The
child in his arms cooed, distracting him from his thoughts. Casting her a
glance, he was somewhat surprised to see that her eyes were open. In fact, she
was gazing up at him and he found himself peering closely at the cross-eyed
babe.
A
beautiful infant
,
he thought, although he was no expert on children. But staring into the
flawless little face, he realized he was at least willing to learn the finer
elements of raising a child. Aye, he would guard her because above all else, he
was a knight and he would complete his sworn duty or die in the attempt.
The
babe cooed again and his gaze sought her once more, thinking she sounded much
like a small animal.
A kitten.
When his eyes met with the wee little
face, perfect and porcelain and curious, he would swear until the day he died
that she was smiling at him.
CHAPTER
ONE
My
lord Glendower:
As
former Captain of the Household Troops for our glorious Richard II, I am
obliged by my oath of loyalty to our former king to divulge information that,
utilized correctly, should support your claim for Wale's independence and
perhaps magistrate King Henry's submission at the very least.
I
would relay this factual happening: On or about the first of December, 1384,
Henry, being separated from his wife Mary de Bohun, fathered an illegitimate
child. The child, a girl, was whisked into obscurity for safe keeping. It has
taken me eighteen years to trace the whereabouts of the babe, now entering
womanhood, and my reliable sources tell me that she is residing in Berkshire,
masquerading as the Earl of Berkshire's eldest daughter.
Beyond
that, I know nothing. It has taken nearly all of my wealth to ascertain this
evidence alone. But should this information be employed in a useful capacity
against Henry's growing opposition, I am positive the king can be managed. My
sources tell me that he is diligently kept abreast of the girl's well-being all
of these years gone by.
I
supply this information not for the glory of Wales. My reasons are my own. Use
well the knowledge given, I implore you.
Written
this fifteenth day of November
Leachwood
Manor, Shrewsbury
Sir
Charles de Worth
***
Year
of our Lord 1402
Lambourn
Castle
Berkshire,
England
In
spite of the chill cloaking the air, bugs danced upon the surface of the water
like a thousand happy fairies, frolicking in the damp mist. In the reeds, frogs
burped and waterlillies hovered silently as small fish nipped hungrily at their
edges. All would have been peaceful and serene in this delightful, icy little
world had it not been for The Horde invading the shores of the blissful
sanctuary.
The
Horde was not comprised of a host of vicious cutthroats as indicative of such a
title, but rather of three delicate, well-born young ladies. William de Lohr, part
of the powerful de Lohr family and Earl of Berkshire, had saddled the women
with the term because he was positive they were England's secret military
weapon. Not because they were born and bred for warring; their fragile white
hands were barely beyond mastering a needle and thread much less a dagger. Lord
de Lohr knew that he could have destroyed any foe simply by lodging the three
young noblewomen into the heart of the enemy's cause. Within an hour, their
incessant female prattle would have driven God himself daft.
And
this day was no different. As it was rapidly approaching the nooning meal, not
one of the three realized the time. They had been too busy talking.
"I
cannot believe you would venture into the lake, Emma. It's far too cold."
Lady
Emma, skirts hiked up to her knees, smiled. "'Tis refreshing, Riss. Come
in, 'else I shall be forced to throw you in myself."
Arissa
de Lohr wrinkled her pert nose distastefully. "I had a bath this morn and I
shall not contaminate myself with that muck-polluted water."
The
blond companion seated on the cool grass beside her nodded in agreement. "You
are legs are already turning green, Emma."
"Her
legs
are
green," Arissa giggled.
Emma
put her hands on her hips irritably. "They match your teeth."
Arissa
stuck her tongue out at her friend before bursting into a fit of snickers,
revealing teeth that were anything but green. Straight, white, and beautifully
complimented by a bow-shaped smile. But it was not merely the smile that was
beautiful; the entire package that comprised the Lady Arissa Ellyn de Lohr was
more magnificent than mortal man could comprehend. Barely eighteen years of
age, she was a rare and precious enchantress.
Hair
as black as a raven's wing, satin and sheer with a hint of curl, tumbled to her
buttocks. A sweet oval face displayed sensuous lips that men would gladly die
for and eyes of the palest green hovered beneath delicately arched brows. With
her thick lashes and pink cheeks, she was a beauty to behold.
"Is
your surcoat finished for the celebration tomorrow night?" Arissa's dry
companion inquired.
The
raven-haired beauty turned her attention the fair young maiden she had known
since childhood. "Mother is finishing the surcoat herself. She insists
that she’s the only seamstress qualified to work on it. Sweet St. Jude, 'twill
be a miracle if she allows me to wear it at all given the care she’s given the
garment."
Emma
sloshed onto shore with muddy feet. "Penelope made her own surcoat,"
she said with a twinkle to her eye, demonstrating as she spoke. "The
neckline is cut to her navel and sure to drive Daniel to his knees."
As
Arissa and Emma giggled, Penelope flushed. "Not true, you little pigeon.
It is a tastefully designed surcoat."
"Aye,
and he shall be able to taste all of you," Emma snickered, sending Arissa
into gales of laughter.
Flustered,
Penelope turned away. Arissa knew how sensitive Penelope was when it came to
her strong young knight. She put her hand soothingly on the pale blond head.
"Do
not be so serious, Pen,” she said. “We have the utmost respect for
Daniel."
"And
Daniel's good taste," Emma couldn't resist adding the final insult.
Penelope
fixed her younger friend with a vicious gaze. "At least I have a man,
Emma. Pray, darling, can the same be said for you?"
Emma's
smile faded. As sensitive as Penelope was about Daniel, Emma was equally
sensitive of the fact that at sixteen years of age, she hadn't yet been
presented with the opportunity of courtship. Very pretty in her own right, with
dark blond hair and a tendency for fat, she was an unfortunate pale shadow in
comparison to Penelope's fragile blond grace and Arissa's magnificent beauty.
"You
can have all of my suitors, Emma," Arissa said, casting Penelope a
reproving glance. "In a few weeks, I shall have no need for any man."
The
focus immediately shifted from Emma's shame to Arissa's future. Gone were the
smirking expression and taunting smiles.
"Do
you have to go?" Penelope asked softly. "We have never been apart,
not even for a small amount of time. Knowing that we may never see you again...."
"Whitby
Abbey is so far away," Emma agreed, wriggling her toes in the mud.
"North Yorkshire is nearly to Scotland."
Arissa
sighed, brushing a stray lock of black hair away from her face. "'Tis my
destiny, ladies. I was pledged to the abbey at birth and they are expecting me
and my substantial dowry. Surely they will perish without us both."
"But
you shall be a nun," Emma shook her head sadly. "No more suitors, no
more parties, no more... no more anything. How can you give it all up so
easily?"
Arissa
shrugged. She, too, wondered how she was going to be able to relinquish all of
the material delights that brought her such pleasure. Certainly she was being
selfish in her thoughts, for it was an honor to devote one's life to God. But
she was feeling particularly selfish on the eve of her eighteenth birthday.
"I
shall simply have to," she said after a moment, forcing bravery that she
did not feel. "Which is why Mother is throwing a grand party for my
birthday. Mayhap I shall simply indulge myself until I cannot stand the sight
of another sweet cake or the feel of another corset about my waist. Mayhap I
shall make myself so sick of material delights that to retreat far from the
sinful pleasures of life will come as a welcome blessing."
Neither
lady believed her, but they said nothing. The thought of Arissa going away,
never to return, left them feeling hollow and empty. Arissa could read their
melancholy but she refused to allow it to settle.
"The
de Beckets should be here this eve," she said brightly, struggling to
divert the subject. "Emma, certainly you remember Ronald?"
Emma,
emerging from her depressing thoughts, blinked thoughtfully. "Ronald de
Becket? Isn't he the knight with the mole on the end his nose that makes him
look like a troll?"
Before
Arissa could respond, Penelope shook her head. "Nay, Emma, he’s the knight
with the receding blond hair. Not un-handsome by any means."
Emma
thought a moment. "Aye, I remember him. He kept scratching his arse the
last he was here. I heard the men say he has saddle warts."
"Saddle
warts?" Penelope looked puzzled.
Arissa
cleared her throat delicately. "A most painful malady, the poor fellow. I
understand they bleed and.... well, it is most painful to evacuate one's
bowels."
Emma's
face lit up with malicious humor and she crowed with laughter. "I have
heard that they can grow as big as melons and then burst!"
Penelope
made a horrified face as Arissa fought off the urge to join Emma's mirth.
"Surely not, Emma. How awful."
Still
snorting, Emma turned away from shore and forged deeper into the water, digging
her toes into the silky mud. "Who else is coming?"
Arissa
looked thoughtful. "Nearly every important house within twenty miles. The
de Rydals, the Wendovers, the de Clares. Pen, don’t the Wendovers have a
son?"
Penelope
nodded. "He’s fostering in Durham. Daniel told me that Tad de Rydal has
recently returned from Derby Castle."
"I
understand he was serving the Earl of Leicester," Arissa mentioned.
"I wonder why he has returned?"
"Who
can say?" Penelope shrugged, picking at a blade of grass. "Will
Richmond be here?"
The
mere sound of his name was enough to knock the wind from Arissa. She swallowed
hard, trying to control the quivering that had suddenly overtaken her hands.
Unable to find a casual position for the appendages, she sat on them.
"My
father seems to think so," her voice was quivering, too. She wondered if
Penelope and Emma could detect it. "He’s been in London for several
months, you know. I.... I have no way of knowing if he even received the
invitation."
Emma
was still sloshing about in the pond; only Penelope saw the trembling and
observed the faint mottling around Arissa's cheeks. She always reacted in the
same fashion when they spoke of Richmond le Bec. She'd been in love with the
man for as long as any of them could remember.
"He
shall be here," Penelope said softly. Richmond was a subject off limits to
the usual taunts. It ran far deeper than Arissa would ever admit; in fact,
she'd never admitted to anything at all. As of late, she'd tried her hardest to
remain distant on the subject of the mighty knight, to assume a neutral manner
when his name entered the conversation. But as hard as she tried, she was not
always successful.
"I
care not, truthfully," Arissa said as steadily as she could manage.
"The man is a friend of my father's and sworn to the service of King
Henry; he’s of no concern to me. Now, as I was saying, I believe the House of
Harcourt will...."
"Aren't
you the least bit awed by the man?" Penelope was not about to let her slip
away so easily. "After all, he organized Henry's armies against his cousin
Richard II and nearly single-handedly secured the throne for our king. 'Tis
said that he and Sir Henry Percy of Northumberland are blood brothers. Doesn't
his reputation impress you in the least?"
Arissa
slanted her friend a wavering glance. "Of course not. Why should it?"
Before
Penelope could reply, Emma turned about and began to wade onto shore once
again. "The man is a god. Too bad he’s so old."
"He’s
not old!" Arissa said hotly, defending Richmond before she could control
herself.
"Bartholomew
says he’s thirty-nine," Emma wandered onto the grass and wiped the mud off
her feet. "He might as well be one hundred."
Arissa
lowered her gaze, toying with the icy clover beneath her hand. "My brother
doesn't know everything. Richmond is ageless. He has remained the same in
manner and appearance for as long as I can remember."