Authors: Bertrice Small
“Your brother was one of my finest captains, sir,” the duke addressed Robert. “What brings you both to Stanton Hall?”
“We are neighbors, and our grandsire asked that we pay our respects to Mistress Adair,” Robert answered the duke.
“Good neighbors are a blessing,” the duke said.
“You were here the night?” A richly dressed young man by the duke’s side spoke.
“Aye, sir, we were,” Robert Lynbridge replied.
The young man turned to the duke. “This is untenable, my lord! That my wife should have been alone in her house with two men, and no chaperone. Is she un-chaste, then, that she was sent from court? My father did not believe for one minute that tale that Lady Margaret told of the bride going north to prepare her estate for my arrival.”
“Wife?” Andrew Lynbridge said softly. His glance flicked to Adair, who looked astounded by the peacock-ish young man’s statement.
“Aye, my wife, Lady Adair Radcliffe,” came the reply.
“I am Llywelyn, born FitzTudor, now Radcliffe, the Earl of Stanton.”
“I have no husband!” Adair cried furiously. Her heart was beating with her outrage at the young man. “How dare you speak such an untruth!”
“Perhaps, poppet, we should all adjourn to the great hall, and I will tell you what you need to know,” the duke said quietly. “I am sure Lord Humphrey will be interested to learn of your marriage.”
“I am not married!” Adair shouted.
“I am afraid you are, poppet,” the duke told her ruefully. Dismounting, he took her arm and led her back into the hall, the others following behind them.
“I am not married!” she protested angrily, pulling away from him, her dark green skirts swirling about her legs. She glared at the young man with the duke. He was practically a child, she realized, certainly younger than she was.
“You are a wedded wife, poppet,” the duke told her firmly. “You knew the king wished you wed to the Earl of Pembroke’s son.”
“The Earl of Pembroke’s bastard!” Adair snapped.
“A fitting match for a king’s brat,” the young man sneered. He was at least an inch shorter than Adair, and wore a richly decorated short-skirted doublet of plum velvet and cloth of silver. His woolen hose were natural
in color, and his short black boots had turned-back cuffs. On his head was a hat covered in beaver fur that trailed several silk streamers of plum and silver. About his neck was a heavy gold chain with a pendant.
The Lynbridge brothers looked at each other, surprised, for they understood the meaning behind the young man’s words.
“I did not consent to any marriage, Uncle Dickon, and I was certainly not present at any wedding ceremony,” Adair said firmly. Her heart was beating wildly, and she suddenly felt like a rat in a trap.
“Your consent was not necessary. It was the king’s decision,” the duke reminded her. “The ceremony was a proxy one, with Princess Mary standing in for you,” he explained. “Llywelyn FitzTudor has taken your family’s name for his own, as John Radcliffe had demanded of the king many years back. My brother is not a man to go back on his word, Adair. I told you a long time ago, poppet, that your value would be in your title and your lands. The Earl of Pembroke is pleased with this union, and so is the king.”
“And now, madam, you will welcome me properly to Stanton,” Llywelyn FitzTudor said. “I will forgive you your surprise and your ignorance, for you are only a weak woman.” He held out his hand to her, waiting for her to kiss it.
Adair stared at him as if he were mad. She slapped the hand away. Then, turning, she ran from the hall.
They would not see her cry. And she needed time to figure out how she was going to escape from this night-mare that had been visited upon her.
But Elsbeth remained in the shadows, for she needed to know more. She listened as the Lynbridge brothers took their leave of the duke and his party.
As they departed the hall, Andrew Lynbridge murmured softly to Elsbeth, “Call if she needs us, mistress.
This laddie cannot last.” Then he was gone.
Elsbeth nodded slightly, her eyes making brief con
tact with his. Then she turned and listened as the duke attempted to soothe the boy’s anger at Adair’s behavior.
“I was told she would welcome me,” Llywelyn FitzTudor complained to the duke as Elsbeth gave the boy a goblet of wine. “My father thought it odd the bride had a proxy, but the king assured him all was well. And how, after days on the road, am I greeted? With shouts, anger, and bad manners! My father will not be pleased when I write him. This bride is a termagant! I can see I shall have to beat her into obedience.”
“I think, perhaps, my lord, you would do better to win her over with gentle manners and a subtle wooing,” the duke advised. “Adair was told she was to be married, but she did not believe it would happen so swiftly. She is surprised, of course, by your arrival, for no word was sent ahead, or the knowledge that the deed is done. She wanted to come home after ten years and reacquaint herself with Stanton and her lands. She barely escaped with her life that night when her parents were slain. She is a good maid, and if you will be patient she will come around. I shall stay the night so you two may begin to experience some familiarity with each other beneath the eye of a friend.”
Llywelyn FitzTudor held out his goblet to be refilled.
“I hope you are correct, my lord,” he said sulkily. But his mood did not improve when Adair refused to return to the hall that night. He was shown to an apartment at the far end of the corridor, where the bedchambers were located, by the house’s majordomo, who introduced himself as Albert, and politely addressed him as “my lord earl,” which allayed Llywelyn FitzTudor’s bruised ego.
But instead of the wedding night he had anticipated, he slept in a cold bed alone.
The duke attempted to reason with Adair the following morning when he came down to the hall to find her going about her daily duties. He suddenly realized how lovely she was, and how much she had grown up in the
few months she had been away from the court. She wore a simple loose housedress of violet wool that matched her eyes, and her long black hair was braided into a single plait. They sat by the fire together on a gray morning, and the duke gently scolded her.
“If you had stayed we might have avoided this,” he told her. “We could have reasoned with the king. Post-poned the wedding until you had had the opportunity to grow used to the idea.”
“How old is he?” Adair demanded to know.
“Fourteen,” the duke responded honestly.
“He is two years younger than I am. He has a face pockmarked with blemishes. He had a fine idea of his own importance, Uncle Dickon, and I suspect he knows nothing about running an estate such as mine. Yet he is not wise enough to allow me to do it, and will ruin Stanton if permitted.”
The duke sighed. “You are probably right,” he agreed,
“and so you will have to find a way around him so that Stanton remains prosperous.”
Now it was Adair who sighed. “I know,” she said. “The snows will soon come, and I must weather the winter with this pompous boy, but come spring I mean to send him back to his father and seek an annulment, Uncle Dickon.”
“Adair, you refuse to understand. The king wants this marriage. Giving you to the Earl of Pembroke’s favorite by-blow gives the boy a title of his own. It binds the Tudors to the house of York,” the duke explained.
“The Tudors will never be truly loyal to the house of York,” Adair said. “How could the king have been so unkind as to give me to the very people who killed my parents, Uncle Dickon? If I do not slay the little wretch myself it will be a miracle.”
The duke could not help but laugh. “Poppet, do not do anything rash,” he pleaded with her. “Perhaps you will come to like young FitzTudor.”
Adair looked at him with a jaundiced eye. “More
than likely not,” she said. “Why is it that no one understands? I wanted time to myself again.”
“Noble folk do not have such luxury, poppet,” the duke told her. “We have responsibilities to our lands, our people, and our rulers. My brother sired you and acknowledged his paternity of you. When your parents were slain he took up the responsibility for you and your well-being. He did not shun you, Adair, but rather saw you raised as his legitimate children were raised. He has never showed any partiality toward any of his offspring, trueborn or otherwise. But he is also your king, and you owe him your loyalty as such. You also owe him your devotion and obedience, poppet, for his devotion and kindness to you over the years.”
“If you were king you would not have forced me into such a marriage, Uncle Dickon,” Adair said.
“No, I should not have, but then, I know you better.
If I were king and I had wanted this marriage, I would have taken time to see you and young FitzTudor got to know each other. I would have convinced you of the advantages of such a union to our house, the house of York,” the duke said, reaching out to caress her cheek with a finger. “But I am not your king. I am the king’s brother, and my first loyalty has always been to Edward and his wishes. I have never betrayed him, nor will I ever betray him. The king wants this marriage, Adair, and therefore you must accept his wishes even if you do not want to accept them. Loyalty must be your first consideration in all things, as it is mine, poppet.”
The duke leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “When you are a king’s brat, Adair, there are few choices, I fear.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I want to do as you say, Uncle Dickon, but I cannot be wed to this boy. He is overproud, and ignorant to boot, I fear. Did you see how he attempted to lord it over everyone last night?
And telling me he would forgive me? It is untenable! I cannot be like you. I would send him packing tomorrow
if I could.” She impatiently brushed the tear from her pale skin.
“There is nothing I can say to dissuade you then?”
Duke Richard said.
“I think it best you go home to Middleham today,”
Adair told him. “The weather is certain to turn after such a lovely and unexpected day as we had yesterday. We are due for snow, I fear. I will deal with this boy in my own fashion, and I think it better you not be here, Uncle.”
“You cannot kill him,” the duke told her quietly.
“I won’t,” Adair said. “But neither will I be his wife, or let him lord it over me and my estates. I will house him and feed him, but no more. Who was his mother, and how was he raised, Uncle?”
“His mother was a girl said to be descended from the house of the great Llywelyn himself. She was a poor orphaned cousin in service to one of Jasper’s wives. She caught his eye, as so many have, and died giving birth to his son. But the Tudor is a decent man, and the boy was raised in his father’s house, treated well and with respect. For some reason that I cannot see, the lad became a favorite of Jasper Tudor’s,” the duke said.
“He is not worthy of me, Uncle. I was sired on a baron’s daughter by a king. He who called himself my father was an earl. My lineage is better than this boy’s,”
Adair said proudly. “I shall tell him so without hesitation.” She arose from where they were seated. “Give my dearest love to the Lady Anne and little Neddie. If you are home in the spring, and when the snows have gone, I will come and visit you, Uncle,” Adair said, in effect dismissing the Duke of Gloucester.
He stood with an amused smile. “Come and bid me farewell in the courtyard, poppet,” he said, and together they walked from the great hall of the house. Outside the duke called for his men, and they were shortly all mounted. “
Adieu
, poppet,” Richard of Gloucester said, giving her a quick kiss upon her cheek and then mounting his steed.
“
Adieu
, dearest Uncle Dickon,” Adair replied, curtsying prettily to him. Then she watched as the duke and his men departed the courtyard and galloped off down the road leading south to Middleham Castle, the duke’s favorite home. Turning back to the house, Adair took up her daily duties. She was not surprised when Albert came to her as she was totaling up the estate’s accounts.
He stood, respectfully awaiting a sign that he might speak, and then she looked up and nodded to him. “My lady,” he began slowly, carefully. “What are we to do about the young earl?”
“Who?” For a moment Adair looked puzzled.
“Your husband, my lady?” Albert said.
“Oh, him? You are to do nothing. Treat him respectfully, and the servants may follow his simple commands for things like food and drink. But anything else he requires or demands must be brought to me first. You are to carry out no orders that he may give you; nor are any of the other servants. Do not argue with him. Just say,
‘Very good, my lord,’ and then come to me. I mean to return him to the king come spring.”
“My lady, forgive me, but much was heard in the hall last night, and the servants are asking questions I am unable to answer.” Albert looked very uncomfortable, and he was shuffling his feet nervously, something he had never done before.
Adair flushed, but then, drawing a deep breath, she said, “My paternity is not something I ever wished to discuss, Albert, but the duke, and this boy who calls himself my husband, have spoken too freely before all.
Here is the truth of it: John Radcliffe did not sire me on my mother’s body. King Edward did. He desired my mother, and offered him I called Father the earldom in exchange for my mother’s virtue. I was born from the king’s seed and my mother’s loins.”
“My lady!” Poor Albert was now quite red in the face.
“The king acknowledged me as his own child, his blood, and agreed to dower me one day. He declared
that if no son was born to my parents that I should become Countess of Stanton in my own right on John Radcliffe’s death. He who wed one day with me would take the Radcliffe name for his own, and should become Earl of Stanton. That is the whole truth of it, Albert,”
Adair told her majordomo. “Tell the others so they will stop guessing and speculating on it all. But first tell them what I previously told you about the boy FitzTudor. He is an arrogant lad, but if he is made comfortable I believe I can control him easily.”