The Troubadour's Romance Read online

  Felise glanced a bit uncertainly at her father, not quite ready for him to leave her, but knowing he must. Felise would stay at Windsor and only be visited by her family. A moment of doubt at this adventure caused her stomach to flutter anew. She had no idea what she was to do next.

  Harlan turned her, kissed her cheek, and gave her a comforting pat on the arm. He looked again to his king. “I am at your service, Sire,” he said. Then turning, he led the way out of the room, his sons following.

  “Show the lady to her room,” Eleanor instructed the woman who held Felise’s cloak. “See that she is comfortable and that her belongings find her.”

  The woman, startled out of her reverie, moved toward Felise with a gentle smile. “My lady?” she inquired. And then leading the way, Felise was taken upstairs and through halls and galleries to a bedchamber that was to be hers during her stay.

  Although her time with the king and queen had been brief, her maid and her belongings had arrived and Daria was nervously laying things away and setting out the articles Felise used daily. “Come, lady,” her escort softly urged. “Will you have a scented bath or a small meal? I could have wine brought or even oils to soften your skin. What is your pleasure?”

  Felise looked at the woman closely for the first time. She wore a plain wimple that covered her head and left only the oval shape of her face to view. She was petite of stature and her hands were small. Her glittering green eyes were kindly and crinkled about the corners. Felise thought she was approximately Lady Edrea’s age, and uncommonly soft-spoken--her voice barely rose above a whisper. It was possible this woman had resided with Eleanor in her imprisonment, for her clothes were decent but not rich.

  “You are so kind to me. What is your name?” she asked.

  The woman’s eyes grew round for just an instant, then she smiled easily as she considered the question. “I have lived in a convent for many years and am known among the nuns as Vespera. It is not my given name, but my preference.”

  “You are not a nun,” Felise said, frowning.

  “Nay, not now. But I think soon I shall be. I most certainly share all their vows and prayers.”

  Felise paused for a moment and considered the woman. “I have need of nothing,” she finally said.

  “I could brush your hair,” the woman offered. “Or lay out a gown?”

  “Will I be required to change my gown?” she asked. “I fear I do not know what I am to do save sit in this chamber.”

  “An escort will come to take you to the hall to sup with Her Majesty and the others. Your gown is perfect for the meal; the color becomes your skin. And on the morrow when you are not occupied, you must see the chapel and the gardens. They are not as beautiful as in spring, but are immense and well tended. Do not confine yourself to these rooms, my lady, for who knows when Windsor will be graced with your loveliness again.”

  “Am I free to wander about?” she asked.

  The woman laughed lightly. “I trust you are safe in Henry’s house, lady. If you feel uneasy at the prospect, take your woman with you.”

  “Thank you, madam. You’re very kind.”

  She nodded humbly and turned to go to the door. Once there, she turned back and looked at Felise again. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman,” she said, a wistful tone in her voice. “You must make your parents very proud.”

  Felise cocked her head slightly, wondering at the woman’s unusually familiar behavior. “They have not complained overmuch,” she said softly, “though I know I am a trial.”

  Vespera smiled then--a gentle and beguiling smile that gave her youth and beauty of her own. “Nay,” she whispered. “They would not complain. You are a treasure.”

  And then turning again, the woman quit the room with quiet grace.

  ***

  The great hall held the evening feast and many nobles were present. Henry was flanked by his queen and sons Richard and John, and about them were a dozen long tables for other guests. Felise was seated near enough to the king and queen that they might easily watch her, but too far for conversation. However esteemed their positions, they were in fact the only people within the room she had met.

  There were eight seated at the table she occupied, and she longed for the presence of her parents. Beside her sat a dowager baroness whose company was welcome, for she proved friendly, but Felise had nothing in common with the elderly widow from the north. On her right came a tardy knight, just gaining his marked seat after the meal had been laid out. As he groped for his place, his eyes fell on her and instantly lit up in appreciation.

  He bowed to her. “My lady, I fear to test my good fortune,” he began. “Sir Wharton is my name.”

  “A pleasure, sir,” she said very quietly, turning her eyes quickly back to her plate. Internally she scoffed at herself. She was quick-witted and outspoken enough when lolling in her window or at a gathering in her parents’ home, but here, void of escort, she could barely find the confidence to meet the man’s eyes.

  He took his seat quickly, his manner showing he was pleased. “I am to be your dinner companion, fairest lady. Might I lay some name to you?”

  “Forgive me,” she said, looking at him again. “I am Felise Scelfton.”

  “And your family? Could we perchance be of some earlier acquaintance?”

  “I can’t say, sir. My father is Harlan, Lord Scelfton; Twyford is our home.”

  He raised his goblet slowly to his lips and drank while watching her. When he lowered his hand to the table, there was a smile on his lips. “I know the old lord,” he confirmed. “And I’ve ridden with your brother, Maelwine, on more than one occasion.”

  Felise’s countenance lightened instantly. Even though she didn’t know Sir Wharton personally, she immediately felt safer in his company if he was a family friend. The tightness of her stomach relaxed as he entertained her with stories of his travels and discussed at length the rich land of his father. His family resided north of London, while Felise’s Twyford was south, but it happened that over the years their families had been in the same company on several occasions.

  As she became more comfortable and the dinner went on with laughter and much revelry, she began to notice Sir Wharton’s dark handsomeness and chivalrous nature. “Maelwine kept your existence a secret from me out of kindness. Had I known of you earlier, I would have been mad with longing and not fit for fighting,” he said.

  She laughed at the prospect. “Indeed, Maelwine did you no kindness. In all his brotherly affection, he does not take much notice of me, but rather boasts the beauty of the women he meets upon his travels.”

  “Ah, then he has not graced your father’s walls with his presence in some years and remembers you only as a child.”

  “Neither that, Sir Wharton. Maelwine and the others brought me here,” she informed him.

  Wharton looked around the room. “Do they keep watch, or are you in need of protection lest you be snatched away by some lusty knight?”

  “I need no protection, sir,” she said, looking sidelong at the king and queen. “Do you make your service available?” she asked, raising one brow.

  “At your call, my lady,” he said, inclining his head toward her and taking her hand in both of his.

  Felise laughed softly, enjoying this much more than she thought she would. “It occurs to me, sir knight, that the wolf offers to stand guard over the hen.”

  He smiled then in warm communication, his eyes beginning to smoulder like hot coals, but Felise’s attention was drawn past him to a familiar face. Over Sir Wharton’s shoulder and across two tables she saw two men staring at her. They were standing, for the meal was coming to a finish and people were beginning to mill around the room. Had they been seated, she would not have seen either of them.

  Her smile vanished and she felt her tension returning, for it was in fact Sir Royce, the man who had played so brazenly beneath her window. She couldn’t place the other man as one of his group, but then she could remember few of them distinctly. While
his companion looked at her tenderly, Royce seemed to scowl. His eyes were narrow and there was no trace of a smile.

  Wharton followed her eyes and found them placed to Sir Royce. “Do you know that man, demoiselle?” he asked her.

  “Nay,” she said quickly. “That is, we have never been introduced, though I know who he is, in a manner.”

  “Ah, your father has warned you to be wary of him?”

  Her eyes were quickly diverted to Wharton. “Nay,” she replied, looking at him curiously. She had almost instinctively been frightened of Royce, but she couldn’t name the reason. His eyes, perhaps--so cool and unforgiving. Or his roguish spirit or even his size, greater than that of many men. “Need I be?” she asked.

  “Aye, fair Felise,” Wharton said, his own expression hardening considerably as if he was himself guarded where this Sir Royce was concerned. “Royce is not to be trusted.”

  “But is he not a knight of Henry?” she asked.

  “Not all knights of Henry are honorable men, madam. Forsooth, when the king has need of fighting skills, he oft commands a troop of heathens and barbarians; those same ones will betimes affect a gentler pose for the king’s court, but their manner changes not--only their clothes. Royce is treacherous.”

  Felise had no great urgings toward justice for Royce, but she was bright enough to know Wharton had really said little beyond admitting a personal dislike for the other knight. “What crimes would you lay to him?” she asked, begging some clarification.

  Wharton thought for a moment and then brushed aside the question with an excuse of sorts. “Nay, lady, I will not dishonor myself by repeating loose slander. If he could be held accountable for crimes, he would not linger here over the king’s own roast of boar, so leave it understood that his reputation has not reached the justice of his fellows. I once called myself a friend to the Leighton family and soon learned that they scorn friendship in favor of thievery and murder. Yet it cannot be proved, or they’d have all been hanged. Use caution where he is concerned. He may have sworn his oath, but he gives short shrift to chivalry.”

  Felise swallowed hard. She could not deny a strong tendency to believe Wharton, for in her brief association with Royce she pondered his behavior among women. “I will take care,” she whispered, looking over and noting that the men were no longer in view. She smiled at her companion. “Rest assured, I could not care for better company, and you are to be toasted for your honorable nature.”

  ***

  Royce brooded over the last bit of ale before him while Sir Boltof spoke. “Is it clear by her company that the pleas have begun?”

  “You are certain she is the one?” Royce asked.

  “Aye, Royce, the word has traveled quickly from bower to camp. She is endowed by the queen and the Scelfton house. The extent of the lands is not fully known, but the talk is that her purse will bring a fine wedding gift to the chosen groom. You are close to the king’s ear, Royce. What say you?”

  Royce continued to stare into his cup, grumbling something inaudible. He began to feel uneasy about the wench, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of her saucy behavior at her window a few days before or the fact that she seemed to be enjoying herself with Sir Wharton.

  “Do you wait for an offer from me?” Boltof asked. Royce looked at him in surprise. “I am a reasonable man and we are to be brothers in due time. I would manage a settlement from the maid’s dower purse if you would urge the king on my behalf.”

  “I want none of her purse. What of the maid, Boltof?” Royce asked, his manner coltish and impatient. “Do you think to make her acquaintance and assure yourself she is not a shrew before you wed her here and now?”

  “Of beauty there is none lacking, and the money would better than cure some old debts. I have little need to judge her character when her assets are so appealing. I’ll play my court upon your word and even split the sum with you.”

  Royce drank the remainder of the ale from his cup and looked at Boltof. They had been friends for a long time, but he sometimes questioned Boltof’s common sense. “I’ve seen the wench before, Boltof. She is the one I told you of, seeking the favors of an entire troop of men from her bedroom window. It could be her fairness and hefty purse are worth only a lifetime of misery.”

  Boltof smiled first and then laughed loudly. He slammed his own mug on the table and pressed his face near to speak confidentially to Royce. “All the better. I’ll see her flayed as an adulteress, and no one will question my authority over her lands.”

  Royce frowned at the idea while from his other side Celeste rubbed her arm against his as she drew near. “What is this conference with my brother, Royce?” she asked. “Do you make battle plans when the eve is meant for merriment?”

  Royce turned to the woman and tried to smile. “He leads me on a chase after more riches, as is always Boltof’s wont, madam. I beg him cease for a brief time of leisure, but he builds more plans in his mind.”

  Boltof leaned toward them and now the three heads were close together. “Henry would hear Royce’s plea on my behalf for the heiress seated beside Wharton. Her purse is heavy, but I waited to see her to be assured she was not a cow dressed in velvet and gold. And that one,” he said, indicating Wharton with his mug, “has already begun paying court to her. Before dawn the line of men will be long and deep. Our family could make good use of the dowry, eh, Celeste?”

  This talk caused Royce to sulk for reasons he couldn’t name. His manner became all the more surly. “Then seek out the maid, Boltof, and see what manner of woman she is.”

  “Why won’t you help him?” Celeste asked solicitously. “It is not as though Boltof denies you in any way.”

  “The matter of seeking out Henry for a man well able to speak for himself does not sit well with me. You are sworn to him,” he said to Boltof. “Make your plea to the king on your own behalf.”

  Boltof’s eyes darkened and he frowned. “You stand in better stead with the king,” he complained. “‘Tis a common fact. I would not have asked for assist, had I known how niggardly you hold your influence.”

  “My influence is bigger in your mind,” Royce returned. “And if I do have the power to persuade the king, ‘tis only because I have never tried.”

  Celeste let her lips come close enough to Royce’s ear so that he felt her breath on his cheek. “Have this matter done for Boltof,” she pleaded sweetly. “He plagues you and makes you forget that we have plans that need attention.”

  He turned to her then with the patient smile that had become a habit for him. He judged her soft, pale features yet again, reassuring himself that she was lovely enough. Celeste was older than a maid just venturing toward marriage, and Royce had finally conceded that they should be wed. She had, after all, yielded him more than was decent for him to take. In addition, she sought out no more eager groom, but was patient with his brooding reluctance and had held herself for him for five years.

  He had first met Boltof a decade and a half before, when they were lads completing their training for knighthood. Through Boltof he had made the acquaintance of his sister, Celeste, and their stepfather, Lord Orrick, and from that time on, the young woman had had her sights on him for her husband. Royce had not felt any immediate stirring, but as time passed he became fond of Celeste and valued Boltof s friendship. He added to that a deep respect for Lord Orrick. The old lord was in fact the member of their family with whom Royce felt the most kinship.

  For a very long time he had felt a strange nagging about Boltof and Celeste, who were plagued by his resistance to joining with them by marriage. He could often shrug off the feelings as usual for a man without family ties, whose love of adventure outpaced his need for a wife. Sometimes a deeper foreboding threatened; Royce had often considered that it would be for the good of all if he left no heirs. In any case, finding a proper dame to wed concerned him least of all, and he had to be hurried to the decision for Celeste by her stepfather and brother. Lord Orrick had just a few months past announced himself. “
The marriage of my daughter is of imminent necessity if I am to see her thrive rather than shrivel. You may speak for her, sir knight, or have done with her affections.”

  Royce begged time to put his house in order before any betrothal contract was drawn, and the Lord, ever gallant in his dealings, allowed for the new year to be reached and the betrothal and wedding done swiftly after.

  Still, his decision troubled him. He had no reason to distrust these people who had loyally held his friendship dear. Indeed, he owed them much. Yet comfort with the commitment had never come.

  “Say me nay, if you will,” Boltof demanded.

  Royce tried to calm the restive feelings he had about the entire situation. He didn’t like going to Henry on anyone’s behalf, and had the request come from anyone but Boltof, he would have swiftly refused. And the wench, although fair of face and endowed handsomely, caused him some suspicious feelings. He sought a middle ground where Boltof might feel the weight of his loyalty and yet give him enough time to evaluate the situation better. “I would not refuse you this, Boltof,” he finally said. “I owe much to your family, and if you must believe I have some power with Henry, then we will see the truth to it. But I would have more time to design my words. And you must seek a closer view of the damsel whose hand you would bid for and be sure that this is the course you should take.”

  Boltof smiled at Royce and nodded his head firmly. He took the reply not as avoidance, but as a firm resolution from Royce’s own lips.

  “When all these weddings have been done,” Boltof said with a smile, “we shall begin seeding an army on our mutual lands, and the whole of our family will know wealth and power. Twas a good day that our paths crossed, Royce. I will long be grateful.”

  Royce looked at Celeste, who smiled prettily and locked her arm within his. The two of them seemed certain that all their plans for betrothals, weddings, and future sons would be settled to their satisfaction. Royce earnestly wished he could feel as sure.