Lord Tristram’s Love Match by R.R. Vane
Chapter 13
Present time, 1174
Judith’s mother was gazing through the window when Judith came into her room. Lady Fenice soon glanced upon her daughter.
“I’ve spoken to your husband,” she said.
“Oh,” Judith muttered, striving to appear unconcerned. “What was it that you spoke about?” she then added.
“Not much. He still does not know what the fate of your aunt Edith will be, but we’ll learn of it soon enough. Her husband’s fallen in the rebellion against Henry, and the king is angered by the part they both played in the fight against him. Yet perchance Henry will forgive her. Our family has high standing, and he’s not bound to soon forget it!”
Judith nodded. She didn’t particularly care for her aunt, who was a cold, querulous woman, yet she felt sorry for her and mourned her uncle who’d fallen during a siege mere months before. She’d prayed for his soul and she’d also thought of her step-cousin, hoping Henry would be wise enough to forgive young Raymond for the part his parents had played in the rebellion. It was a relief that Lady Edith’s own daughter, Emma, had already married a powerful lord and was safe in Normandy. Henry’s vengeance would not fall upon Emma or her husband, who’d played no part in the rebellion. However, Aunt Edith and her husband, Raymond’s father, had been among Eleanor’s staunchest supporters.
“We’ll learn soon enough. There is, unfortunately, little we can do at this time for both Edith and Raymond. We live on my lord Tristram’s sufferance.”
“Aye,” her mother echoed sadly. “Now Tristram bid me to tell you to forgo your defiance and submit to him.”
Judith suppressed a bitter laugh. So this was how it was? It was not enough for Tristram that he’d humiliated her and continued to do so every day. Now he wanted an even more blatant show of humility. She smiled savagely, cursing him to Hell and fully recalling her abject enjoyment of both his caresses and of his spankings. He’d already perceived she panted like a bitch in heat for everything he did, and not even that was enough for him. What more did he want of her that he hadn’t already taken? He’d always had her heart, and now he had her body, and still he craved for more, to see her humbled and at his feet just to get his revenge.
“It’s best you appear chastened. No good can come of your defiance, even if we both know you now hate him!” her mother said in an entreating voice, and Judith nodded with a deep sigh.
Certainly, her mother spoke wisely, because there was Redmore and its people to consider, and nothing good could come of their lady defying the new lord. Still, her mother did not have the right of it. Judith did not hate Tristram. She simply could not. Because she’d always loved him, no matter how wretched his behaviour to her might now be.
“I shall strive to do so,” Judith said between gritted teeth, hating herself for loving Tristram.
Later that night she could hardly bear to look upon him, but the mad, treacherous heat and her shameless desire for his touch still burnt bright within her.
“Have you spoken to your mother?” he asked coldly, after she’d readied herself for bed.
When she’d come into the chamber, she’d found her husband already dressed for the night, as was his custom. He wouldn’t even undress in front of her, the fiend, certainly knowing how much she would like to look upon his beautiful naked form. And while they’d coupled several times during the last days, Tristram had never even deigned to kiss her. He was most certainly set on punishing her for what she’d done, as if her love and lust for him weren’t punishment enough for her already.
“I have,” she found herself replying just as coldly. “Next time, if you have things to tell me, I’d rather you told me yourself, not rely upon others to convey your message.”
He arched a dark eyebrow at her.
“Wilful and defiant,” he tossed. “To think once I thought you gentle and sweet. And let us not forget, we should add deceit to your flaws.”
Judith found she’d had enough. Spank her he would, no matter what she did, and then he’d love her hard and ardently. There was no helping how things were between them now, so she might as well speak her mind.
“What of your own flaws? What of your own deceit?” she cried.
His dark eyes widened at her, and then they lit in sheer anger.
“When did I ever deceive you?”
Judith bit hard into her lip, belatedly recalling she’d promised to behave wisely, because she was still the lady of Redmore.
“No matter,” she said wearily. “I do not wish to speak to you, and it’s plain you do not wish to speak to me. So what more is there to it? Chastise me then – as hard as you like, then have me! It’s the only thing you wish to do anyway, is it not?”
“When did I ever deceive you?” he called out again, dismissing her words.
And suddenly Judith felt it was too much to bear. She felt like shouting at him in deep rage and pain, and throwing at him those treacherous, heart-wrenching words he’d spoken to her all those years ago. Tristram, you lied! You lied to me when you told me you loved me! she cried within herself. Instead, she fled the chamber, hoping he wouldn’t give pursuit. She sought the comfort of her mother’s solar, knowing Tristram would not dare to come seeking her there if he wished to punish her.
And Tristram didn’t come at all, but Judith supposed she would soon get her punishment for the way she’d acted. The next morning she woke up wearily, after a night which had been mostly restless, and she went about her duties, knowing she would soon get to bear the brunt of Tristram’s vengeance upon her. She was aware she was behaving unwisely, but she could not behave otherwise. Fortunately for her, both Tristram and his cousin had gone to visit the village, and Lord Bertran was the only one of their party to keep her company. She found him good-natured and amiable, and knew from her earlier years with Tristram that he and her husband were good friends. Now she distinctly recalled she’d met him upon her wedding, yet she’d been so flustered by what had happened when Redmore had been captured that she had been unable to even recognize him.
She strived to put her worries aside and behave graciously to a man who had been nothing but courteous to her. Not knowing what to say to him, she inquired idly how long he and her husband had been acquainted.
Sir Bertran smiled, and told her with a shake of his head, “We were in fosterage together, and trained under the same lord. It seemed the only thing to do was to become friends with one another. At first we had no choice but to stick together, but soon we came to see each other’s worth.”
Judith cast him a puzzled look not understanding what he meant.
“Stick together?”
“Aye, you see, the other boys – they disparaged both of us.”
Judith raised her brows in sheer wonder. She already knew Lord FitzRolf was one of Henry’s most trusted advisors, and Tristram came from one of the highest-ranking families in the realm. Besides, Tristram was Tristram, always the best-looking and best-spoken man wherever he went. How could anyone ever look down upon Tristram? His skill with a sword was known to everyone.
“Disparaged? How so?” she asked.
“Well,” Lord Bertran said, speaking in his mellow, good-natured voice. “You see, I was born a bastard, and it took tedious years of arguing with the Church to establish my birth was legitimate. At the time I was in fosterage, I was thought a bastard, no matter the truth of my birth.”
Judith now nodded, recalling the story of Lord FitzRolf’s birth whose parents’ marriage had been annulled at the time of his conception. The Church had eventually relented and his bastard status had been rescinded, yet it had taken years to do so. She could see how Sir Bertran had suffered, but it was hard for her to ever imagine anyone ever disparaging Tristram.
Lord Bertran must have caught her dismay, because he added with a shake of his head, “They called me a bastard and Tristram a girl. He had been raised by a widowed mother and had no brothers, but only sisters. And he was gently bred, not rough like them, and used to spending his time with women rather than with men. Besides, it took a while for him to come into his full height and strength. At the time he was quite scrawny and far shorter than all of us. He did his growing later on, later than most.”
Judith stared at Tristram’s friend in sheer surprise, and Lord FitzRolf chuckled. “I see you do not know of this. It is a tale I assume he doesn’t often share. It is a good tale though – the others’ disparagement, it made me better than I was because I learnt not to care for their ill thoughts upon me. This taught me to rely just on myself. As for Tristram – it also made him better than he was. He strived to show them he could fight even better than they did, even in spite of his lack of strength at the time. And there is one more thing. It taught him not to be vain. You might have perceived Tristram is not vain, in spite of his good looks and wit and skill. Wit he may have been born with. Yet his skill he earned through hard work. And he grew late into his good looks.”
Lord FitzRolf now gazed at her pointedly. “And he is never petty or cruel to others. Because he’s learnt first-hand the damage cruelty can do. Rather, he seeks to protect those he cares for from it, even if it is at a cost to himself.”
With this and a bow of his head, Lord FitzRolf rose from the table, to go to the practice field and train with the men. Judith spent her next hour musing upon FitzRolf’s words and remembering a time when she’d thought Tristram the kindest man in this world. Later, she had occasion to glance upon the practice field, and found Tristram there, engaged in swordplay with his friend. Both knights seemed evenly matched and at first it was hard to tell who would best the other with the sword, but Tristram’s moves were faster and more graceful than those of Sir Bertran. Where his friend was strong, Tristram was quick, and Judith soon came to understand Bertran FitzRolf’s fame as the best jouster in the land might well be true, yet Tristram de Brunne truly deserved his repute as King Henry’s best swordsman. She’d always thought he’d come easily into his skill, just as she’d always thought his other gifts had come easy to him. Still, it was not so. She understood he’d worked hard for the skill he now possessed. And his friend had not been mistaken. Whatever else he was, Tristram was not vain. And truth be told, he’d never made her feel plain under his gaze. Instead, at times, when she’d seen herself mirrored in his eyes, she’d started fancying herself beautiful. And she clearly recalled the night he’d told her he loved her, he’d called her beautiful. All lies – she had decided later, when she had learnt he loved another. Judith gnashed her teeth recalling the searing pain she’d felt that night, and now she simply strove to forget what had been. It was of no matter. Now Tristram had grown to hate her.
