Courtly Love (38 page)

* * *

Gyles did not return to Camden again until Christmas, when he stayed for a week, recovering from a severe case of frostbite. The search had progressed far beyond the point where men could return to their homes each night so the serfs and freemen were no longer involved. Only knights and squires remained and when evening fell, pavilions were erected so they might take their rest in relative comfort.

Frostbite was common among the men, as was congestion of the lungs, and both men and steeds wearied as the seemingly endless search continued. When the new year was a month old, even the staunchest of the men had admitted defeat.

Gyles was Bryan's guest as he passed through Broughton on his way to Camden and now, his hunger eased, Gyles leaned back to enjoy his wine and he raised his goblet in a toast. "Catherine, you set a splendid table. I thank you."

Catherine beamed. "You are most gracious, Gyles, and you are welcome here anytime. Now tell us, how are the boys?"

"Fine." Gyles swirled the wine thoughtfully. "Alan received a bow for Christmas and he is quite a marksman already. Evan has discovered his legs, so naught is safe now that he can crawl to whatever catches his eye. Nellwyn swears he is as much a trial as Serena was."

Bryan and Catherine glanced nervously at each other, but wisely held their tongues. Attending to a piece of stitchery nearby, Aurelia had no such qualms.

"Serena was always a trial," Aurelia snapped. "You needn't glare at me, Bryan, nor you, Gyles. Who should know better than yourself—look at how she acted, running away from court as she did. Disgraceful! And the way she twitched her skirts at Prince Henry while she was at court ... I can tell you, Serena was the talk of all the ladies."

"I am certain you could tell us a great deal, Aurelia," Catherine retorted. "But none of us wish to hear what you have to say."

Aurelia tossed her head arrogantly. "She was a Saxon, of no importance. I say we are well rid of her."

"And I say, if you do not hold your tongue, I shall cut it out of your lying mouth," Gyles said conversationally.

"How dare you!" Aurelia gasped.

"Oh, I dare." Gyles favored her with a cold smile. "Every word you speak makes it that much easier for me. Pray continue."

The sound of scuffling in the entrance hall cut short Bryan's laughter and he rose from his chair only to collapse back with a sharp intake of air.

"Dear God in heaven above!"

That from Aurelia as she shrank against the back of her chair. Gyles swiveled toward the disturbance and went deathly still, the curved scar jumping into relief against his cheek.

An emaciated, bearded man stood alone in the center of the hall, his overly bright eyes fixed upon Aurelia.

"Bryan?" Catherine reached for her husband's hand for reassurance. "Who is he? A hermit?"

Bryan shook his head. " Tis . . . 'tis Richard!" He whispered.

Richard raised his hand and pointed at Aurelia. "I am come for you, lady. 'Tis time you pay for your sin— and pay you shall, to the eternal damnation of, your immortal soul and mine, for I am to be the instrument of your penance."

"The man is insane!" Her sewing fell from her hands and Aurelia looked wildly about her. "Kill him—kill him!"

"Have you not had your fill of killing?" Richard hurled the words at her and began to advance relentlessly upon Aurelia. "Will your lust for blood never be satisfied? How many must die because of you?" A dagger appeared in Richard's hand and he paused when Aurelia placed herself behind Bryan. "Do not defend her, Bryan, I beg you. Twas she who plotted your death."

Richard swung about as Gyles tried to approach. "You! You above all should understand, Lord Gyles. She swore . . . swore! . . . that Serena would not be harmed. But she lied! Her villains struck down Serena when she had dropped her sword ... a defenseless girl, and Aurelia had her killed. Murderess!" He swung back to Aurelia.

"Tell them, lady. Tell them where I have been these past months. Tell them!"

"I—I don't know what he means, I—"

"Her dower estate! In her dungeon. But I escaped!" A dry, cackle of a laugh tore from Richard's throat. "Your penance, lady. Your life for Serena's."

Later no one would be able to say precisely how it happened but Aurelia—for reasons known only to herself —stepped from behind Bryan and in that instant Richard saw and took his advantage. With a wild cry Richard launched himself at Aurelia, the force of his impact carrying them beyond anyone's reach. Richard's dagger found its way into Aurelia's hands and she sank the long, thin blade into Richard's back. Seemingly unmindful of the pain, Richard dragged himself to his feet, pulling Aurelia with him. He grabbed a handful of her blond hair and smashed Aurelia's face against the stone wall . . . again . . . and yet again until Aurelia's features dissolved into a froth of red pulp and Catherine's scream broke the spell that held everyone motionless.

Richard flung Aurelia's limp body from him and sank to his knees as Bryan reached him. Gyles examined Aurelia briefly then with a shake of his head covered her with a cloak handed him by one of his knights.

Bryan cradled Richard's head in his arm, and while he watched, the madness faded from Richard's eyes.

"Forgive me ... my friend." The sound of death rattled in Richard's lungs. "But I... I loved her . . . so much. And ... I killed her."

"Serena is dead?" Gyles knelt beside the dying man. "You are certain, man, Serena is dead?" Gyles grasped Richard's ragged tunic and shook him.

"Gyles," Bryan gently lowered Richard's head. "He can tell you naught."

* * *

Richard's body was sent to his father the following morning and the next day Aurelia was laid to rest at Broughton. Only Bryan, Catherine, and Gyles were present to hear the priest read over her body, for Aurelia had not been loved by Broughton's inhabitants. Bryan had desired to return his step-mother's remains to her kinsmen, but after much discussion with Catherine, relented to his wife's reasoning. Such an insult would not be taken lightly by Aurelia's family so to avoid further strife, Aureha was buried in the family cemetery, but her grave was in the section reserved for Broughton's less noble kin, far away from Lord Geoffrey's side.

Gyles moved through the days like a sleepwalker, answering automatically when a question was put to him and overseeing the preparations for his return to Camden. The eve proceeding Gyles's departure, Bryan—a skin of ale under each arm—sought out Gyles in his chamber.

"I came to bid you good luck upon your journey." Bryan dropped a skin unceremoniously into Gyles's lap and folded himself into the chair opposite Gyles.

Gyles looked at him. "Thank you."

"We wanted you to be the first to know—Catherine is with child." Bryan raised his skin in a salute and drank deeply.

"My congratulations." Gyles turned to study the blaze that warmed the chamber.

Bryan took a deep breath and tried once more. "What are your plans, Gyles?"

"Plans?" Clouded green eyes suddenly pinned Bryan to his chair. "I have none."

"Damnation, Gyles!" Bryan lost his temper. "How does anyone reach you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Gyles stated blandly, but an impatient spark flared somewhere within him.

"The hell you don't. Look at yourself, take a good look. I hardly think Alan will be overjoyed to see you this way. But then, he may not even recognize you, after all you've not been to see him in well over a month. By now he probably thinks Edward is his father. But that Shouldn't concern you—all you want to do is wallow in self-pity and the rest of the world be damned!"

"Bryan," Gyles warned softly.

"The great Lord Gyles!" Bryan sneered. "Mighty warrior! What of Evan? His mother is dead and his father might as well be."

In the blink of an eye Gyles was out of his chair and holding Bryan against the wall by the front of his tunic.

"You have no right—"

"I have every right," Bryan ground out. "Serena was my sister, I loved her, too. But she is dead, Gyles!"

"No!" Gyles howled and smashed his fist into Bryan's jaw. "She lives .. . you know she lives!"

Bryan picked himself up from the floor, fingering his jaw tenderly before quietly repeating, "Serena is dead, Gyles."

Gyles made a low keening sound far back in his throat. "She lives!"

"No, Gyles, Serena is dead. She has been dead these many months." Bryan guided Gyles back to his chair and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Accept it, Gyles, I have. All these months, the searching; the meanest hut was not overlooked, every man, woman, and child was questioned. You did all you could, and all the time Serena was dead. Gyles, no man could have done more! 'Twas hopeless from the beginning."

"But we cannot be certain, Bryan," Gyles whispered brokenly. "We never found her body. Only a scrap of cloth."

Bryan longed to run from the anguished, torn man before him, longed to withdraw the sharp blade of pain he was, of necessity, inflicting upon him. Yet he could not.

"Serena could be at Aurelia's estate," Gyles grasped desperately at his final hope. "Richard was carried there, why not Serena?"

"Gyles." Bryan eyed him sadly. "Richard himself told us Serena is dead. If they were both prisoners, Aurelia would have seen no harm in allowing them to see each other. Why would Richard have come for Aurelia unless he knew Serena was dead? He knew! Aurelia's penance he called it; her life for my sister's. You know Serena, if she were alive she would have found some way to get word to us."

"I know . . . oh, God, I know." Gyles buried his face in his hands. "What do I do now, Bryan?"

"You live," Bryan told him firmly. "You take each day that is given you. If 'twill make you feel better, get drunk right now—that is why I brought you that skin— but that won't solve anything except to give you a sleep without dreams."

"I cannot forget her—I doubt I ever shall." Gyles had leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, all emotion apparently locked away, his voice cold and without inflection. "Oh, God! Bryan, I had so little time with her."

"I know. You won't forget. But one day you will be able to think of her without feeling that a dagger is being twisted in your vitals." Bryan quietly left the chamber.

"I wish there was something we could do." Catherine and Bryan watched the last of the knights depart for Camden. "He's changed, Bryan, he's become unreachable —like he was when I first met him."

"Dear Catherine." Bryan smiled sadly. "We can do naught Gyles must find his own path out of this darkness."

D
uty. Duty to his sons, to the old lord's wife and daughter, to the people of Camden, to his retinue of knights. Responsibility for the lives and lands that had been placed in his hands. Obligation, responsibility, duty —all bore Gyles through the final winter days when his grief threatened to overpower him. Pain shared drew Gyles even closer to Alan and often the boy crept into his father's arms to seek assurance.

Gyles dried the tears and cradled Alan's head against his hard chest, crooning tender words that Alan could not understand, but the tone of Gyles's voice comforted the lad. Evan, too, sensed a difference in his father and often in their play the babe would abruptly sit back and stare at his father, his blue eyes wide and serious. Serena's eyes, Gyles would think. Oh, God, Serena's eyes looking at me through our son. Then Evan would laugh and the spell would be broken, leaving Gyles almost limp with the force of his emotions.

Gyles changed—a heart once opened and laid bare is not stored away as easily as a faulty piece of armor— the arrogance, pride, that were so much a part of him fell away when he was safely away from the prying eyes of those who did not know him well. If Gyles had indulged in drinking bouts, if he had taken other women to his bed, perhaps his men would have been less uneasy in his presence—but he did not, and where before there had been only a natural reserve in Gyles's manner, there was now an aloofness, a detachment that alternately stirred pity and fear in the hearts of those who saw him.

Gyles ate, slept, issued orders, rode, played with his sons, and occasionally accepted a challenge for a game of chess with Edward. As Bryan had said, he faced each day as it came, and Gyles even managed to find a portion of happiness in Alan and Evan—but it was a bittersweet joy tinged with the knowledge that Serena was lost to him forever. Infrequently, Gyles would retire to his chamber for an entire day, seeing no one and refusing the food that Nellwyn brought to the door and at such times Nellwyn would quietly withdraw, understanding that Gyles's sorrow had become too great for him to bear in the face of others that day. To Gyles, his life seemed an endless agony, an earthly purgatory from which there was no escape.

Spring arrived at Camden and with it Mara's wedding. Three days before the ceremony was to take place, guests flocked to the castle—the ladies in gaily-colored gowns giggling demurely at the swains dancing attendance upon them. Gyles was the perfect host to all, but stayed much in the background, allowing Mara to play the lady of the manor, to be the center of attention.

* * *

Gyles was on his hands and knees, doing his best to imitate a ferocious steed, while Alan, both arms wrapped securely around Gyles's neck, shrieked with glee. Infected with his brother's high spirits, Evan chortled and let fly one of his toys in the general direction of his father. Gyles raised his head at a knock on the door and the toy caught him squarely in the eye.

"Ouch! little scamp!" Gyles laughed and tumbled both of his sons onto the pelt covering the floor to tickle them mercilessly. "Enter, Nellwyn, and take these two monsters back to the nursery."

" Tis . . . tis I, Mara," her voice came shyly from the doorway as Gyles rose to his feet. "I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude."

" Tis all right, Mara," Gyles gave her a weak smile. "We ... the boys and I. . ."

He is embarrassed!
Mara thought, wonderingly, as she watched her half-brother straighten his clothing and thrust his long fingers through his hair. And he—he loves his sons, he truly does!
I can see it in his face and eyes.
Mara's heart wrenched.
How much unhappiness Mother and I have given him—not once in these past years have we given him a single chance to be a part of our own family. How lonely we must have made him feel!
Mara's heart, having been softened by love, had become sensitive to the feelings of those around her, and she had gradually realized that Gyles was not the ogre her bitter mind had painted him. Nellwyn appeared to take her charges in hand, her eyebrows lifting at the sight of Mara.

"Take the boys to the nursery, Nellwyn," Gyles instructed. "And, Alan, if you can remember your manners, perhaps Lady Mara will allow you to dine in the hall tonight."

Alan's face lit up and he turned pleading eyes to Mara. "I shall be good, I promise."

Mara smiled. "But of course, Alan; how could I possibly celebrate such an occasion without my nephew at table? I should be most honored."

"See that he changes his tunic." Gyles wagged a finger at Alan's soiled clothing and with a nod, Nellwyn hurried from the chamber. "Now, Mara, is something amiss that brings you to me?"

"No, not at all," Mara blushed—how terrible to remember that since his arrival she had avoided Gyles as much as possible. "I only wanted to thank you for . . . for arranging my marriage, this celebration, everything!"

Gyles's face relaxed into a smile. "You are entirely welcome, Mara. Did you believe I would force you to remain here forever?"

"Much to my shame, Gyles, yes I did," Mara replied truthfully. "I ask that you can find it in your heart to forgive my actions and words. I fear I was all too willing to believe the worst of you—to allow others to fill my head with what I now realize were vicious lies and rumors. I am truly sorry, Gyles. And, I would have you know that I am proud to call you brother."

A smile so kind it twisted Mara's heart curved Gyles's lips. "Tis my turn now to thank you, Mara. I wish you as much happiness with Arthur as I knew with Serena." Gyles paused and cleared his throat, adding to himself, "I seem to discover everything too late."

"Gyles, I did have a question." Mara was uncertain how to continue.

"Yes?" Gyles prompted with a frown; Mara had grown quite serious.

"Did you—I don't really mind—but, why did you invite Beda to my wedding?" Mara blurted out "If 'tis not my concern, then I don't expect an answer, but..."

"I did not ask Beda to attend!" Gyles broke in. "Good God, you mean to say she is here?"

"Yes!" Mara burst into tears. "Downstairs with Arthur, flirting and teasing. I know I was his second choice, but why does Beda have to throw it in my face?"

Cold rage built in Gyles's breast, but he spoke gently to Mara. "Dry your tears. You do not wish Arthur to see you with red eyes, do you?" He brushed a tear from her cheek and smiled. "Now go, splash some cold water on your face and arrange your hair. And, Mara, remember, Arthur was not forced into this union—he chose you."