“He has closed his daughter up in Pershwick and forgotten her, I am told.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems the man does not wish to be reminded he has a daughter.”
Henry shook his head. “I remember her. Not a comely child, but spirited. She had a nervous disorder, I believe her mother said. The poor woman was forever having to run after the child with medicine. You say Sir William is neglecting her? There is no excuse for that. Why, the girl would be around twenty years old. She should have been wed long ago. Even if finding her a husband proved difficult, there is always some man who can be bought, isn’t there? If she is not for the church, then she must have a husband.”
“I agree, my lord.” Rolfe leaped at the ideal opening. “And I would be that husband.”
There was a shocked silence, and then Henry began to laugh. “You jest, Rolfe. That face of yours sends my loveliest ladies swooning, yet you would settle for a plain girl?”
Rolfe flinched. He supposed it was too much to hope that the ugly duckling had grown into a swan.
“Few marriages are made for preference,” Rolfe replied stoically.
“But…you are your own man. No one is telling you you must marry this girl, so why would you wish to?”
“Not counting the domestic peace she will bring me, she and I are neighbors. She has lived there for a long time, and can help me in dealings with my other neighbors. Then, too, she has retainers. I have nine knights who follow me, but some are not suited to command and I need men to hold the other seven keeps.”
“I can see your reasoning, Rolfe, but I can find you a wife who can accomplish at least half your purpose and is pleasing to look at.”
Rolfe shrugged. “There are always women like Amelia.”
Henry understood that very well. He was living openly as man and wife with Princess Alice of France. As long as a man had his mistress, what matter his wife’s looks? It was true.
“Very well,” Henry concurred. “Is it only my permission you require?”
“More than that, Your Majesty. I have offered for the girl and was refused. Without explanation.”
“To deny his only daughter a husband?” Henry growled. “By God, you will have her three weeks hence. I will have the banns posted immediately and my messenger will reach Sir William on the morrow.” Then, in a less aggrieved tone, he asked, “But you are certain this is what you want, Rolfe? You have no hesitation about this marriage?”
He certainly did, but that need not be mentioned. “I am certain,” he declared, and Henry grinned. “Then you will be pleased to know the lady is sole heir to Sir William, and Montwyn is worth five knights’ fees, as I recall. She was also her mother’s sole heir, and her mother left her a dower of three keeps.” Henry chuckled here. “The vassal at Rethel has six sons you might find useful. Lady Leonie is also niece to the earl of Shefford, and there are other uncles and aunts, most of them well placed. It does not hurt a man to be well connected, eh?”
Rolfe was shocked. She was an heiress with a much richer dowry than he’d known about, and highborn relatives as well. He supposed all this ought to please him, but in truth he had believed her a solitary woman, and now he began to wonder if his anger had made him take on more than he wanted to.
Chapter 5
LADY Judith did not know why Rolfe d’Ambert wanted to marry Leonie. If she had known she would have been furious. As it was, Judith was in a state of near hysteria.
She had put off telling William of the king’s order in hope that something would come about to stop the wedding. But it was the day before the wedding and she was in a panic.
She sat at the table on the raised dais waiting for William to join her, having sent a servant to rouse him from sleep. It was morning, and much earlier than William usually woke. She prayed his soggy mind would clear long enough for him to understand, but only long enough for that. To have him sober for any great length of time would jeopardize everything she had accomplished over the years. If William ever realized what she had done, he would kill her.
Judith did not dwell long on that thought. She knew that, given the chance to go back in time, she would do nothing different.
William had destroyed all her dreams. He had been in a drunken stupor caused by grief over the loss of Elisabeth, and emerged from it to find that Judith had taken advantage of his drunken state and tricked him into marriage. He beat her nearly to death for this, and the small scar she bore on her left cheek had remained. She would never forgive him for it.
Vanity was her sin and her undoing. She had been so sure William would accept her as his wife and be happy about it. After all, six years ago she’d been a beautiful young woman lacking only a dowry. Her high-boned cheeks, jewellike green eyes, and heavy, dark blond hair set her apart from most other women. Many a man had wanted to marry her for her beauty alone, but none were as well landed as William of Montwyn.
But William, it turned out, did not own all Judith believed he did. Three of his keeps belonged to his daughter. Had she known that, Judith would never have tricked William into marriage.
He was in such a rage over the marriage that Judith had had to lie and say she was with child. It was either that or be cast out immediately. Of course, Judith could never have a child. An abortion the year before had ruined her womb, but William did not know that.
To protect herself from the time when William would ask about her supposed pregnancy, she encouraged his inclination to stay drunk. And she had kept him in a state of drunken forgetfulness since then. She didn’t care that she had helped to ruin the man, for she’d hated him from the day he beat her. She hated him still. He was only a drunk now. She could not bear to be near him.
Judith took charge of Montwyn, indulging her every whim, from owning costly gowns and jewels to keeping handsome lovers near her. Everything was in her charge, and she had seen to it right after marrying William that his daughter was not at Montwyn to interfere.
It had been easy at first to tell William that Leonie was visiting relatives. Later, she found she could make him believe that he saw Leonie regularly, so ill with drunkenness and grief was he. He was, within a short time, permanently disoriented. He could be told anything, be made to believe anything.
Relatives and neighbors stopped inquiring after Leonie, thinking she had gone to Pershwick of her own choice rather than stay with a drunken father. Leonie was told that her father wanted nothing to do with her, and she was forbidden to visit Montwyn. One way or another, Judith managed to keep everyone from learning the truth.
In the meantime Leonie’s dowry remained part of Montwyn and Judith spent all the profits. She turned down Leonie’s marriage offers, in William’s name, for she had no intention of giving up the use of Leonie’s land. If killing the girl could have brought that land to Montwyn permanently she might even have killed her, but Elisabeth’s acursed will left the land solely to Leonie. If she died without issue, the land would revert to Shefford.
Now, by the king’s order, she was being forced to give up the land. Who was Rolfe d’Ambert to be so favored by His Majesty? Judith had dealt with both his offers, first for Pershwick, then for the girl herself, so she knew it was Pershwick the suitor really wanted. Why hadn’t he just taken the keep by force if he wanted it so badly? This was infuriating, she told herself for the tenth time as she paced her room. She had managed everything so cleverly, and now this!
“Judith.”
She started. She hadn’t heard William approach. When she looked at him, she was shocked. He looked horrid, far worse than usual. William was sick every morning until he’d had his first drink, but today he seemed barely able to pick up his goblet. She would have to have her say before he finished even this first drink.
“I have made all the arrangements, William, as you bid me,” Judith began quietly. “We can leave for Pershwick as soon as you are ready.”
“Pershwick?”
“Where Leonie is, William. We will stay the night there, t
hen go on to Crewel for the wedding.”
“Wedding?” He looked at her squarely, the whites of his eyes so heavily veined with red as to be a hideous dark pink. “I do not recall—”
“William, William, you cannot have forgotten your own daughter’s wedding,” Judith said with feigned exasperation. Of course, she hadn’t told him and he hadn’t forgotten.
“Nonsense, woman,” he said, “Leonie is a child. What wedding?”
“Only a father would still see her as a child. She is nearly twenty, William. You would not see her married. You turned down every offer for her. So the king has taken matters into his hands. You read his order. Shall I bring it so you may read it again? King Henry posted the banns himself. Leonie is to wed Sir Rolfe d’Ambert at Crewel.”
William shook his head wearily. This was all too much to grasp. Leonie nearly twenty? What offers had he refused? Henry ordering his child’s marriage? By Christ’s holy blood, he could not picture his daughter grown up. He saw her still as a child, with those large gray eyes so like her mother’s. Married?
“I do not remember signing a wedding contract, Judith. Were Elisabeth’s stipulations met?”
Judith frowned. “What stipulations?”
“Leonie’s dowry is to remain hers to do with as she will. It was her mother’s wish that she be protected in this way. Elisabeth was protected in our marriage, and she was determined that Leonie have the same advantage.”
Judith gasped. Would it make a difference to d’Ambert if he knew? Probably not, for he would realize that once he had Leonie, he could force her to do whatever he wanted. He could even force her to sell the land if that was his wish.
“You need not worry about the stipulations.” Judith spoke truthfully for once. “The contracts will be signed on the morrow before the vows are spoken, so you can make them known then. You can even have the contract drawn up now if you wish, before we leave.”
“Yes, that would be best. Who is Rolfe d’Ambert?” He was embarrassed to be asking, for he must surely know.
“The new lord of Kempston.”
“But Sir Edmond—”
“Dead these many months, William. His son fled before he could be banished. Surely you remember. You never liked him. You suspected his knavery long before others complained of it to the king.”
William sighed. What good to say again and again that he could not remember? He felt as if he had been asleep for years. He set his wine goblet aside, but his hand began to shake uncontrollably. A little would steady him, and he reached for the wine again. Only a little. He must see to the marriage contract. And if he was to see Leonie, he wanted her not to see him in this terrible condition.
Chapter 6
LEONIE was told that the large group of travelers nearing Pershwick were from Montwyn. The size of the group gave her pause, but she imagined Lady Judith was paying her another visit and was, this time, traveling with more servants than usual.
She took her usual precautions, sending all her able-bodied men inside to keep to the tower quarters to pose as part of her garrison. She could not argue overmuch if Pershwick servants were recruited for Montwyn, but she protested most vehemently when it came to depleting her men-at-arms.
She sent a servant to the village to warn those who felt the need to take to the woods until it was safe. And she sent Wilda and two other young maids to her chamber, where they would remain safely out of sight. Wilda was brazen enough to protest. She did not wish to miss the excitement of having guests. Leonie snapped, “You wish to be raped in the garden like Ethelinda? Did you see how she looked after Richer was finished with her?”
Wilda was subdued by Leonie’s anger and disgust. Richer Calveley treated Lady Judith with the greatest care and deference when he escorted her to Pershwick, making Leonie wonder about their true relationship. When he came to Pershwick without Lady Judith, he showed a different character, as foul as any Leonie had ever known. By Ethelinda’s account, he took pleasure in hurting her, and although Leonie had sent a complaint to Montwyn, nothing had come of it.
Aunt Beatrix and Leonie joined Sir Guibert in the hall to greet their visitors. Leonie steeled herself for another unpleasant encounter with Judith, but nothing prepared her for the terrible sight she beheld as an old man approached with Judith. She barely recognized him. Her father—here? She went dizzy with a sudden swirl of fierce emotions: bitterness, hate, sorrow for his pathetic condition and the dissipation in his haggard face. His face proclaimed clearly that he had become a drunkard. But there was love in that face, too, love for Leonie.
“Leonie?”
There was surprise in William’s voice, as if he were not sure she was his daughter. It brought Leonie’s bitterness surging upward, blocking out all the rest. Indeed, why should he know her? She was a woman now, not a child. He hadn’t seen her in six years. Six years!
“You do us honor, my lord,” Leonie said coldly. “Seat yourselves by the fire and I will see to refreshment.”
William was confused by her icy manner. “What is amiss, dear heart? You are not pleased with your husband?”
The endearment sent a stab through Leonie’s heart, but shock followed that. “Husband?”
“You play, Leonie,” Judith interjected. “You know your father means the man you will marry on the morrow.”
“What?”
“Do not feign innocence, Leonie,” Judith replied wearily. “The banns have been posted. The marriage is by the king’s order. You know your father sent you notice as soon as the king’s messenger came.” She turned to her husband. “Is that not so, William?” William played right into the performance by looking thoroughly bewildered. “Do not say you forgot to send word to her! The poor girl has only this day to prepare! Oh, William, how could you forget such a thing!”
Sir Guibert was as shocked as Leonie, but he couldn’t allow his mind to whirl, as Leonie’s was doing. Guibert’s life would change now, just as hers would. Her husband would be her lord and master. Guibert and Leonie’s other vassals would be asked to renew their oath to her at the wedding, an act that signified their accepting her husband. There was no question of whether Guibert would renew his oath to Leonie. Whether he approved her husband or not, he could never forsake her. But her other vassals might choose to leave her.
“Who is my lady’s husband?” Guibert asked, and Judith smiled, feeling the worst was over. “You will be pleased to know that he is your neighbor, the new lord of Kempston.”
In the shocked silence that followed, Guibert looked at Leonie, to see all the color leaving her face. She said not a word. He knew why. She could not refuse the king’s will, no matter how she felt about it. And it was time she married, Guibert thought. He had long thought so. She would get used to the match. She would have to.
Leonie wordlessly turned and fled the hall. Closing herself in her room, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed tears of self-pity. Her father felt so little for her that he could wait to tell her of her wedding until the day before it was to happen. Did he care nothing for her? What had become of the loving man who had been a real father once?
She finally remembered that she was not alone and looked around. Her wide-eyed maids had never seen her cry before. Roughly, she wiped her face, angry that she had given in to emotions so childishly. Anger was a boon, bringing her spirit back.
She sent the maids to the kitchen with orders about dinner, then sat by her hearth, glad to be alone to think. She knew why the king was interfering in her life. He wasn’t concerned over her unmarried state. His interference had been requested by the Black Wolf. She was certain of that, but she could not guess what the man wanted of her.
It had been nearly a month since the burning of the woodcutter’s hut, and Leonie had ordered that no more of her people venture onto Crewel land. The man’s troubles had ceased, hadn’t they? If they had not, she might think that he wanted to marry her in order to end those troubles. But since there had been peace for a month, that could not be his reason. It was t
rue she had a handsome dowry, but most alliances were made for the aid they would bring as well as for money, and her father’s aid could not be counted on. So that was not the Black Wolf’s reason. And the lord of Kempston had never seen her, so there was no reason to be found there either. Why did he want her…?
Leonie gasped as Alain Montigny’s words came back to her. “I must leave. I have heard enough about the Black Wolf to know I cannot stay and resist his taking possession of my land. He would kill me. He would not care that I am innocent of the crimes he believes me guilty of.”
“What crimes?” Leonie had asked, frantic.
“What matter the crimes!” Alain cried. “The king has killed my father and dispossessed me so that he may give Kempston to his French mercenary, Rolfe d’Ambert, that black wolf of the devil’s. No wonder he is called that! He is a ravaging beast. I was not even allowed a trial!” Alain wailed.
Leonie was fired by Alain’s rage. She had known him all her life. They had played together as children, and she had even thought of marrying him. But the weakness of his character showed itself as he grew older, and she knew he would not make a good husband. But they were friends, and the king’s injustice was appalling—worse because Alain did not have the courage to fight for himself, and there was no one to help him.
“If you want to make a stand, Alain, you know I would call up my men.”
“No,” he stopped her nervously, “I know you would aid me, Leonie, but I cannot ask it of you. The Black Wolf is too powerful. He comes even now with his army to take Kempston. If the king were not behind him—” He let the thought linger, as if the king were the only thing that kept him from fighting.
“Where will you go, Alain?”
“I have a cousin in Ireland.”