To Defy a King (17 page)

'You are talking of the father, not the son,' Ranulf replied. 'It doesn't always follow. Old King Henry had four grown sons and they all defied him.' He reached for the ale jug. 'I am just saying you should look to your security the way a good shepherd tends his flock against wolves.'

When Hugh arrived at Framlingham, Mahelt came flying out to greet him.

Watching her in vibrant motion, Hugh's heart constricted. How in God's name was he going to tame her without breaking her spirit?

As he dismounted, she hesitated and then hastened forward again and bestowed him a proper curtsey. Her cheeks were deep pink, which might be the result of her dash, although knowing what he knew, he suspected the cause was emotional - and that her speed was probably caused by her desire to reach him before anyone else did.

He raised her to her feet, kissed her cheek rather than her lips, and then pulled back, still holding her hands, and gave her a grave look. 'My father wrote to me,' he said. 'Mahelt, what have you done?'

She raised her chin. 'Nothing I am ashamed of. Your father doesn't underst--'

Hugh held up a warning hand as he saw his father approaching them at a brisk stride. 'Sire,' he said, and bowed.

Mahelt curtseyed stiffly and compressed her lips.

The Earl's grey stare flicked between them. 'A word, my son.' He dismissed Mahelt with a brief nod that said she might run faster and be first to the greeting, but he had the ultimate power and she should learn that lesson.

Mahelt had no option but to curtsey again and retire to the women's chamber. Her shoulder blades burned as she felt the speculative stares of the hunting party on her as she walked. She put her head in the air and pretended not to see them.

'Good hunting?' Roger asked curtly as the servant closed the door to his chamber, leaving him and Hugh alone.

'Yes, sire. I spoke to the foresters about making that new coney warren.'

'Perhaps it would be better to set your house in order at home before you go ordering dwellings for coneys.'

Hugh's chest expanded with indignation. 'You said it was a good idea for me to go. You raised no objections!'

The Earl gave him a narrow look. 'That was before your wife absconded in the middle of the night to indulge in treasonable activities with her brother.

Your
wife, Hugh, not mine! She is your responsibility and quite obviously you are not teaching the girl hers!'

'Sire, that is not tr--'

'What do you mean by allowing her to run wild?' His father drew himself up. 'What do you mean by giving her such freedom? She is a hoyden and a disgrace to the name of Bigod!'

Hugh's gut tightened. His father seldom boiled over, but when he did, his rages were concentrated and powerful. Hearing his tirade against Mahelt filled Hugh with consternation. He loved his young wife for her energy, her forthright ways, the funny things she said, but he could understand his father's fury.

'She is still very young, sire,' he said. 'She probably didn't realise the harm it would cause.'

'She is swiftly becoming a woman to judge from the way you have recently been treating her,' his father snapped. 'You say one thing about her and you do the other. That girl needs keeping in her rightful niche and it is not the one she is carving for herself with your blind yeasay! She must be moulded to fit and, as her husband, it is your task to do so.' He stabbed a forefinger in emphasis. 'She must not be allowed outlets for this sort of behaviour in our household.'

'I agree,' Hugh said, but his father was in full flow, determined to have his say.

'Remember that this is indeed
our
household,
not
the Marshal one. I will not be a sub-house for that family and I will not have them dictating what we do.

That girl is but a pawn in their game.'

'I don't--'

'And if they think so little of her as to put her in so much danger, then beware, because they will think little of her husband too - and of us, mark my words.' He finished speaking and stood before Hugh, his chest heaving, sweat on his brow, and the room scarcely big enough to contain his ire.

Hugh hadn't seen his father this riled since the time when he, as a youth, had dropped a large stone in the cogs of a mill's machinery to see what would happen and completely ruined the workings.

Hugh poured wine for both of them and then went to sit before the hearth, giving himself an opportunity to reflect and his father a chance to calm down. He didn't think his sire was right about the Marshals' attitude towards their daughter, and besides, it was her brother who had involved her in the first place, but he did agree on the main issues. However, he had Mahelt to consider too, and he didn't know how he was going to put her in a niche.

She was like a cloud: changeable of mood, impossible to grasp, often stunningly beautiful but quite capable of wreaking havoc.

If he used physical discipline on her, he sensed it would only turn her against him and make her more wilful yet. He had been raised in a household where correction was generally meted without fist or whip. In boyhood he could only remember receiving a serious thrashing once - for endangering his little brother by using him as a tourney target. His father had whipped him before the entire household. But he couldn't do that to Mahelt and a strict lecture would just be water off a duck's back. It boiled down to harnessing all that vibrant energy she possessed and guiding it in positive directions.

He suspected the way to lead Mahelt was by appealing to her loyalty and her love. Those qualities had been fostered in her since birth, but for her blood family alone. To win her, he would have to find a way to change her focus.

He didn't want to lose her. She was the humour and spark in his life and he felt protective of her too.

His father had remained standing. Although his shoulders had ceased to heave and his colour was more natural, his expression still said he intended to have this out to its conclusion.

'Sire, I am sorry,' Hugh said. 'I realise I have been remiss and perhaps too indulgent with her, but I am in a difficult situation - with respect, one you never had to face.'

His father raised his brows.

'When you married my mother she was already a woman grown and the mother of a child. But how do you deal with a girl to whom you have a right, yet no right at all? How do you care for her when she is not your daughter but not yet your wife? When you do not know from one moment to the next if she is a child, or a woman?'

His father inhaled with a closed mouth and his nostrils flared. 'I do not know, but you must make haste and find a way because I will have no more of this in my household. Curb her.'

'Sire, I will, but give me a little time to ponder the matter.' Finishing his wine, Hugh stood up.

His father grunted and raised a forefinger in warning. 'Do so swiftly,' he growled. 'Because if you do not, I will.'

Seated at the high table in the hall that night, Mahelt had never felt more miserable and upset. She knew whatever Hugh's father had said to him about her must have been damning. Since emerging from his father's chamber looking grim, Hugh had barely spoken a word to her and paid her even less attention, something she found intolerable - and frightening. She needed him to notice her; she needed him to take her part; but it was clear he believed his father's version of events.

The meal was a formal affair and Hugh sat beside his mother and served her trencher while Mahelt was forced to share with the Earl. The tender beef in sauce stuck in her throat. Hugh's father behaved towards her with impeccable, glacial courtesy and Mahelt responded in the same wise that she ate - forcing herself and with meagre result. Her own family would never treat her like this. Even the Earl's other sons were distant with her and barely spoke, their eyes filled with wariness and disapproval.

Following the meal there was dancing and singing. Normally Mahelt loved such entertainment, especially when Hugh was home. It was an excuse to touch, to laugh, to be in motion. But tonight Hugh was formal and remote.

He only danced with her once and he was distant, although she was aware of him eyeing her in a thoughtful, speculative way.

Eventually, unable to bear the atmosphere, Mahelt begged leave to retire to her chamber, where at least she could have a cry and be miserable behind the privacy of her bed curtains. The Earl granted her the mercy with a gesture of his hand.

'Sire, I shall escort my wife to her chamber.' Hugh rose and bowed to his father, who gave him an eloquent look and inclined his head.

Hope surged through Mahelt as she left the hall with Hugh. Now that they were out of his father's presence, it would be different, she thought. She could tell him what had really happened, and win his support. However, as they walked across the courtyard and started up the steps to her chamber, he spoke first.

'You must be careful not to go too far afield from your quarters tonight.' He gestured towards the soldier pacing the ward with a mastiff held on a short leash. 'As you can see, the guard has been tightened and everyone is being very vigilant.'

His voice held neither warmth nor humour and Mahelt's wretchedness increased. There was wine on his breath and his enunciation, although not slurred, was careful. She stamped her foot and turned on the stair, tears stinging her eyes. 'I will not be treated in this way!'

He advanced two more steps so that he was immediately beneath her but almost on a level because of his greater height. 'Unfortunately you will until you learn what proper behaviour is in this household. Don't you realise the upset you have caused by your foolishness?'

Mahelt was stunned. 'You do not know what proper behaviour is in this household!' she lashed out from the depth of her misery. 'It would take a Marshal to teach you right from wrong.'

There was a moment's silence, then Hugh said with quiet scorn, 'Pity then that you are a Bigod, my lady wife.'

Mahelt gasped and raised her hand to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist and held it high and to one side. She struggled, but his grip was a soldier's, strong and sure. He pushed her against the wall and she felt his body against the length of hers. Dear God in heaven, dear God! He put the index finger of his other hand to the tip of her nose. 'Be very careful whom you provoke, my lady, for who knows what the consequences may be,' he said on a hoarse whisper. Taking away his finger, he kissed her on the mouth, parting her lips, running his tongue around them, while their bodies fitted together as a perfect match at breast and thigh and groin. All the blood of her anger raced to her pelvis. She was quivering, melting; her knees were buckling. When he pulled away, she had to grip the wall for support.

'We'll talk more about this in the morning when I am sober and we have both had time to think,' he said. 'And then we will decide where we go from here. For now, I bid you goodnight, and tell you to bolt your door for your own good.'

Mahelt gave a sobbing intake of breath and pelted up the rest of the stairs.

Once inside her chamber, she did indeed bolt the door, and then leaned against it, panting like a hunted deer that has reached a hidden cave just ahead of the hounds.

Gradually, she became aware of Edeva standing near the turned-down bed.

The maid's eyes were lowered and she was trembling almost as much as her mistress. Mahelt's anger came surging back. She thought of Hugh saying that she was going to be watched. Mayhap so, but not by this woman. 'Get out!' she spat. 'I don't want you here!'

Edeva bit her lip. 'My lady, I was only doing my duty.'

'Not to me you weren't. Go, I don't want to set eyes on you again!'

The maid gave her a reproachful look but sidled towards the door. Mahelt unbarred it and stood aside to give her room to make her exit, suppressing the urge to give her a shove, and then shot the bolt once more with an almighty slam. She leaned her head against the cold stone wall and allowed herself to cry, her sobs wrenching up from deep inside her. She wanted her old life back where she was the cherished daughter and everyone loved her.

Here she was viewed as a junior member of the household and a nuisance, although they were keen to have the wealth and prestige she brought to their family. Oh yes, they wanted that. Her body still tingled from Hugh's kiss. A dull ache suffused her pelvis and she felt restless and frustrated. If she could she would have run out to the stables, saddled a horse and galloped for miles and miles. But she couldn't. It wasn't allowed. Indeed, she wondered if she would ever be able to gallop again.

In the early morning, Mahelt walked among the trees in the orchard, her gown trailing in the wet grass and the hem growing dark. Edeva had not returned and she had had to dress herself and drink the dregs of the stale wine from the jug left in her chamber. No fresh water for washing had been brought and no food. She was still being punished, but she refused to come to heel like a cowed dog. Rather than go to the hall to break her fast and make an appearance in public, she walked among the trees instead, and breathed the crisp, clear air.

Passing under a low branch, she reached to cup an apple in her hand and give it a slight tug to see if it detached easily. It did, but when she tasted the flesh it was tart and sour, although with an underlying sweetness. Good for cider or verjuice then.

At the sound of a soft footfall, she turned to see Hugh advancing on her bearing a wooden board laden with bread, cheese and two mugs of ale.

'Here,' he said. 'Unless you want to break your fast on green apples and pay for it later. I saw you walk past the hall.'

'I suppose you were watching me and being vigilant?' she asked, curling her lip. 'Perhaps you thought I was about to abscond over the wall?'

'I honestly do not know what you might do,' he retorted with a shake of his head. 'Neither does anyone else. Come, eat.' He placed the board on a bench curled around one of the trees and sat down. Mahelt joined him, but waited a moment to show it was of her own accord and not obedience to an order.

After last night she was on her guard with him, but wondered if this gesture was by way of an apology that was not going to be voiced.