem was his sexual frustration. He had not practiced so much continence since his first experience—at twelvewith a girl in the fields, and it did not agree with him. Elizabeth had virtually given her permission for him to take another woman, but he was not fool enough for that. He would not make her ridiculous in the eyes of her peers by taking a mistress to his bed while the guests were assembled for the wedding. Other men did so, perhaps, but even if Hereford had not loved Elizabeth he would not have done so because he was naturally kind. Nonetheless, his sense of righteousness made it no easier for him to sleep, and the sleeplessness gave him too much opportunity to think. The sense of futility that had been suppressed by active planning returned, and the physical fatigue of hunting instead of bringing him sleep only intensified his depression.

Women, however, were a central point in Hereford's orientation, and he could close the door on matters he knew to be more important temporarily while he attended to them. "As you say, I have well deserved it, but not for my stubbornness, Elizabeth, for my stupidity. Nay, I will not make myself worse than I am. I am so tired that it is no wonder I did not realize you had something special to say to me. Have I been coldly polite to you? Then we are even, for if you hurt me, I have surely done the same without meaning to."

Elizabeth made no direct reply, but she was pleased with Hereford's graceful acknowledgment of her apology. "I can see you are tired, the whole world can see it. You look dreadful. Even if you cannot sleep you could lie down and rest." She took his arm persuasively. "Come, let me see you lie down."

Hereford's smile illuminated his tired face. "Elizabeth, you delight me. For all your sharp words, you are going to spoil me worse even than my other womenfolk."

"Now you are flattering me so that I will forgive you for denying what I ask. Is it not so?"

"Yes." Hereford was still smiling. "I cannot—I was winning. The gentlemen will never forgive me for retiring suddenly with their gold in my purse."

"It is no matter for jest, Roger. In spite of what you say, I am not given to coddling my men, but you will make yourself ill."

"I am never ill."

"As you will."

Elizabeth might have urged him further. He was plainly willing to listen and to be cajoled, but she was ashamed of seeming tender and a little afraid because any prolonged private contact with Roger woke both his sensuality and hers. His eyes were already brighter.

"Kiss me, Elizabeth." It was as if he read her mind, however, for he spoke gently and added, "For courtesy's sake, to seal our mutual pardon. I will not touch you."

"I will sell you a kiss."

"Sell it! Holy martyrs, listen to her. Chester has brought me a changeling, a tradesman's daughter, worse, a usurer's." He was holding her hand tighter now, smiling with a more relaxed expression. "What is your price?"

Elizabeth colored; it was not easy for her to display the softer emotions that came so naturally to most women. She had buried them too deeply in her struggle for recognition as an individual and she was now awkward and ashamed.

"One kiss for one hour's rest, two for two, and if you will allow me to undress you so that you can go to bed I—I will give you whatever you ask for."

She was afraid; it was plain on her face, but she was more afraid for him. That near hysterical laughter still echoed in her ears. Hereford slowly closed his eyes and reopened them as slowly.

"Do you care so much?" His voice was unsteady. He was continually surprised at the violence of his reactions to anything Elizabeth said or did. He no sooner convinced himself that her influence was only slightly greater than that of any other woman when she would show another side of her character that threw him off balance again.

"That is a fine question," Elizabeth replied tartly. "Of course I care. A fine sight it would be if my bridegroom fell flat on his face on his wedding day. There is enough scandal about me without adding the fact that marriage to me is enough to fell a man." The tone and words could not hide the sentiment; Hereford's answering smile was as uncertain as his voice.

"I wish … What excuse can I offer for leaving?"

Swallowing nervously, Elizabeth moved closer. She had proposed a bargain and now it seemed must yield her surety. "Your face is your excuse. Everyone has been telling you to go to bed for hours. What excuse do you need? Come, let me remove your gown."

"No, dearest." Relief and chagrin mingled almost comically in her face. Hereford would have laughed had he not been so moved. He drew her close and held her gently against him, rubbing his face on her hair. "I will go to bed, since you desire it, but you shall not undress me. Therefore you need pay no forfeit. That was what you said—if I allowed you to undress me. You shall have your will of me and yet go scot free, but you must remember not to mock me for keeping the word of a promise and violating its spirit."

William Beauchamp shrugged his shoulders at Hereford's two junior squires. "Do you remember when we were envied because our master was the best-humored and most considerate of men? Do you know what has come to him this last week to make him walk about half the night?"

Patric glanced up briefly from running a thread of coarse wool through the links of Hereford's mail which looked now as if it were made of silver rather than steel. "I can guess. What need to lie abed if there is nothing to keep you warm in it?"

"Ay, so what is he doing there now when he should be up and preparing to fill that empty space? All week he kicks us out of bed before dawn when we need only throw any old rag over him and ourselves. This morning when it will take us hours to get everything just so—his chausses perfectly smooth, the tunic to show just so much at the neck, the gown to have only certain folds and no others—when he will feel his face ten times over for one hair missed in shaving and keep us an hour combing those silken locksthis morning he sleeps."