Courtly Love (27 page)

T
he days flew by after the Yule celebrations. Serena found the queen more demanding than before and often the only time she saw Gyles was when she crept wearily into their bed. Unfailingly Gyles awoke upon her return, but never did he do more than fold her against his chest and stroke her hair until she fell asleep.

Serena had presented Gyles with his new dress sword after the evening meal on Christmas Day and had felt particularly pleased with her selection when after examining it closely he praised its workmanship. Then, surprisingly, Gyles had produced a leather pouch from one of his chests and, with a flourish, dropped it into Serena's palm.

Gyles grinned. "It has occurred to me I have never given you anything save the necklace that was your wedding gift."

With shaking fingers Serena loosed the drawstring of the pouch and tipped it so that the contents spilled into her hand. A soft "Oh" escaped her lips, for in her hand lay a ring of gold with an enormous emerald resting securely in the precious metal. Serena gaped unbelievingly at the treasure in her palm. Never had she received such a gift! What it must have cost Gyles, Serena could not imagine, but more important was the fact that Gyles had taken the time to search out a present for her.

"It . . ." Serena choked. " Tis beautiful, Gyles. Thank you."

Impatiently, Gyles lifted the pouch and tossed it aside. "Aren't you going to try it on?"

"Yes ... of course," Serena said, hastily, and slipped the cool band onto the middle finger of her left hand.

Gyles lifted her hand from her lap and inspected the jewel critically. Apparently satisfied, Gyles drew Serena to her feet. "I sought to find a sapphire to match your eyes," Gyles told her softly. "But nowhere could I find a gem to rival their beauty. So you must be content with this poor bauble."

Tenderness washed through Serena and she twined her arms behind Gyles's neck and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

For a full week William held councils with his lords dealing with the troublesome Scots clans. Never willing to unite for a common cause, the fierce tribes had evidently decided they shared a common enemy at last and had turned to harassing William's outposts at every opportunity. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the unruly Scots must be made to heel.

Among the Norman lords there was complete agreement with William's decision to send reinforcements to the border, while the few Saxon lords who remained from Edward's time exchanged meaningful looks. They knew all too well what would happen to those who contested William's power. One by one the barons stepped forward to pledge their appointed number of men to William. Broughton was called by the king's scribe who sat, quill poised above the roll, and Bryan hesitated momentarily.

It went against all Bryan held dear—his dreams of a Saxon king once more ruling England, seeing William and his band chased back across the channel. If it would make any difference in the outcome, Bryan thought, he would deny William Broughton's men. But forty knights would not dent William's force; indeed, the king could easily fill Broughton's pledge from his own household guard. And his Father had sworn sword-oath to William, and Bryan was at court only as his Father's representative.

An elbow jarred painfully against his ribcage and Bryan swung upon its source to find Gyles had moved from the other side of the hall to stand at his side. They are waiting, Gyles's eyes told Bryan. Best to take your stand now and decide which side you will serve.

Resignedly Bryan stepped forward. "Broughton's pledge of forty men will be honored."

The scribe duly noted Bryan's words as he sullenly subsided into a chair. Silently, Bryan bade farewell to his ambitions. Perhaps Serena and Catherine were right; it was time to begin building, not tearing down. Broughton would eventually fall to him, but not if he were in exile or in William's dungeon. Inevitable. That was the word Bryan sought. His cause was lost, had been lost for a long time, although he had refused to admit it. Like his sister, Bryan was blessed—or cursed—with a will of iron and a stubborn nature that in itself could have repelled the Norman invasion. Had Bryan been born ten years earlier he would have undoubtedly yielded his life at Hastings and been happier for it. However, and here Bryan sighed, 'twas more important to survive than to shed one's blood in a futile effort. Which was another trait Bryan shared with Serena—both had inherited more than their share of common sense; their will to live far outstripped their willfullness. Well, sister, Bryan smiled wryly, it seems we were both destined to be disillusioned: you in love and I in my choice of causes.

* * *

While their men sat in council, the women contented themselves with conversation, needlework, and attending to the new ballads that were offered up by strolling troubadors. Serena perfected her knowledge of the Norman tongue with Catherine's assistance, and whenever Matilda did not require their presence it was not unusual to find them strolling about the palace grounds or riding in the royal forest.

Somehow, Henry escaped the councils—after all, he would not inherit the English crown, so none deemed his presence to be of any importance—and more often than not Serena and Catherine would find that Henry decided to make their outings his as well. Neither minded, for Henry was an entertaining companion and with his light-hearted comments kept both Serena and Catherine laughing until the tears streamed from their eyes. Never again did Henry attempt to single out Serena as the target for his attentions and no one could fault either the prince or the lovely Saxon wife for their behavior. If any tongues did wag or a few eyebrows raise, well, was not the Lady Catherine always present?

What Gyles thought of these arrangements—if he was even aware of them—no one knew, for that tall, darkly handsome knight silenced with a quelling glance anyone who dared broach the topic. Those foolish enough to hint that Gyles was being cuckolded found that death wore a grim countenance and viewed the world from behind clouded green eyes. It was only a short time until even the bravest of the courtiers ceased to bait Gyles— their lives were far too precious to be wasted over a morsel of gossip, no matter how juicy.

The councils dragged on and during that time Serena found that Gyles became withdrawn and preoccupied. His sense of humor, never in abundance in the best of times, had almost disappeared and Serena often wondered if that quality had existed solely in her imagination. Not that Gyles was ever impolite in his manner toward Serena, indeed the opposite was true; his bearing was so impersonally correct that at times Serena felt like screaming. But when they conversed, Serena had the feeling that Gyles's mind was occupied elsewhere.

Several times, Serena would sense she was being watched and would look around to find Gyles studying her. It was almost an appraising look Serena caught in those piercing green eyes—as if all her shortcomings had suddenly been brought to mind and Gyles found her lacking in everything he desired. Then Gyles's lips would twist in a brief smile and the sensation would disappear, leaving in its wake a nagging uneasiness that would not be laid to rest.

What Serena was most grateful for during her stay at court was that she had no contact with either Beda or Aurelia. The two sisters were seen together constantly, but they steadfastly avoided any contact with the residents of Camden and Broughton. Beda had, momentarily, even lost interest in seducing Gyles, which pleased Serena immensely.

Lady Elspeth was a constant visitor to the queen's chambers, her willowy figure drifting through the numerous ladies-in-waiting with a haughty arrogance that was, Serena found, surpassed only by Gyles's. But Serena had avoided any contact with Elspeth since their only confrontation shortly after Christmas.

Catherine had been admiring Serena's emerald ring when Elspeth had happened by. Unceremoniously, Elspeth had snatched at Serena's hand and bestowed a withering look at the gift and Serena.

"A bauble from Prince Henry?" Elspeth sneered maliciously.

Serena stiffened in outrage. "Indeed not, Lady Elspeth. Tis a gift from my husband."

Elspeth's black eyes narrowed into slits. " 'Tis odd," she looked meaningfully at Serena. "Lord Gyles used to be far more generous with his rewards for favors bestowed."

Catherine gasped audibly at the crude insinuation while Serena woodenly withdrew her hand from Elspeth's grasp.

"I am certain that you are well-versed in the matter of rewards for your favors, Lady Elspeth, but as of yet I have had no need to set a price for my husband. What he desires I freely give. Good day, Lady Elspeth." Serena bent into a mocking curtsy and presented her back before Elsepth had an opportunity to reply.

* * *

There was another who was not so fortunate as to escape Elspeth's wrath. That same night at table, by a pre-arranged signal, Elspeth invited her lover to come to her chamber, and smiled seductively when he silently agreed. Alone in her chamber, Elspeth unbound the flowing mass of her black hair and, dressing herself in a robe of stiff gold brocade sat patiently, awaiting the sound of the familiar knock at her door.

The knock sounded, followed swiftly by the man and Elspeth rose at once to twine her arms about his neck and press her lips against his to meet his savage embrace.

"I feared you would not come," Elspeth breathed as she led the knight to her bed. "You have been so busy of late I was certain you had forgotten my presence. Ah, Gyles, why do you not visit me more often? I swear I am half-fainting for want of you."

Gyles gave a hard smile. "I come as often as I dare, Elspeth, and well you know it. I can hardly dance attendance on you in front of the court."

Gyles had risen from the bed to pour a goblet of mead and Elspeth followed him. "You dance attendance' upon Serena well enough," Elspeth sneered up at Gyles.

"God's teeth, Elspeth," Gyles snarled. "She is my wife! Would you have me ignore her in favor of you?"

"Yes!" Elspeth spat back. "I would! I would have you at my side throughout the day and night. I want the court—nay, the world!—to know of our love, to know of our son."

"I offered for you once, Elspeth," Gyles reminded her in a painfilled voice. "When you found yourself to be with child I begged you to allow me to seek the king's counsel—with him on our side your husband would willingly have divorced you and we could have married."

"I know, I know," Elspeth cried softly and hurled herself into Gyles's arms. "How often I have regretted my decision you cannot know. But you must try to understand how I felt: You had only two small lands, Gyles, one here and one in Normandy, while Roger—"

"While Roger had numerous estates, was wealthy beyond measure, and, above all else, his birth was legitimate," Gyles finished with a grimace. "Do you know, Elspeth, how often I have wished my mother had torn me from her womb before my time? How much less pain others would have endured had I never been born."

"But that is past now, dearest." Elspeth stroked his unmarred cheek—a fact Gyles marked with interest; she had never been able to accustom herself to what she considered his hideous disfigurement. "Roger is dead and your union is childless. Now, we can be together, you and I and Alan. Our son can be legitimatized, he can inherit my lands and yours; he will know a mother's love. Think on it, Gyles, I pray you."

"You would have me offer for you now?" Gyles lifted a raven tress from Elspeth's shoulder to his lips.

"Oh, yes, Gyles." Elspeth rested her head on his shoulder.

"Does honor mean naught to you, Elspeth?" Gyles forced her to look into his eyes. "I wed Serena, I took her to wife in all good honor, and I cannot drag those vows through the muck that would surely stain her if I did as you ask."

"Stain her!" Elspeth drew back with an arrogant toss of her head. " Tis not her honor that concerns you, but your own! What of my honor, Gyles, have you thought of that? I am the mother of your child, can you put that aside so easily? Is your memory so short that you have forgotten that you once declared your love for me upon your knees?"

"I remember," Gyles told her grimly. "And I also remember how you laughed and named me a fool— and I clearly recall a scene two months later when you told me you were carrying a child. My child, Elspeth, my seed. You killed my love that day with your words— have you forgotten that? Have you forgotten the names you used for me, the threats, the accusations? No vile, base-born, bastard's seed would ever find nourishment in your womb; those were your words were they not, Elspeth?"

"Yes," Elspeth whispered as she shrank from the strange light in Gyles's eyes. "But I was frightened, terrified of what Roger would do when he found out. Oh, Gyles, I was so terribly afraid, not only of Roger but of you—the way you threatened me drove me half out of my mind, I didn't know what I was saying or doing. But that has changed now, I am free to accept your offer."

Gyles turned his back on Elspeth and said in a harsh voice, "You killed something within me that day, Elspeth. You made me less than human, incapable of any emotion save hatred. Serena's vibrant, happy life I have, in a few short months, turned into a living hell. I am slowly destroying her as you destroyed me four years ago and in all probability I shall cause her death. If Serena ever discovers the truth about you and me, Elspeth, God help us all."

Elspeth gave a haughty laugh. "Gyles, you are speaking like a moon-struck maid. Your Saxon slut will do nothing to either of us. Send her away and forget her! Did you not say she had a Saxon who once desired to wed her? Therein lies your solution, she can return to him. Or if that does not please her, mayhap Henry will install her as his whore—he finds her attractive, I know."

At the thought of Serena lying in another man's arms, Gyles's face darkened. "Serena is no whore, Elspeth, do not name her so. She has loved our son as if he were her own and defended him when he was attacked by one such as yourself, so do not seek to sully her name."

"A paragon of virtue," Elspeth jeered, then gasped as Gyles's hands closed over her shoulders.

"My wife," Gyles reminded her in a silken tone. "I do not take kindly to being told what to do with my life, Elspeth, and 'twould be to the betterment of your health if you never speak of my wife again. Catherine told me of the words you bandied with Serena today— and all over an emerald ring! You do not have the sense of a goat, Elspeth."

"You waste good coin upon a Saxon," Elspeth cried angrily, "while I receive naught from you! You could have given me that bauble, Gyles."

Gyles laughed and abruptly reached out to untie Elspeth's robe. "Nay, Elspeth, you taught me too well. Give me something worthwhile and perhaps I shall reward you. Perhaps," Gyles warned at Elspeth's pleased expression. "But you must please me well. Pleasure me, Elspeth! Play my harlot for this night."

"Whatever you desire, Gyles," Elspeth turned and led Gyles once again to her bed.