Lady of Fire (27 page)

"Roger…" Richard studied his son. "Does she not realize that in our class strangers wed? It is a matter of policy."

"I think she could accept it better if we were strangers."

"So long as she is neither wed nor given to Christ, Robert can lay claim to her. Her best chance is in marriage to a strong lord. If you have no stomach for it, I can approach Chester—his heir fostered with me and serves me yet. The boy is but twenty, but his father is powerful and has Rufus' ear."

"Nay! God's teeth! I did not bring her out of Normandy to give her to another man or to God."

"I thought not when you were doing the telling."

"She won't have me."

"Aye—she will."

"I will not have her unwilling." Roger stood and walked to the window to watch the dawn break over the horizon. "In my dreams, she comes to me with love—I could not have it otherwise."

"A man's dreams rarely turn into reality, Roger," the earl told him as he rose to stretch his long frame. "If you would indeed have her safe from Robert of Belesme, marriage is the only answer, and if you want her to wive, take her now and woo her later." His eyes swept over Roger and his face broke into a grin. "You look like a strong, healthy man capable of pleasing a maid once she is bound to you."

"I would not force her!"

"I cannot believe you would have to—she would seem to have some affection for you, from what she said to me." The earl stood, flexing tired muscles, and came to face his son. "Is she yet a virgin?"

"Aye."

"Then it is important to have witnesses to that fact."

"I won't have her humiliated! Nay—none shall look on her!"

" 'Twas not my meaning, Roger. I would counsel you that several must be ready to attest she came a virgin to you—to witness the evidence of her maidenhead when the sheets are removed from the bed."

"She is convent-bred, my lord, and ignorant of such things."

"And I have no lady suitable to speak with her. Surely she has seen animals—"

"It is not the same."

"Jesu! Well, she will survive, anyway. The sooner 'tis done, the better, if we are to face Belesme when he comes for her."

"You will stand with me then?"

" 'Tis time someone stood against him, Roger. As soon as the Demoiselle is settled, I go to Abbeville to see your mother and plead my own case." An ironic smile twisted Richard's mouth. "What I would not give to tell Gilbert that his daughter has gone to my son."

The sun rose and waxed high in the sky and Richard de Brione sat alone in his chamber. Roger's revelations gave him too much food for thought to allow him the peace of sleep. The boy—nay, the man—was tall and strong and well-favored… and he was his son. A sigh of regret escaped him—regret that he could never know the joy of holding the boy when small, of watching him grow and strengthen, and of seeing him rise in men's favor. But those times were past and irretrievable. Richard frowned and tried to bring Glynis' image to his mind. Memories were faulty at best, but he could swear the boy had something of Glynis in his face. Mayhap it was the blondness of his hair or the straightness of his nose. Jesu, but the years had robbed them, Glynis, himself, and his son.

His son. The thought echoed in Richard's mind and filled him with pride. He had a son of his body, an heir to his lands—yea, a strong, fine son. And in need, that son had turned at last to him. The boy did not want for courage or daring, he mused. But then, one look at the girl could tell him why. They were well-matched, those two, and they deserved better than he and Glynis had had.

He could tell from the way Roger spoke of her that Eleanor of Nantes was everything to him. For the boy, life without her would be without meaning, and Richard understood. The joy and the pain of a love nearly eased by time but never forgotten flooded over him. Aye, he would stand by his son—and he would give him the Demoiselle. Well, there was no time like the present to make a move.

Richard de Brione nodded to himself. He would speak to the girl and make her understand. He stood, settled his shoulders back, and strode for the stairs. It was a long walk to what had once been his mother's solar, but it was something he had to do before he slept. He called out to a page that crossed in front of him, "Run tell the Demoiselle that I would speak with her!"

When he arrived, he found her waiting. She wore a simple robe of smooth blue sendal caught at the waist with a golden chain. Jesu, but it was not difficult to see why the boy wanted her—she was perfection in the flesh. She looked up with clear brown eyes before dropping to a deep curtsy at his feet.

"Nay, Lady Eleanor, do not kneel to me." He touched the soft crown of her hair awkwardly. "I do not expect it."

She rose gracefully and faced him. "You wished to see me?"

"Aye." He was no callow youth, but even at his age he found it difficult to look at her and speak. He cleared his throat and motioned her to a window bench. "I know why you are here, Demoiselle, and I would help you." He waited for her to sit and then took a place next to her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You have only three courses of action, child—you can marry, you can take the veil, or you can return to Belesme—and those are the only choices you have. I would advise you to take my Roger."

She did not look at him. Twisting the fabric of her skirt with her hands, she shook her head. "You do not understand, my lord."

"Aye—I fear I do. My son has risked everything for you—his lands, his life even—and it will all be for naught if you go back to Belesme. That leaves but the convent or marriage. You could have taken your vows long ago if that was your wish, and saved everyone much trouble, but you did not." The earl cocked his head to study her reaction to his words. "Roger would wed with you, and I think it the best way." When she made no answer, he added gently, "The boy loves you, Eleanor."

"For now." She nodded. "Aye, for now."

"And now may be the only time there is—take the advice of one who has lived with pain and sorrow for years. Death or separation can end anything at any time without warning."

"You do not understand—I can bring him nothing… and—and I may disappoint him."

"He is not without resources, Demoiselle."

"But I am accursed!" The words escaped before she could hold them back.

"Nay, I think not. Eleanor …" He reached out and stilled her twisting hands. "He has had little happiness, you know—give him this."

"But I am like to bring him none!"

"Why?" he asked bluntly.

"My mother bore no sons and my father's love turned to hate. What if it is the same with me?" She stared miserably at the floor as she confessed her deepest fear.

"That is in the hands of God alone, child. Do not let your parents' meanness deny you happiness. If you do not dare because you fear to fail, you rob yourself of the fullness of life. Where would England be if William had not dared?" He patted the hand he touched. "Besides, my son would have you at whatever cost."

"I know."

"And you owe him his chance for happiness—he has given all for you."

"I pray I do not cost him his life, my lord. Belesme hates him and will kill him if the opportunity arises."

"Whether you wed him or not," Richard reasoned. "Aye… well, think on it—the choice is yours, Eleanor." He rose to leave and found himself unbelievably tired. "My son has offered marriage—I ask you to consider his offer."

"Did he send you, my lord?"

"Nay, he sleeps. We spoke until long after the sun came up this morning." He managed a rueful smile. "I have missed much in these twenty-three years and I would give all I have to live them over. Do not let that be your lament one day."

She watched him leave with troubled heart. As a girl who prided herself for her honesty, she had to admit the truth of everything the earl had said. Aye, Roger wanted her, loved her—he'd said so. And he was a desirable husband in more ways than one. She'd seen the way the women at Rouen had watched him eagerly. Moreover, there was no denying that she loved him. It had been days since she'd admitted the truth to herself, but now she realized the bond they'd shared for years was more than the affection of a brother and sister. Aye, well she could remember her jealousy when he'd admitted his love for the unknown lady. And it gave her pleasure to know she'd been that lady. As for wanting him—she could not be in his presence without being acutely aware of him as a man now. At night, she knew no peace alone in her bed. Over and over again, she relived that afternoon spent in the stream and wondered what it would have been like if she had not stopped him. Even her memories left her weak with desire and hungry again for his touch.

There was much to love in him—qualities like strength of character, steadfastness in the face of danger, physical and emotional courage, and a genuine goodness of heart. Then too, there were things like the blue eyes that could darken with passion, warm with pleasure, and brighten with mischief—eyes that seemed to mirror his soul. She'd long thought the world did not hold a handsomer man. Jesu, but he was beautiful.

What if Earl Richard were right? What if the present might be all the time there was for them? Roger wanted her and loved her; she loved and wanted him. Were her fears sufficient reason to deny them a chance for happiness? She sat, she paced, she pondered. Finally she sought out Roger.

She was uncertain what she would say when she faced him—the debate raged in her mind every step she took. When she climbed the winding stairs and reached the doorway, she did not knock to warn him.

Finding him still abed, she pulled open the bed hangings and leaned over him to blurt out, "I am come to tell you I will wed with you if you still wish it."

Her words penetrated his consciousness and brought him awake with a start. "
What
?"

"I said I'd wed with you if you still wished it." Her hands were clenched at her side and her face betrayed her fright at her decision.

"Sweet Mary!" he breathed. "If I wish it—aye, above all things!" He sat up to look at her. The sheet fell away from his bare shoulders and chest. "Jesu! Am I dreaming, Lea?"

"Do you want me to shout it, Roger—twice I've said I would marry you—three times now."

"When?"

"Whenever you wish."

He reached out and clasped her hand. "Tomorrow, then. You find me unready for today." He felt her stiffen and looked up in surprise. "You said whenever I wished," he reminded her.

"So be it."

In spite of her sudden decision, Roger could tell that she was still afraid of something. He released her hand and spoke lightly. "You find me unprepared for company, love. Unless you would join me here, you'll have to let me get up and get dressed. I cannot converse properly if I am lying down and you are standing."

"Aye." She moved toward the door.

" 'Twas not my meaning, Lea. Turn your back and look at the window—or look at me again, if you wish, but do not flee."

"I wasn't fleeing." She wiped her damp palms against the folds of her skirt. "I have said what I came to say."

"Nay—there is more to it than that." He thrust his feet on the floor and stood while reaching for his knee-length tunic. Hastily shrugging it over his head, he moved between her and the door. "Now, Lea, we will talk."

She was pale as parchment, her hands were nervously working against her gown, and her eyes were huge in her pale face. She chewed her lip to fight against her rising fright. She'd said she'd wed, but she was by no means certain that it was right. What if her mother's curse were real? "I… I…" she began. "Oh, Roger—help me,
please
!"

"Help you what?" he asked gently as he moved closer. "What ails you? Of what are you afraid, Lea?"

"I don't know." With a sob, she threw herself into his arms. "It was so sensible, so right when I reasoned it out," she whispered against his shoulder. "Roger, tell me it is the right thing to do."

" 'Tis the right thing, I swear to you." He held her back a little to search her face. "Are you afraid of me, Lea? Look at me—I am Roger, the same Roger you have known all your life. I have held your hand and shared your sorrows these nearly twenty years. You cannot be afraid of me."

"N-nay, 'tis not that—'tis I fear for you."

"Because of Belesme? Because of Mary de Clare? Lea, share with me. I cannot fight that which I do not know, but together we can overcome anything."

"But Belesme—"

"Has wanted my head for seven years and more and he's not got it yet. Let me worry about Belesme." He let her burrow back into his shoulder and began rubbing her back to ease her tension. "And do not be comparing me to Gilbert, love, for we are not at all alike. I might have strangled Mary de Clare for her tongue, but I'd never have put her aside for the lack of a son. That is in the hands of God and none other," he told her flatly.

"You are sure—you won't feel differently later?"

"I swear. Lea, I love
you
and you only. If you come to me barren, I am content so long as you come to me." He could feel her relax a little and he pressed his advantage. "I took my oath to you long ago in the chapel at Nantes—I swore on a sacred relic to be your champion, your man until I die. That oath has precedence over any other oath I take to king, liege, or Church, Lea. Now I would pledge my love and my body to you in marriage, and I ask the same of you."

"Aye—but tomorrow? There's not even time to cry the banns, and we are unbetrothed even."

" 'Tis simple—the Church recognizes pledges made at its doors by consenting parties. The thing to remember is that, while there is no prescribed oath for such a marriage, each of us must say we come of our free will, name our spouse, and state we take each other in marriage."

"Surely that is not all."

"Aye—that is why it was so important that you not say anything to Belesme that he could take as a promise to wed."

"Nay, I said nothing to him."

"I know." He ruffled her soft hair and fought his growing awareness of her. "Would you like to hear what I would say? You may say what you wish." Before she could answer, he caught her hand in his and began, "I, Roger de Brione, take thee, Eleanor of Nantes, to wive, to have and to love in joy and in adversity from now to the end of my life, I so swear."