Authors: The Quest
“Your brother,” Rolf said coldly, “has already indicated his willingness to negotiate the terms of an agreement. He requests a portion of your inheritance for his assent, of course. ’Twas not unexpected. Yet the king dictates the terms. He has even generously excused me from serving him in France and bade me remain in England to wed you properly. Only your overlord sees our union as damaging, for ’twill yield your estates to me.”
Her lower lip began to tremble, and she caught it between her small white teeth to still it. Staring at him with eyes so wide and blue that he was reminded of a summer sky, Annice whispered, “But can you not refuse to wed me?”
“Aye.” He released his tight grip on the heavy rope of her hair, though he held the silky strands in his palm. It seemed the lady was no more pleased about the situation than he, but he had far more to gain. He held her gaze and said softly, “But I won’t refuse. Make no mistake—you will wed me.”
When he relinquished his hold on her hair, she sat back on her stool, white-faced and trembling. It was hardly complimentary that she viewed their union with such horror, but he was in no sweeter a temper than she. St. Jerome! but he was caught in a trap of his own making, and it infuriated him.
Rolf did not speak to Lady Annice again during the course of the evening meal. This was not a situation he had considered when he had taken her from Seabrook, yet that foolish earl had swiftly invoked the aid of the Church as well as the king.
Would John allow one of his most powerful barons to flout the Church’s authority? Especially after just mending Pope Innocent III’s edict of excommunication? Did he dare risk Rome’s displeasure? Canon law required the king to pursue abductors.…
Thus Seabrook had presented matters to the king, a dismayed Sir Guy had informed him. It left Rolf in a precarious situation, indeed, and his own fault. If his temper had not been so flayed by Edmund de Molay’s loss and the failure to retrieve his son, he might not have yielded to the temptation to abduct the lady.
Though furious, Rolf could almost appreciate the fact that Seabrook had unwittingly done himself more damage than he had Rolf. Because he was too cowardly to come with troops to storm the walls of Dragonwyck, Seabrook’s appeal to Church and king had manipulated Rolf into a position that was difficult, but not unmanageable. That was little compensation. For two days Rolf had considered actual armed rebellion. It would have been easy enough to fall in with other Lincolnshire rebels. Yet he had sworn an oath to
John that not even excommunication had absolved. Never had he broken a sworn oath. Would he do so now, even though he detested the king and his manipulations?
The king’s messenger obviously vacillated between fear and curiosity and had looked relieved when Rolf had snarled that he would abide by the king’s command. ’Twas an untenable position, indeed. Already a courier had been sent to Normandy to secure permission from the lady’s brother to wed. From what he learned of Aubert, that worthy would be pleased to deprive his half sister of part of her inheritance. Though he was her closest male relative, his permission was merely a formality; still, it would seal the negotiations most neatly.
Rolf could, of course, refuse to wed Lady Annice. That had been his first inclination when the king’s messenger had given him the parchment stating the terms. It was the king’s sworn duty to pursue abductors with the same fervor as he would a thief. Yet since Lady Annice was not already betrothed to another man, John might have accepted a hefty fine in lieu of agreement; then the lady would have been returned to Seabrook, and matters would have been as before. Nothing would have been lost but time, a few thousand marks, the king’s good graces—and the lady’s honor.
Already rumors and gossip were rife. The court of Isabella reveled in lewd talk, and nothing was more delicious than the downfall of a highborn lady. It would be said, of course, that Lady Annice had been his mistress. Probably that she had even connived with him to be taken thusly in order to circumvent more tedious methods of surrender. He was more than familiar with the queen’s tendency to make much of nothing. Normally, he did not care.
Yet for some reason he could not fathom, he found himself reluctant to see Lady Annice branded a whore before the entire kingdom. Guy FitzHugh had pointed out the advantages of his liege’s accepting the king’s offer of marriage to Lady Annice.
“Seabrook hopes, my lord, that you will refuse. ’Tis what he wants you to do.” Sir Guy’s voice had risen to be heard over Rolf’s snarling oaths. “All know that the taking of hostages is common. John has too many score of them even to
count. If you refuse to wed her, however, John would be easily persuaded to name your capture of Lady Annice as abduction. It fits in perfectly with his claims to the Church that his barons have run amok since allowed to repudiate their oaths to him. Though you are one of those who did not do so when he was excommunicated, he would not mind deseisining your lands and those of the lady’s in reprisal for this deed. I vow, ’tis Seabrook who would ultimately lose most if you agree.”
“Do you not think I have already considered that?” Rolf had asked, his voice so dangerously soft that even Sir Guy had hesitated. “Staying in the king’s good graces may yet win my son back from Seabrook, whether that lord wills it or no.”
“Yea, lord,” Sir Guy agreed. “ ’Twill gain you much more than open rebellion. John may order the earl to return Justin to you. And once the lady is wed to you, petitions can be made to claim her lands as dower. Your obedience to the king can only strengthen your position at court. ’Tis well-known that you are one of the few in Lincolnshire who have not openly reviled John or broken your oath of fealty. The taking of Lady Annice in marriage can be explained as an excess of passion.”
Here Guy had grinned, and Rolf had stared at him for several moments before yielding to amusement. “How would you explain my marriage,” he’d asked Guy dryly, “if the lady bore warts and wattles? I do not think any would believe me swept away by passion on that score.”
“Yeah, but the lady, fortunately, has no warts or wattles. She is uncommon lovely, and ’twould be quite believable that a man could be consumed by desire for her.…”
That explanation had left Rolf less than comfortable, though he saw the sense in it. P’raps he could escape his precipitate actions relatively unscathed, after all. Though he had no desire to wed, neither did he find Lady Annice undesirable.
The memory of her first night at Dragonwyck had left him lying awake on more than one night since she’d arrived. So much so, that he had deliberately avoided seeing her. Few women had gained his interest for longer than a few
hours of bed sport, and that the lady Annice had managed to remain in his thoughts for so long was cause for concern.
It had occurred to him that p’raps the lady’s courage and fire were what piqued his interest most. She would not be a meek, placid mate that would leave a man restless and yearning for livelier company, ’twas certain. Yea, there were definite advantages to the marriage, far outweighing his reluctance ever to wed again.
Yea, the idea had merit. It would enrage Seabrook to see his ploy turned about on him, and an outwardly compliant agreement would only place Rolf more firmly in the king’s camp. A letter had been composed and sent by swift courier, and the deed done.
But now that he had made his decision evident to the lady and his assembled knights and vassals, he fretted against the invisible chains that bound him. And, perversely, he put the blame on Lady Annice’s shoulders.
When the meal neared an end, he signaled for Vachel to escort the lady back to her chamber; she rose from her chair and walked across the rush-strewn stones of the hall with her head held high. She still did not cower, though he had given her ample reason. Unwilling admiration tinged his resentment of her.
Though she was not overtall, her carriage was graceful, her body slim and firm beneath the green velvet gown. He could well recall the thrust of her breast against his palm, and the silky softness of her skin. The memory sparked interest anew, and his hand closed around the stem of his goblet. The dark fire of her hair reflected glimmering lights in the bound strands that brushed against her hips, and for an instant he visualized it loose and spread beneath her. There was an implicit invitation in the way it swayed when she walked, beckoning a man to bury his face in the soft waves and lose himself for a time. Even her eyes seemed to entice beneath the curved fringe of her lashes, though the glances she’d given him of late had been more hostile than beguiling.
When she disappeared through the far archway, Sir Guy leaned forward, gazing at his liege over the rim of his goblet. “She is fair, indeed, my lord.”
Rolf flicked a glance at him. “Aye.” His voice betrayed him with a huskiness he had not intended, and he took an angry swallow of his wine. “And as stubborn and willful as she is fair.”
“Yea, p’raps so. But ’tis said of her that she has a sweet nature at times. The words I heard spoken of Lady Annice were most often kind and gentle. Those in her own keep spoke well of her and, if not for Seabrook’s cowardly refusal, would have mounted troops to send to her aid.”
“Would they.” Rolf grunted irritably. “ ’Twould have done them little good. With the king’s gracious permission for me to wed their lady, they would soon be under my hand.”
Sir Guy could not have missed the heavy irony in Rolf’s use of the word “permission” in reference to the thinly veiled command to wed Lady Annice or suffer consequences. Wisely, he did not expand on the subject but said instead, “Once John has your consent in hand, he will most like release a portion of her lands to you as dower. After all, he would not dare to distress unduly one of his most powerful barons unless he stood to gain much from it.”
“John dares whatever he likes,” Rolf said heavily. A thrum of melody from a minstrel sounded, almost drowning him out. He paused, then said, “Have you not noticed how blatantly he wields power? He does not care that he alienates his barons. He thinks himself invincible.”
“There are those,” Sir Guy said softly, “who wish to prove him wrong on that score. Eustace de Vesci and Robert FitzWalter curry favor on one hand and backbite at every opportunity. ’Tis said they rally the northern barons to their cause, even while mouthing oaths of loyalty to the king.”
Rolf’s smile was bitter. “Eustace de Vesci is a fool. He has wed King William of Scotland’s bastard daughter, and that monarch seeks to use Eustace as a tool to best John. Make no mistake about it, I foresee trouble from that quarter.”
“But Robert FitzWalter and Eustace de Vesci stand in the king’s favor.…”
“Nay, Guy. John reinstated their lands to them last year, but he is not fool enough to trust either man. Do you not recall the plot of two years ago to hand over the king to the Welsh? Other men died for it—Luc d’Arcy among them—but
those worthy knaves fled to France. Both have proved to be traitors and cowards. ’Tis merely expedient for the moment to allow them free rein. Neither has the king forgiven those northern barons who refused to follow him to France. If not for the archbishop reminding him that he would bring contempt upon his sworn oath for making war upon men without legal sentence, John would have sought to bring them low.”
Sir Guy nodded. “Yea, I fear you are right. ’Tis well that you have managed to stay this high in the king’s favor.”
Rolling the stem of his goblet between his fingers, Rolf said slowly, “Yet I cannot help but think I will not always be able to keep my sworn oath. There are times the king goes too far.” He looked up at Sir Guy. “I do not know what I will do on the day that John forces me to the choice between personal honor and my oath. And the day will come, Sir Guy, whether I will it or not.”
There was nothing Guy could say to that. It was true, and both sensed the time would not be far off. Wedding Lady Annice just might be the first fraying of the bond he had sworn to his king. Yet Rolf found himself impatient to have it done.
It did not sweeten his temper to realize that the lady herself was the lure that might be his undoing.
Annice paced the small confines of her room with quick, angry steps. That braying ass of a baron—did he think her so meek that she would yield to him without protest? Surely he was not that big a fool. Where was Seabrook and his sly schemes when she needed them? Fool indeed—Thurston had only played into le Draca’s hands with his appeal to the king. Would John pass by an opportunity to bind Dragonwyck even closer to him? And her marriage to the baron would surely do so, whether she willed it or not. Her father had been Richard’s man and had sworn fealty to John, though reluctantly. His death soon after that oath had left Aubert as heir. Aubert, too, had sworn fealty to John, though he remained in Normandy. With her marriage to Luc
d’Arcy, Annice had also been bound to the king. Until Luc had turned traitor and met his death for it.
Now, if she wed le Draca, she would be bound even tighter to the king and forced to his bidding. Her vassals and knights would be at John’s disposal for his interminable wars in Wales, Ireland, and France, as well as against his own barons. ’Twas no wonder the king was surely smacking his lips with glee at the prospect. If she had remained with Seabrook and wed a vassal of lesser lands and reputation, ’twould not have been nearly as profitable for John. How he must have been delighted at le Draca’s taking of her and Seabrook’s unwise petition for aid!
But ’twas she who was left to face the Dragon.
Shuddering, Annice recalled the fury in those green eyes staring at her with naked hostility. ’Twas plain he was being forced into the marriage, but that was hardly compensation for her own position. Marriage was a matter of choice, but not for the bride nor the groom. The bride’s relatives had the final decision, and she could only hope that Aubert would consult with her before giving permission.
Even that hope was slim. Her correspondence with her half brother had always been sparse. He had left home when she’d been yet a child in the nursery. No sibling affection had ever existed between them. And even if it had, ’twas unlikely that it would have prevented his accepting the king’s thinly veiled command that his sister wed le Draca.