Authors: Leslie Hachtel
Dariana gazed out the casement into the garden below. The roses were in full bloom. Dew glistened on the vibrant petals like diamonds against the throat of some beautiful lady at court. The thought of court led her to musings about her husband. He had been gone more than a week now and the days had dragged on leaden feet.
She was not ready to admit that she missed his presence. The man had, after all, forced her into marriage, and that was not to be forgiven. She had spent one hard year alone and isolated, and much of that time afraid, just to avoid such as that. It had seemed longer. She thought of the terror at the whispers of the
night wind, promising to engulf her in darkness. She remembered facing challenge after challenge in attempts to survive and the aching loneliness that daily threatened to overwhelm and defeat her. The loneliness that had dissipated the day William appeared.
She thought of how William had charmed her father. Even so, he was initially deeply suspicious of the circumstances that caused his daughter to be in the state of matrimony and wary of the man who had managed such a feat. Before William had departed for court, however, her father was singing his praises to the rooftops. Dariana felt a little betrayed by this, but she had never told him the truth of the coercion and how deep her resentment ran. How would he feel about William should he fail to gain the king’s forgiveness? Then would her father be lauding the praises of his new son-in-law?
Linford Manor itself had felt her loss as surely as the people who resided within its walls. Her woman’s touch was no longer in evidence and the manor appeared cold and dirty. So, as she had done every morning since her arrival, she clothed herself in one of her oldest gowns and set about the work of the day.
It had pleased her to see her chamber unchanged, with the exception of the residing spiders and their filmy webs and the thick layer of dust throughout. The fact that her clothes and furnishings remained virtually untouched since her departure bore proof her father had refused to give up hope. It spoke of his faith in her ability to survive and one day return to her home.
Dariana dressed, covering her hair with an old scarf instead of the now-usual veil. Then she swept down the staircase, calling out as she hurried to the main hall. The servants, although delighted to see her, had to be roused from the acquired slovenly habits that had overtaken them during her disappearance. It was obvious that after Dariana had gone missing her father had not cared about the state of his home, or even his kitchen for that mater. The kitchen walls were thick with grease and filth and the cooking pots were desperate for a good scrubbing.
Only a few days had passed since Dariana’s return, but already the windows gleamed in the sunlight, the tapestries that covered the walls were again rich with color. The scent in the air was freshened. The servants were exhausted by each day’s end, but their mistress was so kind and patient they all went about their tasks without resentment and with light hearts. And, at the end of each day, she lifted their spirits higher with individual
praise for their efforts. With the compliments, each had a new determination to work harder on the morrow.
As the manor gained new life, so did Dariana’s father. Color returned to his cheeks and, with her careful ministrations, he put on weight and gained strength. On the third day, he was up and out of his bed and bellowing for Thomas, demanding to be told all that had transpired during his illness.
Thomas complained, halfheartedly, about the demands on his time and all the activity, saying he was old and required quiet in his declining years. Dariana laughed out loud at this and told him when his ‘declining years’ truly arrived, they would all give him peace, but for now there was much to be done. He told her she was a heartless wench and then soundly kissed her on both cheeks and hugged her until her breath was nearly cut of, which only made her laugh all the harder when she could catch her breath.
Too, Dariana’s garden was returning to life with an abundance of bright flowers. The herbs would soon improve the quality of their table. The garden had always been a source of great joy for her and she had been disheartened at seeing its terrible neglect. Her pleasure had known no bounds, however, when she approached the stables. Hope against hope, she dared to believe her beloved black gelding, Moonshadow, would be alive, strong, and would remember her. She had kept him in her heart all her time away. The beautiful dark beast had been grazing when she neared, his mind on his meal. Suddenly, though, he lifted his head, flaring his nostrils, releasing a whinny that thrilled her very soul. He spun in his excitement, then danced up to her in the stall and thrust his huge head into her waiting arms. She held onto his thick, powerful neck, then buried her face in the sweet, earthy smell of him. The hours of pleasure they had shared together came flooding back. Her eyes filled with tears of joy to know her best friend was still here, anxious as she was to be out and about the countryside.
Without so much as waiting for a groom, she flung open the stall door. Grabbing a handful of his heavy mane, Dariana pulled herself onto his broad back, urging him forward. The months melted away when they cantered out into the green hillside. They flew across the landscape, free, happy.
As she rode, Dariana’s thoughts drifted to her husband. William stirred so many emotions. She was in turmoil. The lack
of understanding of his effect on her made her all the more angry and frustrated. Fear of the king’s disposition was a worry. They had left so much unsaid between them. Would they have another opportunity to be together? William could fail and the king could bring punishments to bear.
She had to admit there was an emptiness she could not fill, even by working herself to exhaustion each day, removing the neglect of her time awafrom the manor and setting the household back in order.
When she was not working, she roamed for hours on her beloved Moonshadow, but still there was something missing. She thought of how her body constantly betrayed her when William so much as smiled at her, innocently brushed against her. How her entire being seemed to flame at his kiss. She felt a blush spread across her cheeks at the thought of their intimate moments together. She dismissed the memories, convincing herself she was only concerned with the outcome of her husband’s visit to the king.
C
HAPTER
9
W
illiam paced the
floor, heedless of the many others who waited with him outside the king’s chamber. Never one with an abundance of patience, he tried to control his building frustration at the interminable waiting. He had sent a messenger ahead from Linford Manor requesting an interview on a most urgent mater and the man had greeted him upon his arrival with the news that Henry would see him at once. But William’s experience was that Henry’s ‘at once’ could mean hours or days. William was all too aware the king had many demands and other priorities to attend to, but that knowledge did not ease the tension of his waiting as it stretched from hours into days.
Henry’s court was alive with color and gaiety. The oppression of his father’s final years had been banished and all were delighted. William tried to let the infectious good mood spill over onto him, but his desire to settle the matters at hand hung over him like a dark thing.
Finally, the king sent his summons. William hurried to his chambers only to be informed it might be several hours yet before the king would be available. Unable to do more than wait, William worked off his tensions by walking back and forth in front of the heavy, carved wooden door that kept him from his goal and occupied himself with thoughts of the beautiful wife he had left so many days before. William wondered at his obsession with her. He loved her beyond all reason and she had reached a part of him he had not known existed. He had always thought of women, other than Leah and his own mother, as objects to ease a man’s lust and perhaps enrich his coffers. Of course, they were also necessary in order to beget heirs to carry on the family name. But what he felt for Dariana was beyond his comprehension. He was a knight, a warrior, strong and powerful, ever the victor in war or confrontation, yet this vixen had broken his defenses and could bend him to her will like a willow submits to a gust of wind. He closed his eyes, pictured her perfection, and caught his breath. He feared he might disgrace himself with visible proof of his lust for her. Her beauty was beyond compare, but there was a great deal more to her power over him than merely her fairness of face. This woman was strong and willful, intelligent, not a coy, simpering, insincere, and manipulating female like those abounding at court. She had survived alone, in the king’s forest, no less, fighting heaven knew what terrors rather than giving up her freedom to one not of her choosing. Yet
he
had conquered her. No, conquered was not exactly correct. He had actually coerced her and, thereby, he had been able to accomplish what no edict of the last king had been able to do.
Clenching his fists in determination, he vowed to win her over completely if it took the rest of his life. She was strong, but he was stronger, and he swore he would be victorious. First, however, he must stay the king’s possible wrath and protect her father’s land from confiscation. Which, he seethed, could only be accomplished if Henry would see him.
Finally, the huge wooden door swung wide and William was ushered into the presence of the king. William bowed low and was directed to a chair. As he sat, he gazed at the new King Henry. He had known him many years and had sworn his allegiance from the very first when others plotted to wrest the kingdom away and place a usurper on the throne. Henry was loyal to his friends and William was counting heavily on this friendship now.
The king was garbed in his favored orange and the bright quilted doublet gleamed with pearls at each gathering. The sleeves were slashed to reveal tawny silk beneath. His trunks were of a similar orange hue and gold chains draped across his chest and glittered at his waist. His tawny hose hugged muscular legs; his slippers of orange velvet, also slashed to reveal the pale fabric beneath, completed the picture.
The richness of the king’s raiment did little to impress William, but the man himself was impressive indeed. Henry looked every inch the king.
“Well, William, my friend, what do you at court and so anxious to see your king? Surely you have not come to learn the latest fashions.” The king narrowed his eyes at his friend’s lack of humor, then smiled. “So, what be her name?”
William was astounded by the king’s perceptiveness, although it should have come as no surprise. “Whose name,, your majesty?”
The king laughed, a deep, rich sound that echoed throughout the chamber. He clapped his hands and a servant hurried over with two silver goblets set with precious jewels and filled with wine. He bowed to the king, handing him one and bringing the other to William. The king drank deeply, then turned his attention back to William, waiting expectantly.
“It is a mater most delicate and confidential, your majesty.” William eyed the many men filling the corners of the chamber, leaning in.
“I see.” He clapped his hands, rings glittering on each finger. “Go. All of you,” he boomed to the men. It was a command to be obeyed without question, accented with an imperious wave of the royal hand.
“But, your Majesty…” An intrepid lord moved closer to the king. “It is ill-advised to leave you vulnerable.”
Henry’s laugh rumbled from his chest. “My dear Blessington, you must agree that if a king cannot trust his kinsmen and earls, then all is lost.” The sardonic quality in Henry’s tone discouraged argument. Instead, the man followed the others and, bowing low, backed out of the chamber. Then Henry turned his attention back to William and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“So, do tell what is so secretive I must interview you alone.”
William started with the attack in the forest.
“Ambushed? Who would dare attack you and in such a cowardly way? I shall ferret out the knave and have him drawn and quartered.”
“I know not for certain, your majesty. It is yet to be determined who and why, although I do have my suspicions. When I have something more substantial, I will take action. I was aided by an angel. She appeared as if by magic and tended my wound. It is due to her care that I survived.” Sensing the king’s appreciation, he related every detail of the tale of Dariana. He spoke of her time in the forest and of her determination to maintain her freedom. When he had finished, William noticed the king eyeing him quizzically.
“So, William, you say this Dariana—Linford’s daughter—did all this to avoid marriage to a Spaniard of my father’s choosing?”
“An order that was rescinded by him almost immediately.”
“Yes, yes. And then, once she set eyes upon you, docilely agreed to give up all she had suffered to become your wife instead?”
“Docilely would not exactly be the word I would have selected, your majesty.”
“I see.” The king grinned, obviously enjoying this immensely. “So, then, correct me if I have erred in my assessment. The Lady Dariana ran from a betrothal contract executed by the king, my father, hid on royal lands when all thought her dead, then married you who are betrothed to another. Am I correct thus far?”
“Aye, your majesty, that seems to be the sum of it.” William tried valiantly to sound sheepish.
“Well, all fine for you, but now I am left with a bothersome Spaniard whose promised wife was denied him and now must find a suitable replacement. Yes, he has already appeared at court and made his demands. In fact, he has been at me for months now. From your description of this Dariana’s beauty, to say nothing of her rich dowry, it will be no easy task to satisfy the man Flores.”
“You are a wise and powerful king. Nothing is too much for you.”
“I do love flattery, especially when it is so transparent. And then there is the mater of your betrothed. A woman scorned is not a happy thing to behold.”
“’Tis true Melissa will not lose quietly.”
The king’s face reddened with this last. “Melissa? Not the Earl of Lincolnshire’s daughter?”