She blushed, giving him only a curt nod. He chuckled again.
“Were it not for that, I would be tempted to—well, never mind. I doubt me the matter will ever come up with John. It might be wise to renew our oaths to him after the wedding, though, just to put his mind at ease somewhat. That is, if he is in attendance.”
“Why would he not be, when he is already at Shefford?” she asked.
“Because if what you say is true, he may be too incensed to stay to see the joining made official. I am sure he has no lack of excuses he can draw from, to leave ere the wedding takes place.”
She could hope. Actually, she hoped he had done so already, for she was not looking forward to any more dealings with John Lackland.
Forty
Before they departed Clydon, Milisant found out that Wulfric had arisen early after all, to spend time with his hosts. Also, it had been decided that the Fitz Hughs would leave for the wedding a day earlier than planned, to accompany them to Shefford.
Apparently Wulfric had ridden alone to come after her, and so was glad for the large escort for the return trip to Shefford. Whether he had come alone to save time, since a contingent of his men could have slowed him down, or to keep her attempt to escape a secret, she didn’t know. Likely the latter. He would not like it if it became common knowledge that she would rather risk life and limb than marry him, and leaving on her own, with the recent attempts that had been made on her life, had definitely been risking life and limb.
She did attempt to ask him, very subtly, if all had been well at Shefford while she was gone. Specifically she was still worried about those three men who had followed her, who might have belonged to one of Shefford’s patrols. If they did, she hoped for some assurance that she hadn’t caused them serious hurt.
But Wulfric didn’t take her inquiry seriously enough to give it more than a “Naught has happened that would concern you.” That, of course, didn’t tell her a single thing, since anything to do with Shefford’s men-at-arms, Wulfric likely considered none of her business.
It was significant, to whatever had passed between Roland and Wulfric last night when they had stared so long at each other, that Roland was all smiles when he saw her today, and didn’t even look her over in search of bruises. She wondered if Wulfric had spoken to him that morning and what he could have told him, because obviously he thought all was well with her now.
It was hardly that, but she didn’t feel inclined to tell Roland. She had tried to involve him once, and had come close to costing him dearly for it. She would not do so again.
They were nigh ready to leave when Lady Reina appeared with her two daughters, the youngest dressed as one would expect of a daughter of the keep. Reina had done no more than raise a brow at Milisant when she’d seen her own attire, but that had been enough to have her blushing and rushing off to change into her only bliaut before they left. Jesu, it made her wonder, if her own mother were still alive, whether she really would hold even half of her stubborn preferences, or if she would indeed have been no different from other women, conforming to what was expected of her just as Eleanor Fitz Hugh did.
It had been easy, doing as she pleased when she was young, because her father had been either too intoxicated to notice, or unable to make her feel the shame that a mother could. How different would she be today if her mother had lived? Would she have accepted Wulfric without a single word against him, simply because she would have known that whatever she had to say wouldn’t be taken into account?
As if her opinion had counted, she reminded herself. She was going to have to marry him. He had himself made sure of that with his dire threats to any other husband she might obtain, so even her father couldn’t help her out of this marriage now. She should be utterly crushed, rather than just angry about it, and even her anger was more over Wulfric’s attitude than having her last options gone. She wondered why that was so.
There was another brow raising, from Wulfric this time, when Milisant returned to the hall in the borrowed bliaut. She could have screamed in frustration at that point. Allowing others to dictate her actions as she’d just done, even if only by a look, went against the grain. Yet it was going to be so for the rest of her life, unless she did as Jhone had recommended and made an effort to cultivate Wulfric’s goodwill, or at least his tolerance.
The trip back to Shefford took twice as long, with the large entourage that included a baggage wain. So it was just after dark when they arrived. Milisant counted that as a bonus, if her absence was to be kept unknown for the most part. And in fact she did manage to sneak up to her chamber unnoticed, due to the fanfare of the Fitz Hughs’ arrival, and her own hooded cloak.
Jhone had noticed her, however, and entered the chamber right behind Milisant. Her face was pale, her tone as distressed as she looked.
“How did Wulfric find you, and so soon? Jesu, Mili, I am so sorry. When he figured out the ruse that night, and started shouting at me to tell him where you were, I crumpled at his feet. He was truly furious. But I did not tell him—at least, I do not think I did.”
Milisant gave her sister a quick hug. “I know you did not. Faugh, ‘tis my own fault. I did the telling myself, though inadvertently.”
“How?”
“I pretended to be you one day last week, to get out of the keep without that damn escort that always followed me, yet I ran into Sir Raimund on the way, who wanted to talk to you about the man I was ‘in love’ with. I did not volunteer Roland’s name, but because I was supposed to be you, I could not just shrug him off either, so I told him that you had never been told the name, just that I called the man my ‘gentle giant.’ Wulfric, of course, knows the Fitz Hughs, since Clydon is a vassalage of Shefford’s, and thus he was able to guess who I meant. How many know I was gone?”
“Not many. Most still think that I was ill that first day, and you were up here tending me, then I let it be known you came down with the same malady, to explain your absence today.
Whoever saw you in the hall just now might merely think you have recovered, if they even recognized you. I noticed the bliaut under your cloak, or I would not have realized it was you myself.”
Milisant nodded. “I doubt me Wulfric wants it known that I was gone, so ‘tis as well that you thought to use the excuse of sickness.”
“I saw Sir Roland was with you. Did you not have time to put your proposal to him?”
Milisant sighed and explained briefly what had occurred with Roland, ending with, “I wish, I really do, that I had figured out my true feelings for him ere I went racing off to Clydon. I could have gone directly to Father instead and… Bah, it matters not. Wulfric has convinced me that as long as he feels that I belong to him already—and apparently he feels exactly that—even if Father agreed to break the contract and marry me to someone else, my new husband would not live very long.”
Jhone’s eyes widened. “He said that?”
“He threatened it.”
“That sounds somewhat—romantic.”
Milisant rolled her eyes before retorting, “’Tis insane is what it is.”
“Nay, what it proves is he now wants you, no matter what. That is what is romantic.”
“I swear, Jhone, you would try to see a good side to a toad if given half a chance.”
Jhone snorted. “His wanting you that much is a good thing.”
“‘Tis possessiveness, plain and simple. It does not mean he has any tender regard for me.”
“Nay, of course not, nor will it ever, as long as you stubbornly refuse to see it.”
“Why are we arguing?”
Jhone sighed and dropped down to sit on the bed. “Because ‘tis better than crying?” she said forlornly.
Milisant came over and sat next to her. “’Tis not worth crying over. I know when to stop batting my head against the wall. My last options are gone, so I will marry him. But I will not let him crush me. I will be fine, Jhone—truly.”
“That is not what you thought before.”
&
nbsp; “Nay, but I had other hopes then. Now, well, I will merely put the same effort I put into avoiding this joining into making sure Wulfric de Thorpe accepts me as I am, or at least does not try to change me too much.”
Jhone smiled. “I would not have thought you would give in so gracefully.”
Milisant abruptly pushed her sister off the bed, ignored her screech of surprised outrage, and snorted. “Faugh, who said aught about being graceful?”
Forty-one
It was not a surprise for Milisant to find King John in the Great Hall the next morning, just a terrible disappointment that he hadn’t left as she had hoped. Jhone had confessed that she had been forced to speak with him during the ruse, and that as best she could tell, he had seemed amused by her nervousness.
Milisant was no longer fearful herself after hearing that. Her fear had been for immediate reprisal because she had dared to attack the king. But obviously John had no intention of letting that attack, and in particular her reasons for it, become public knowledge, if for no other reason than it would be an embarrassment.
If she’d had her wits about her that night, she would have realized that sooner. However, Jhone had not been left alone with the king either, where he could make a comment about what had happened between them, so they didn’t know what he actually felt about it.
He noticed her entrance, but not with much apparent interest. At least, he did not break from the conversation he was having with Lord Guy and a few other important-looking men. They were gathered around the table that had been set out with bread, wine, and cheese for those who wanted to break their morning fast. There was much laughter amongst them, and many smiles.
She was not hungry herself. Even if she were, she would not approach that table. She held a small hope that John would not wish to speak with her again, if only to save them both embarrassment. And she would do her best to make that easy for him, by keeping her distance from him. So she didn’t pause in the hall, heading out of the keep to check on Stomper instead. She barely noticed her silent escort who fell into step behind her.
The weather was holding firm but cold, the last of the snow on the ground nigh gone. Lady Anne had fretted that the storm they had experienced would keep many of those she had invited for the wedding away, and so it might have if the heavy snow and wind had continued.
But Milisant was not to be lucky enough to have her wedding delayed by the weather. Most weddings were planned for springtime or summer, for just that reason, because the many witnesses required for a wedding could not all fit in church, and thus it was typical for a large crowd to be gathered outside the church during the long wedding mass, which would not be a pleasant prospect in the thick of winter.
On the way to the stable, the sound of swords clashing drew Milisant’s eyes toward the practice yard, as always. Today, however, her step slowed, then halted altogether when she recognized Wulfric there.
He and his brother were exercising with swords, though with the crowd gathered round, it was more like an exhibition. After watching them for a moment, she concluded that Wulfric would win hands down and without much effort, if he was serious about it. His sword seemed to be an extension of his hand, weightless, so easily did he wield it.
A cough behind her reminded her that she was not alone, and her escort was not dressed properly for standing about in the cold watching swordplay. Neither was she for that matter, wearing only a thin cloak. But she had been too mesmerized to notice the cold herself.
She didn’t berate herself as she hurried on to the stable. She had never denied that Wulfric was a splendid specimen of manhood. Now she had to admit as well that his swordsmanship ranked among the best she had ever witnessed. She used to love to watch Roland in knightly practice. She had just experienced that same feeling watching Wulfric.
She smiled to herself as she entered the stable, then Stomper’s stall. If she got nothing else out of her marriage, she would at least have that enjoyment, of watching her husband hone his knightly skills. She would just have to make sure Wulfric didn’t realize she found it entertaining, or no doubt he would prohibit it, as he planned to prohibit everything else she found enjoyment in.
“Crispin’s daughter—what was your first name?”
Milisant groaned to herself, so occupied with Stomper’s grooming that she hadn’t noticed John’s approach. She was not really surprised, though, that he was suddenly there, and without his usual followers. He had obviously sought her out for a purpose, and she could think of one quite easily. He would want to know if she had told anyone about their encounter. She would have to convince him she had not. "Milisant, Sire.”
She accepted the subtle insult without rancor. She didn’t doubt that John knew her name well enough, he just wanted her to think she was of such little import that he could easily forget it.
“I would not have thought to find you here, a foul-smelling place a lady would disdain to frequent,” he said next, and with a good deal of that disdain he bespoke.
Another insult, however subtle. Was he deliberately trying to get a rise out of her?
She dealt with his remark, rather than the intent. After all, a stable did reek more in winter, when its doors were kept closed to keep out the worst of the cold. And most ladies did not attend to their own mounts, leaving that task to the stable lads whose job it specifically was.
So she said with a feigned sigh, “I am afraid no one will get near my horse, Your Highness, so I have no choice but to see to him myself.”
It was unnerving to realize that he had not really noticed Stomper, big as he was, until just then, that his eyes had been only on her from the moment he entered the stable. Watching for her slightest reaction to him? Looking for the fear he had seen before, when Jhone had pretended to be her?
But he did look at the warhorse now, and after his green-gold eyes flared wide in his surprise, he actually forgot himself enough to say, “Are you mad, girl, to put yourself so near that animal?”
She managed to restrain herself from laughing. “He belongs to me, so is tame to me, though I cannot guarantee anyone else’s safety, do they get near him.”
His eyes started to narrow on her, as if he thought she had been subtly threatening him, but then he suddenly laughed instead. “True enough of any destrier.”
“But hers in particular,” Wulfric said as he came up behind the king.
Milisant was amazed to find herself actually relieved by Wulfric’s sudden appearance—for once. Her escort, as usual, had not lingered near Stomper’s stall, so John would have been free to say whatever he cared to and be assured no one would have heard him. Thankfully, he had not immediately done so, and now with Wulfric there, it was too late for him to mention what had passed between them.
John hid his disappointment well. He muttered something about thinking his own horse had been sheltered within, an effort to explain his being there in conversation with her, then abruptly left when Wulfric directed him to the stable where the royal mounts had been put.
Ah, how quickly relief could turn to dread, now one nemesis had been replaced by another, or so Milisant found herself thinking. Ironic but true. Yet she was grateful that Wulfric had entered the stable when he had, for whatever reason, and so she would try, she really would, to not start an argument with him.
“Did you want to talk with me?” she asked him, keeping her tone neutral.
“Actually, I was bringing Stomper sugar ere I returned to the hall.”
She watched in surprise as he did, indeed, produce a clump of sugar. Stomper quickly moved to the edge of the stall to take it from his open palm, as if they were old friends. She recalled that he had gotten the horse into his stall with sugar, but that one time would not account for how quickly the animal had just come to him.
“You have done that more than once.” It wasn’t a question, was in fact a bit accusing.
“Often,” he replied with a shrug.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Be
cause it was a nice thing to do, and she had it set in her mind that he wasn’t nice to animals. No doubt he did have an ulterior motive. She just couldn’t figure out what it might be at the moment.
“Did he threaten you again?”
She was watching Stomper when he asked it. She continued to keep her eyes on the horse, rather than Wulfric. It was much easier to concentrate that way.
He had meant John, of course, and likewise, she answered without using his name. “He tossed some minor insults my way, mayhap intentional, mayhap merely thoughtless on his part. However, I doubt me his appearance here was coincidental, not when I know he saw me leave the keep, then he showed up here, alone, not long after.”
“He followed you apurpose, then?”
“So it did seem. But whether he would have got around to discussing what happened that night…” She shrugged. “Your arrival kept him from revealing his purpose—if it was other than trying to make me feel like an insignificant gnat beneath his boot.”
He ignored how sour her tone had just turned. “My father was going to have you restricted to the women’s solar while we have so many unknown people coming and going who have arrived with the guests. I’m thinking now, ‘tis not a bad idea and should already have been done.”
Her eyes flared on him and her voice came out snarling. “That I be imprisoned?”
“‘Twould hardly be that, and only until after the wedding, when everyone here will be accounted for and known again. As it is now, your assassin could be standing right next to you, yet how would we know it, when he could as like be one of the guests’ servants? It would also keep you from being found alone again—as you just were.”
“I would as soon know what his intentions are now. I had hoped he would avoid me. But since that is not to be the case, would you rather not know if he can be appeased, or left to wonder? Or do you intend to speak with him about it yourself? I had thought you meant to avoid the subject with him as well. Would it not be better if I convince him that no one else knows, especially the de Thorpes? Would that not make it easier for him to back off?”