Dauntless by Tamara Leigh
Chapter Three
The groom was a mess, though not his garments and not for lack of a thorough scrubbing, including dark, silvered hair that was more wondrous up close. The mess was a result of cuts, bruises, and swellings on his face above the collar of a beautifully embroidered tunic, and then there were injuries to the hands with which the priest directed him to take hold of Robine’s.
Other than the words required of Godfroi to join his life with hers, he had spoken no others, not even when he lifted her down from her horse and led her to the church doors. Worse, though some thrill of victory ought to yet light his eyes, there appeared none—as if displeasure at wedding her overshadowed all, and more proof of that was his quick, dry kiss to the cheek.
It offended, but more it discouraged and wearied Robine who must scale the walls erected against her were she to find acceptance here.
Blessedly, just as the exchange of vows had been private with fewer than a score attending, most notably William and Herleva, neither was the wedding feast a great event. In the midst of it, Robine realized her husband’s brother was not present, nor had he been at the chapel. Only then did it occur Godfroi’s mood might have as much to do with Hugh’s absence as her.
From the little she knew of the brothers’ relationship, they were close despite all this day had portended. Might Godfroi’s victory have put finish to that? Would Hugh’s victory have done the same, cracking wide the twenty-two-year divide between them?
Those questions further fatiguing, she was horrified to discover her lids and chin had begun lowering. Throwing the former wide, raising the latter, she stared at the platter shared with her husband, the viands on her side mostly untouched. And he showed no concern over her lack of appetite, not once offering a morsel from the point of his knife as her father did Delphine when he was in a fair mood.
Because he thinks you a girl, which you shall disprove,she told herself.
Rather, she hoped she could, having had no opportunity to seek further counsel from her stepmother who had attended the ceremony but not the feast so she might begin the journey home. Nearly all Robine knew from what Delphine had explained of marital relations days past was she would suffer the nuptial bed when her husband claimed his rights and she must hide her dislike lest it offend.
The only consolation—could it be so esteemed—was assurance given by a maid who had drawn Robine aside and told the first time was not as bad as birthing a babe, giving the young woman hope she would not scream nor curse as her stepmother did with each child delivered.
Surprisingly, at meal’s end Lady Maëlys escorted her daughter-in-law to the solar yielded to the new baron this day.
Of less surprise, Lady Herleva appeared. “I would be pleased to aid in putting the bride to bed,” she said.
Throughout the ritual of removing Robine’s gown, drawing over her skin cloths dipped in warm, flower-scented water, clothing her in the fine chemise fashioned for this night, and brushing her hair, her heart beat so fast she became lightheaded. When at last all was done and the sheet drawn over her and scattered with rose petals, she settled into pillows propped against the headboard.
Of further surprise, Lady Maëlys squeezed her hand atop the sheet and withdrew.
Then Lady Herleva leaned down and kissed the bride’s brow. “My son and I depart at dawn. Remember, you are the greatest of prizes won.” Then she was gone.
Now the waiting amid soft candlelight.
And waiting.
And waiting.
* * *
He neededno one to tell him he should not be here, but here he was searching for his brother rather than honoring his wedding night by being present for his bride—if one could name the girl that.
Recalling the ceremony, grudgingly he admitted she had looked and sounded a young woman. Recalling the wedding feast when she nearly nodded off, he assured himself he marked her well as too young to be a wife. Still, it was inconsiderate to have left her alone and waiting. But Hugh—
Coarse laughter sounded overhead, confirming what was reported by several asked along the way. His brother was at his favorite inn and already abovestairs with whichever woman had appealed.
“Congratulations on your win, Baron D’Argent,” said the innkeeper, a barrel-shaped man who was the first to notice Godfroi’s entrance. Halting before his lord, he tugged at his stained apron as if that would remove its wrinkles. “And on your marriage.”
“I thank you.” Godfroi jutted his chin at the stairs.
“Oui, your brother is up there now.”
“How long was he down here?”
“Two hours, and though much he imbibed, he has been well looked after—might yet be soaking in the bath I had bucketed up to him.”
Though Godfroi longed to speak with Hugh, he knew he would not be welcome, even were his brother merely soaking or his hair being lathered by his companion. He needed time, as would this D’Argent were he now the lesser of the other.
But would I be here as well?he wondered. Would this be solace? Though he wanted to believe he would have been at Hugh’s wedding and the feast, he feared that just as he had forgotten who he was while battling for the title, now he might forget who he was.
“May I pour ale for you, my lord?”
“Non, I leave.”
“Should I tell your brother you were here?”
“Not necessary.” Godfroi pressed a coin in the man’s hand and departed.
As he spurred back to the castle that was now his to administer and pass to his heir, he was glad he had one thing to look forward to for how late the hour. His girl-wife would be soundly asleep.
Likely he would gain little rest this night, albeit for reasons other than those expected of a newly-wed man, but the silence in which to think on settling into his future held much appeal. And was needed after all these years of nearly sweating blood to get to this place.
* * *
“Heaven above, Godfroi!”
Turning from the donjon steps he had started to ascend, he saw his mother come out of the shadows. He had felt watched from stables to inner bailey and knew the men patrolling the walls speculated little over what had sent him from here hours past when their new baron ought to be with his wife.
Though Godfroi was more private than Hugh, they had to be fairly certain it was for his absent brother he departed. And there could be no doubt his mother knew it and had gained no sleep throughout the waiting.
Certes, she was displeased. Was it because he had ceased struggling against going in search of Hugh? That leaving his bride alone on their wedding night reflected poorly on the D’Argents though there was naught for him in the nuptial chamber? Or was her displeasure for the danger in which the Baron of Valeur placed himself by riding without escort through the night?
She halted, and he noted torchlight around the walls was unkind to her lovely face, not merely revealing lines on forehead and around eyes and mouth but digging them deep enough to cast shadows that made her look more vulnerable than when she had come to him in the chapel this morn.
“Forgive me, Mother. I should not have departed without warning, nor absent an escort, but Hugh—”
“You found him?”
It was said with such ache, he stared. He had known she was not cold to Hugh’s disappearance, that the mother put away yet existed as further evidenced by glimpses of her this day. However, that her first concern seemed for the son who had lost the barony as she had believed best made Godfroi want to embrace her.
Setting a hand on her shoulder, he said, “I found him.”
Some of her tension eased. “That inn?”
He wished he could say otherwise. “That inn.”
“Drunk?”
“I did not see him, but the innkeeper assured me he fares well, and I heard his laughter.”
She nodded. “Ever drink has made him happier, and doubtless he needs that this night. And a woman, I suppose.”
Seeing no good in confirming nor denying that, Godfroi said, “It has been a long and difficult day. You need your rest.”
“Finally,” she whispered, and he was fairly certain she did not refer to this day but all the years since her husband’s demise, perhaps as far back as when she birthed sons and it was decided they would fight each other when grown. But the worst was over.
He slid his hand to her elbow. “I will see you to your chamber.”
Her ascent was slow, but he did not hurry her, sensing weakness where there had been strength.
Before reaching the landing where the porter would admit them, she paused and said, “I require no more aid.”
“But—”
“It is to your wife you must go. Too long she has waited on you.”
Imagining the girl curled on one side of the bed, he said, “Certes, by now she sleeps.”
“I think not, Godfroi. An hour past I heard her moving about the solar—pacing, pouring drink, opening and closing things. She must be hurt to find herself alone on her wedding night.”
He wanted to argue in the hope if Robine was still awake, a few more minutes would see her senseless, but he nodded. Once inside a dimly lit hall absent the usual sounds of retainers at sleep, it having been cleared in consideration of the wedding night, he released Lady Maëlys.
“Rest well, Mother.”
She set a hand on his jaw, and with urgency said, “Upon that field, I saw what I feared. It gripped both my boys, but it could not keep hold of you, Godfroi. For that, I am glad Valeur is yours as well as the lady.”
Though he could agree on only one account, he nodded.
“After what…” She bit her lip. “It was a fierce fight, just as your sire wished to ensure the worthiest son succeed him and gain the respect of enemies, but much my hope Hugh shall have a place here.”
“It is what I want, Mother, and when he comes fully back to himself as I seek to do myself, I hope it is what he wants.”
She smiled. “Prayer, my son. Always prayer.”
“Oui.” He kissed her cheek.
“I am so tired,” she said and nodded at the curtained solar behind the dais. “Go, Baron D’Argent.”
He did, looking back as he ascended the dais. Seeing she had reached the landing atop the stairs, he continued forward and paused to listen ahead of entering the solar.
Silence.
Assured Robine slept, he pushed through the curtains.
Amid the scent of roses and by the light of a half dozen candles nearing their end, he found his wife facing him at the foot of the bed between his trunk and hers.
* * *
Such anger!
This day, her sire’s chattel had become the chattel of a D’Argent. This day, she was scorned for a girl because she held to a memory of her mother’s love. This day, emotions had been raked over the gravel of what this night portended. This day she was wed to the brother she liked least, shown no kindnesses during the ceremony nor feast, and abandoned.
And that was not the worst of the hours since the present made of her to receive Godfroi in the privacy of their chamber remained unopened. The worst was what would be said of his neglect.
Just as Robine knew her husband was not where he ought to be, others would know and conclude he found her undesirable. It hurt enough he made that known to her, but that he was not discreet in shielding his feelings from others, especially those who were now to answer to her as their lady…
While learning the reach of the solar for the dozenth time, she had been alerted to Godfroi’s return when one of the great doors opened and she heard him converse low with his mother.
Now here he was, and though she tried to calm her breath by crossing her arms over her chest, it was impossible for how disheveled he appeared—as if come from the arms of a woman not his wife.
The wife he believes a girl, she silently disdained, but found some comfort in there being no stumble to his footsteps nor sway in his body when he halted upon seeing she stood before the marital bed.
When he remained unmoving, she shrugged, though her attempt at indifference felt more a spasm. “Well, at least you do not appear drunk—do not dislike me that much,” she said and wondered if her tongue sounded as thick as it felt. Wetting her lips, she said more precisely, “Rather, I hope you do not.”
Still he neither spoke nor moved, making her feel as if she stood before her sire awaiting determination of how best to punish the girl who disappointed her stepmother—and causing anger to begin slinking away.
You are a woman, she told herself, but she did not sound one when words rushed past her lips. “Pray, tell me you do not hate me, Godfroi.”
“I do not. Why would I?”
Lowering her arms to her sides, she was alarmed by how much that slight movement unsettled her. “Since ere I was born, our families have been on very poor terms.”
“So they have. For that, this marriage.”
“But it is said—” She snapped her teeth closed.
“What is said, Robine? That your sire may be responsible for the death of mine?”
She gasped over how easily he spoke it—more, that he did so with what sounded detachment. “Oui, Husband, those tidings came looking for me.”
“I have heard the rumor and, like you, did not wish this alliance. But it is a good thing if it puts finish to the waste of lives and resources spent on D’Argents striking at L’Épées and L’Épées striking at D’Argents. For that, we wed.”
Of course only that, but how she wished it did not make her sad. “For that,” she said and grabbed up the skirt of her chemise. “Meaning it is time I pay the marital debt.”
Of a sudden, he was before her, hands engulfing hers. “Non, you will not, Robine.”
Anger did not slink back. It flung itself between them. “I am not a girl!”
“You are.”
She thrust to her toes. “I am not!”
His frown deepened, but he lowered his head. Nostrils flaring as if to breathe her in, she thought—hoped!—he would kiss her so sooner she could prove herself a woman. But he said sharply, “Are you drunk?”
She caught her breath. “I had a cup of wine while waiting for you. My stepmother said it relaxes a woman for…”
He drew another breath of her. “How many cups?”
How did he know she had poured more than one? She was not tripping over her feet, her speech was not terribly off, and did not a single cup carry the same scent as…however many she had sipped?
Peering up at him, distracted by candlelight running the silver in his tousled hair, she was struck by the longing to draw those strands through her fingers. And would have the moment he released her hands had he not made a sound of disgust and swung away.
More unbalanced by all she had imbibed, she braced her feet and watched him cross to the sideboard and examine the pitcher.
He looked around. “Is this habit?”
Once more feeling as if awaiting her sire’s judgment, she said, “Non, it is just that when you did not come, I…” She shook her head, making herself slightly dizzy. “It was only this night.”
“And no night hence,” he bit, then was before her again, face as disapproving as her sire’s when she had argued the convent held more appeal than wedding a D’Argent. She did not realize she swayed until he gripped her shoulder to steady her. “If you are sad, frightened, or angry, cry it out in private—scream if you must. My wife will not go the way of drink.”
Great her shame for all those pours—until his next words.
“To command the respect due the Lady of Valeur, you will learn to control your emotions in public and, eventually, in private so ever you present as composed and confident. For this, you require time to grow into a woman.”
She glared into his blurred face. “I am not a child!”
“True, but neither are you a woman.”
“I am!” She began yanking up her chemise. “You will see.”
“Cease!” He gripped her arms.
His face blurred further, this time not from drink but tears. “Had Hugh won, he would make me his wife in full.”
His eyebrows nearly met. “Oui, rather than the woman he now enjoys, one too young would be in his arms—and wishing she were not.”
She did not like the sense made of those words. If he knew his brother had sought out a woman free with favors, did it not mean he had been in such a place himself?
Hating that her mouth trembled, she said, “This night, did you also enjoy one of those women?”
Godfroi nearly cursed. All hope of still and silence lost, patience stripped nearly clean, he said, “You accuse me of defiling our marriage vows?”
“Did you not?”
The prideful and stubborn of him did not want to defend himself, and he might have sided with them were he not struck by the solution to the problem of her. Considering what it entailed would reflect poorly on her, she was owed honesty. Hopefully, it would also be something of a balm in the years to come.
“I did not defile our vows. What I did was go in search of a brother who is hurting to ensure ill had not befallen him. Once I found him and was assured he was in good company, I returned—to you.”
Blinking rapidly, the bright in her cheeks ebbing, she whispered, “I am sorry.”
“As am I.” He set her aside and opened her trunk.
When he began riffling through it, she asked, “For what do you search, Godfroi?”
“Your pack.”
“Why?” she said so warily he knew her drink-muddled thoughts moved in the right direction.
Removing the purse she would also need, curiosity over what stuffed it made him spread the strings. He was permitted only a glimpse of the contents before she snatched it from him. “That is mine!” She pressed it to her chest.
As was the doll within—further proof he did what was best.
Continuing to delve possessions consisting mostly of garments of good quality, he found the pack and extended it. “You have a half hour to fill it with items of most pressing need.”
“You are returning me to my sire,” she whispered tearfully.
“Oui.” When she did not take the pack, he set it on the floor. “I shall send your trunk later.”
She released the purse clasped close, dropped to her knees, and wrapped her arms around his legs. “Pray, do not do this. Do not shame me. I—”
“God’s rood! You really are a girl!” he said and felt a pang of regret when sobs shook her slight frame.
Lord, grant me patience, he beseeched, then unhooked her arms and raised her to her feet.
Lifting a face lined with tears, she said, “Do not cast me off, Godfroi. I will not drink to excess again. I will learn to control my emotions. I will stay under my chemise. I will sleep on the floor. I—”
“It is not forever, Robine. It is only until you are a woman and I have established my lordship. Then I will come for you.” Seeing in her eyes words soon to reach her lips, he turned her and settled her atop his trunk. “I go to arrange an escort. Dress yourself and fill the pack.”
“How long?” she called as he strode across the solar. “A few months? A…year?”
However long it takes,he thought and pushed through the curtains. Likely years.