Lord of Midnight (5 page)

“You’ll look like a scullion,” Prissy protested. Where Maria was plump and gentle, Prissy was lively and never slow to speak her mind. “At least we’ll have you a bonnie one.” She started unraveling Claire’s long blond plaits.

You’ve got what men like. Curves and big tit-

ties. And your hair’s as gold, your skin as good…

Suddenly terrified, Claire seized one long plait and sawed it off as close to her head as she could.

“Lady!” Prissy shrieked.

Claire hacked off the other. She couldn’t do anything about her curves and titties, but what was a woman without her “crowning glory”?

She tossed both plaits on the floor where they lay like thick golden snakes. “Find me a dull head cloth.”

The wide-eyed maid dug in a chest and finally found a length of gray cloth. With this wrapped around her strangely-light head, Claire felt safe enough to leave the maidens’ room and go to the church to kneel by her father’s body.

By the time she knelt at the foot of his bier, she was already feeling a little foolish, and very guilty. She could imagine him shaking his head and saying, “Claire, Claire. Was this a wise act? Was it a fair one?”

When she bowed her head, it was as much with shame as grief. She could pretend she’d cut off her hair in mourning, but she’d done it out of fear. She’d done it to avoid an unpleasant fate. She’d done it hoping one of her aunts would have to suffer in her place.

She covered her face and prayed harder. It hardly seemed necessary to pray for her father’s soul, good as he’d been, so she prayed for her own. She begged God’s pardon for her selfishness, and she asked for the courage to do what needed to be done to save her family.

But she couldn’t say the holiest words—Thy will be done. Instead, she begged God that her cup not be the ultimate sacrifice.

Marriage to the man who had stolen Summerbourne.

Too soon, in the distance, the convent bell tolled vespers. Again the horn sounded, demanding entry for the manor’s new lord and master. The family hurried back to the hall, gathering in the doorway to watch as the great gates swung slowly open once again.

Beyond, a camp had been set up. Tents hunched against shielded fires, stuck among rivulets and mud. Men hunched too, surely deeply uncomfortable. Claire was fiercely glad, but she wondered at it.

Why set up camp out there when they’d come to claim Summerbourne? Why did men stand at the far end of the bridge, but make no move to enter?

One called something.

“What now?” Claire muttered. Was this some strange form of torture, all these delays and negotiations?

After a brief exchange, Niall trotted toward the hall. “Hostages!” he gasped. “He demands hostages!”

“
What
?” Lady Murielle exclaimed.

“Clever man,” said a cracked voice from behind.

Claire whirled to face her grandmother. “You sound as if you’re on his side.”

“If we have to have a new lord, I’d rather a clever one. Like my Thomas.”

“Grandfather was a different type of man altogether!”

“I had no way to know that. Nor do you.”

Claire turned away, but she acknowledged that demanding hostages
was
clever. Throughout the vigil by her father’s corpse, she’d thought of revenge. In the Bible, Judith had killed her enemy Holofernes by driving a spike through his head…

If Renald de Lisle didn’t feel entirely secure, it was not surprising.

“What kind of hostages?” her mother was demanding of the man, her hand gripping Thomas’s shoulder. He was the most likely.

Niall looked warily between them. “He says there are three young maids in this hall. Two are to go out as hostages.”

“What?” Despite the exclamation, her mother looked weak with relief. She continued strongly, however. “The monster wants two gently bred young women to live in his muddy camp with his men?”

“They’ll be safe enough, Murielle,” said Lady Agnes. “Or as safe as they’ll be anywhere at such a time. Either he’s a man of honor, or he isn’t. If he isn’t, he’ll have ‘em here on the hall floor then pass ’em to his men.”

With a wail, Amice fainted.

Claire and Felice dropped to their knees beside her, raising her up as she recovered, and chafing her hands.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” Lady Murielle cried. “You know how sensitive she is!”

“And is being sensitive going to help? He wants two hostages, does he? What about the third?”

They all looked to the uneasy messenger. “He says the third is to be his bride.”

“Told you so,” said Lady Agnes.

Amice fainted again.

Claire and Felice shared wary, assessing glances.

“Bride?” Lady Murielle declared. “No, this is all too much. Claire, get Amice up off the floor. Spiced mead for the ladies!” she demanded of the hovering servants, waving a hand. “I won’t permit this. I will protest. Someone fetch my cloak. I’m going out to speak to this man. He cannot force such a thing.”

Felice and Claire pulled Amice to her feet and helped her to a bench by the fire. Lady Murielle pulled on her cloak and hurried out of the hall. She looked determined, but Claire had a sinking feeling that a man carrying the king’s standard could force anything he wanted.

Felice was silent and her face was deliberately blank, but surely, now she’d had time to think, she would see this as an opportunity. A man given such a rich estate must be high in the king’s favor. Exactly what Felice wanted.

Amice would be allowed to stay here with her twin sister. As Felice’s mother, Lady Agnes would keep her place by the fire. If they were all amenable, perhaps the usurper would even make suitable arrangements for Thomas.

That just left Claire and her mother to settle.

Claire suspected that her mother would be happy to move to St. Frideswide’s. As for herself, much though she loved Summerbourne, she wanted to leave. She might take the veil. Or perhaps she’d look at her local friends with a new eye and find a husband.

As she sipped the spiced mead and listened to Amice weeping, she ran over the local swains in her mind. Lambert of Vayne was probably a suitor, though he’d done little enough about it but visit often. He was somewhat of a silly fellow, much given to boasting.

It was possible that Eudo the Sheriff had some interest. His first marriage had been childless, and since his wife died he’d talked about remarrying. The post of sheriff had passed down his family for generations and he wanted a son. Was she imagining that he’d looked at her with some interest? He certainly liked Summerbourne and could well seek a connection.

He was close to her father’s age, however, and she blamed him in part for her father’s folly.

Robert of Pulham? Amiable, but so dull-witted.

John de Courtney? She suspected he had a cruel streak—

Her mother came back in, wet and defeated. “He’s an unfeeling monster. He says it’s no choice of his. The king commands that he wed one of Lord Clarence’s unmarried women.”

“And the rest of us?” Claire asked, then bit her lip at the keen look Felice flashed her way.

“
If he
marries here—he stressed the if—then he is to take care of the rest of your father’s family. Except Thomas.” She looked sadly at her son. “He is to go to court.”

“Oh, that’s kind,” gulped Amice.

“Don’t be a ninny,” snapped Felice.“‘Care for. ’What does that mean? And poor Thomas will be nothing but a hostage to be maimed or blinded at his whim.”

Thomas swallowed a cry and began to tremble. Claire ran over to gather him into her arms. “Felice. Mind what you say!”

“I say the truth.”

Lady Agnes broke in. “Then the truth is, no one will get hurt if everyone behaves themselves. Not even hostages.”

“I don’t trust it,” Claire said. “Why would the king want to take such care of a traitor’s family?”

“To keep order.” Lady Agnes sighed with weary patience. “By the cross, you lot are enfeebled by years of comfort. This is the way it always goes! Men fight and die, and women are passed on as chattels. Does the king want to stir more unrest by casting us out? No. He wants the appearance of an orderly transfer.”

“Then we must not give it to him!”

Lady Agnes thumped her cane on the wooden floor. “And what comfort will that be, girl, as you beg for bread?”

“
Think
. If we defy the king in this, we’ll be lucky if anyone even tosses us a crust.”

Amice was wailing now, and even Felice looked shaken.

Claire’s mother sighed and came over to gather her son and daughter into her arms. “Lady Agnes is right. We are helpless. Heaven knows, I would give myself to this man if I could, but he would have no interest in a woman so far past her prime.”

“So,” said Lady Agnes, “which of you is to be the bride, and which the hostages?”

Amice abruptly stopped crying.

“None of us!” cried Felice, her color high. “It is brutal. We’ll all take the veil. Not even the king can stop a woman becoming a bride of Christ.”

“Perhaps not,” said Lady Agnes, “but will the Church take you? You don’t own anything anymore. None of us do. Not our clothes, not the food on the table. Certainly not our property. Even brides of Christ are supposed to bring something with them to the cloister.”

“This is impossible,” said Felice, but even she sounded shaken. Amice seemed too shocked even to weep.

Claire saw her mother smile, and was surprised, but then Lady Murielle said, in her best persuading voice, “He doesn’t seem so terrible a man, Felice. He’s shown consideration. And whichever of you ends up as his bride will have high rank. She’ll be Lady of Summerbourne.”

Her mother was tempting Felice, and Claire prayed it would work.

“Of course,” interrupted her grandmother, “Felice would have to curb her tongue. A man like that, he’ll take his belt to a contrary wife. Still, as long as she’s sweet and meek…”

Felice was as sweet as rhubarb.

Lady Murielle flashed a ferocious look at Lady Agnes then smiled at her sister-in-law again. “You have beauty enough to keep any man content, Felice. And he’ll likely hardly be here, being
a favorite of the king
.”

Claire appreciated the neat way her mother slid in that telling point. Felice desperately wanted to marry a great man, or one headed for greatness.

“Who says he’s a favorite of the king?” Lady Agnes demanded.

“He’s been given Summerbourne, hasn’t he?” That clearly was a telling point, and Lady Agnes fell silent, scowling.

“He must be a very busy man,” Lady Murielle continued. “His wife will doubtless have to run his estates and raise the children alone while he’s at war, and at the king’s court.”

“Court?” Felice straightened with interest.

Lady Agnes rallied. “Court. Where he’ll be, while his wife stays here to count pigs.”

“I’m sure he would take a wife to court sometimes,” said Claire’s mother.

“Hardly. After all, if Felice was his wife, she’d be known to all as a traitor’s sister. He’d want her hidden away.”

“Then his wife would have even more independence here.”

“You think he’d trust a traitor’s sister with his affairs without check?”

Lady Murielle’s smile widened. “Your husband trusted you.”

Lady Agnes smiled back, showing the gaps between her remaining teeth. “Only after a year or two—tricky years at that—and only because I took care to please him.”

Felice glared at her mother. “Are you saying I can’t please this man?”

“You haven’t managed to please one yet, have you? Amice might do better if she’d stop crying.”

That, of course, set Amice off again. Lady Agnes had been at odds with her late-born daughters since the hour of their birth.

“Stop it!” cried Claire, rising to her feet. “Father would hate to hear such dissension in the family.”

“This is all Clarence’s fault,” snapped Felice, surging up to face her. “His folly has brought us to this, and his daughter should pay the price.”

“She’s the youngest,” Lady Murielle protested.

Felice’s elegant face set into the hawklike harshness they knew too well. “Only by a few years. She’s eighteen. Old enough to be a bride.”

But then Amice surprised them all. “No,” she whispered, tears still leaking. “I… I’ll do it.To save Claire. I’ll d-do it.” She was visibly shaking, her pale face a collection of damp, quivering angles.

Claire met her grandmother’s demanding eyes. She knew quite well what the old woman was up to—trying to get her own way as usual.

Claire would let Felice do it. Even if he did take his belt to her now and then, she thought Felice would get enough out of the bargain—marriage to a powerful man, and control of Summerbourne. But Lady Agnes thought Felice would be a harsh mistress here, and that she’d anger her husband rather than sweetening his moods.

She might be right.

Amice would never do. She’d quite likely make herself ill over it. Even if she survived, she’d never be able to manipulate such a man.

Claire went over to hug her aunt. “I don’t think we need to make firm decisions yet, Amice. He can’t expect any of us to marry him today.” Remembering her grandmother’s story, she shivered and hoped she was right. “But I know you’ll feel safer with Felice, so why don’t you and she go as the hostages? I’ll stay here, and if he chooses to assume I’m the bride, let him. Once we’ve met him, we’ll know better what to do.”

Yes, that was it. If he turned out to be a tolerable sort of man, he’d suit Felice and all would be well.

Of course, that meant if he was completely intolerable, she might have to marry him herself. She’d face that when they came to it.

Amice looked up, tears drying. “Oh, Claire. Are you sure? Are you sure you can face him?”

How on earth had her aunt thought to marry the man, if facing him was beyond her? Claire patted Amice’s trembling hand. “I’ll have Mother and Lady Agnes to support me. Don’t worry.”

Amice began to weep again, but this time with relief, and Felice led her off to collect some belongings.

“Claire, why did you do that?” her mother wailed. “You’ll end up married to him. Marriage is for life, you know, and a cruel husband is a terrible thing.”

“Then we should hardly wish him on Felice, should we?”