The Everlasting Covenant Page 7
“You are a rare man, Brennan Forbes. You do me great honor. I will strive to bring only dignity to your house, your name.”
“I have never felt what I feel for you. I never thought it possible. But I cannot change it now. I only pray that someday you will feel it, too.”
She almost sighed that she hoped so as well, but instead she rested her head on his chest, her arms around him. She was grateful to have this strong arm to lean on, and silently she prayed for forgiveness, for she knew Brennan would be hurt by her love for Dylan. “I will try to make you proud of me, Brennan. I will try to be deserving of your love,” she said.
“That is a good place to begin,” he said.
***
The threat of impending war eased during the Christmas season. There were more than the usual number of knights, squires, and pages present, which called for more castle servants. Raedelle was splitting at the seams with people, but the mood was gayer than it had been in the fall. The gates were stoutly closed and the daily practice of arms ceased because of the snow and cold and feasting in the hall. Trenton sang again, his beautiful voice filling the evening hours. Quentin discussed politics with the earl, but his main concern rested on preserving Raedelle, his inheritance. Bart edged into their conversations, eager for some recognition or appointment, but he was cautious and polite. Even Marcella seemed to relax a bit, although her favorite topic of conversation was still politics. She wrote fewer letters since there were fewer couriers, and therefore she concentrated more on household and family matters.
Divina, somewhat encouraged by gifts the earl had given her, was careful not to insult Anne. In fact, she lavished attention on Brennan Forbes and occasionally smiled at Anne. Anne was no more fooled than Brennan--Divina would like to replace Anne in Brennan’s regard, or, at the very least, accept a husband brought to her by the earl. But nothing was said. It was a relief to have Divina act decently.
Though the motives of her brothers and sister might be self-serving, Anne felt a sense of family for the first time in her memory. Her sister did not harass her, her mother treated her with cautious kindness, and her father, who was quiet even in turbulent times, appeared almost joyful. Bart and Quentin treated Anne with a brand new respect, for her womanly assets had brought a rich and powerful earl into their household, and their opportunity for recognition in the realm was finally at hand. Trenton was the only one unchanged, and with his war tools laid temporarily aside, she could enjoy their kinship once again.
Anne had been a forgotten child. She had not suffered, because Minerva and her father had loved her tenderly. But she had never known her value – she had never known how often her father sat bemused at how the others overlooked her. The most remarkable change due to the earl’s attention came from Marcella, and her mother treated her with deference that was entirely new. It was Anne’s first taste of power. She knew that if the earl suddenly vanished, she would be whisked away to the nuns without pause.
“Little second-born lass,” Dylan had said. The little lass was no more--she was soon to be a countess. Her countenance had not changed, her mind had not suddenly accepted great vision, yet her future would determine her family’s destiny.
Anne could not deny a feeling of exhilaration her new position accorded her, but she was even more puzzled by her mother’s lack of love. She did not know what she had done to fall so far from favor. Still a simple lass at heart, she would have preferred genuine family love in lieu of wealth and power.
As the days of Christmas passed, Anne often stood in the tower to look out over the vast Raedelle demesne in search of tracks in the snow. She gazed longingly for a lone rider. When Brennan spoke of a wedding, she tried to delay it by persuading him that the beauty of late spring would be perfect. She hoped that Dylan would steal her away before then. While her sister envied the jewels and special clothes that would soon arrive, Anne longed to share a simple pallet behind a stable with the man she loved. Marcella and the others spoke excitedly of the Duke’s coronation, when he had finally unseated King Henry and defeated Margaret of Anjou’s forces. But Anne didn’t care who was king. She wished for it to be over, and to be forgotten again. She wished to be with Dylan.
“Richard, Duke of York, has been ambushed and slain. He was attacked by surprise in Sandal Castle at Wakefield, and all who were in residence, including sons and knights, were either slain or captured.”
Members of the Gifford family froze in silence on the stair, in the doorways, in front of the fire. A deep moan of disappointment left Marcella, and Divina began to quietly weep. The messenger had ridden hard to Raedelle to bring the news to the Earl of Ayliffe and the Gifford family. Anne stood paralyzed and examined the stricken faces that had once been so hopeful, as they fell in despair. Their hope was suddenly crushed.
“Who has survived the Duke?” Brennan asked.
“The Earl of March, young Edward, is the heir. He was not with his father. He had gone home to Ludlow to collect Welsh armies.”
Brennan walked to the stair where Anne stood, her hand half raised toward him. “I hope you understand and forgive me, my love. I will return to you as quickly as possible.”
She nodded numbly. She knew why he would ask forgiveness.
Although it was unspoken, they both realized that his presence kept her family at bay.
“I am for Edward,” Brennan said to the room at large. “I cannot think one reason to delay.”
“He is a boy,” Marcella cried despairingly.
“His age is irrelevant, madam,” the earl replied. “He is the heir.” Edward, Earl of March, was now the Duke of York. And it was through the house of York that they placed the claim to the crown of England. Edward, at the age of nineteen, did not have a reputation as a strong knight. He had not yet fought in any significant battle. While Anne was struggling to understand how this tragedy affected her own life, she could not help but notice that Brennan was the only man on his feet – the only one of the Duke’s vassals preparing to depart. Again, she saw the true colors of her family, they were anxious to attach themselves to power, to regain what had been lost. But their real loyalties were rooted in sand. While the Giffords vacillated, Brennan was for York.
The Giffords did not tarry long though, for they did not wish to lose the earl’s favor. Lord Gifford assembled what seemed to Anne a mighty troop of one hundred knights and two hundred archers. Lord Forbes sent a courier to Ayliffe to assemble and move west one thousand plus two thousand, and sudden awareness of Brennan’s capability, something she had not really considered before, impressed her. Soon a troop led by both Lord Gifford and the Earl of Ayliffe departed from Raedelle, and Marcella resumed her letters.
Through early January there were messengers through the gate on a regular basis, bringing word of the Giffords, and of others.
“The deFraynes have joined with the king’s men, even after those men showed their courage by sneaking into the Duke’s home to slay him,” Marcella told her daughters. She read a letter from Quentin so that it appeared Marcella was only imparting news, but Anne had heard a lifetime of such commentary, drumming it into all the Gifford children that the deFraynes were evil, treacherous characters. “It is rumored that the soldiers dressed as women to gain entrance to the Duke’s castle.” Marcella’s cheeks reddened, her eyes glittered. “How like the deFrayne bastards to be attracted to such a cowardly ruse.”
Anne listened without reaction. She wished to know if all the deFrayne men had pledged to the Lancaster king. Did even Dylan choose politics and war over their love? But she was silent. There was nothing she could say. She listened as Marcella enthusiastically described the horrible treatment that would befall the Lancaster supporters, especially the deFraynes, when the assault was finished and they were caught.
Letters also arrived from Brennan, which Marcella snatched from Anne’s hand the moment she had finished reading each one. However, Brennan did not write about political issues or military plans, and each letter that expressed his longi
ng for his bride only depressed and disappointed Lady Gifford. “I had not thought the earl, at his maturity, could behave like a besotted fool. What lunacy is this lust? A man of power weds a dowry and a family of substantial arms. To read his dribble makes me think he cares naught for the allegiance of a mighty family.”
Mighty? Anne wondered. Dowry? Brennan Forbes was already rich and influential. He did not need Marcella’s nagging, nor the modest fighting skills of the Giffords. And, if Lord Forbes had offered a partnership toward a cause, he need not have included marriage to Anne. Marcella had greatly mistaken the value of her assets. But Anne could not dismiss what was happening, although the men were far away. The arguments of dukes and kings had never touched her so closely before. She knew that York was going hard against Lancaster. The Giffords hard against the deFraynes. Where was Dylan?
During the last half of January there came the final revelation. A cart driven by an elderly couple arrived with clothing sewn for Anne of Raedelle. Two large coffers and several carefully wrapped bundles were brought to her rooms. It was the old couple’s son who owned a tailor shop, and they were en route to their daughter’s home. Since it meant only a slight departure from their planned journey, they delivered the newly sewn clothing. While the man drank cold ale in the common room, the woman went with Anne to her chamber to inspect the goods.
This was the first time there had been such an event at Raedelle, and Anne could not hide her excitement. Divina, whose curiosity for once outpaced her hostility, went along to see the gowns. Marcella took only a cursory look and then quickly departed. The sight of such beautiful gowns brought her both jealousy and the memory of her indiscretion, and near blunder, with the earl.
The old woman stayed on and on, turning gowns inside out to show Anne the stitchery, going over each detail of the craftsmanship, displaying shawls and wimples and hennins with various gowns to show the versatility of the costumes. Anne was impressed with the wardrobe, but just as she felt the urge to giggle in happiness, she noticed her sister’s tears.
“Divina,” she began, attempting consolation.
“Do not,” Divina said, struggling to maintain some dignity. “Just let me see,” she said quietly, her cheeks damp. “Let me see how it might have been for me.”
“You must believe me, Divina. I would not purposely do anything to hurt you.”
“If I am sent to the convent,” Divina said, “I will never forgive you. Never!”
Anne was left to watch the old woman’s nervous presentation of clothing, her blasé reaction no longer a matter of choice. She was robbed of the happiness the new clothing brought by Divina’s jealousy and pain. Anne wondered how Divina could ignore the irony. Anne was always expected to make do on lesser gowns, to accept her future as a nun, and to exist without companionship or sisterly affection. But Divina, hurt and jealous, was to be pitied. Anne grew tired of the old woman’s chatter. She felt a sense of loss rather than the delight of acquisition. Anne did not value material possessions above her sister’s love.
Finally, Divina departed, closing the chamber door, and Anne turned to put her belongings away. It was then that the old woman sighed wearily and withdrew a small, torn parchment from her deep apron pocket. “I worried we’d never be left alone, mum, and I’ve a secret something to pass along.”
Anne took the parchment in bemused silence, opened it and read:
Anne, my love, please forgive me.
The hand was not Brennan’s. She looked at the old woman. “Where did you come by this?” she questioned in a whisper.
“Just four leagues off your gates, mum. The lad said ‘twas for your eyes alone, and he’d be killed were it known. Must have meant a great deal to him. He paid me a noble sum to pass it along.”
“You were not told to help me examine these things, were you?”
“Nay, mum, but I knew no other way. I can’t read, mum. Is it important, like the lad said?”
Anne caressed the parchment with her fingers, reading it over and over through moist eyes. The words blurred and ran together. The message was clear. “Did he say anything else?” she asked, her voice catching. “Anything at all?”
“That you would understand, mum,” the woman said, shrugging her shoulders.
“He was astride?” she asked. “Dressed ... dressed warmly?”
Anne felt a touch and saw the old woman’s hand on her forearm. “Well kept, armored ... safe astride a good horse, mum.”
Anne looked at the old woman closely. Then she took the note directly to the hearth and dropped it in the flame. “You must forget the errand and never speak of it.” Then she kissed the woman’s old and withered cheek. “I thank you from my heart.”
“I’m thinkin’ it’s young lovers you are.”
“Please,” Anne said in a weak whisper. She was filled with pain. He was so close, yet he could not reach her. He did not beg her to come to him. He did not ask her to wait. He did not promise that soon, after this conflict, they would have each other. Her eyes were luminous with loss and agony.
“I’ll not hurt you, lass. But I saw the same in his eyes, I did. If it helps you to know that, I saw the same in his eyes.”
Anne nodded and her chin quivered. He was not coming for her. Not ever. His family had snatched him into their war and he had made his choice. And her family had given her to Brennan for the same purpose--to form a war pact. Dylan must surely have decided that it was now forever hopeless. He had given up their oath.
The old woman touched her cheek with a sympathetic stroke and then quietly left the room.
Anne choked back painful tears and lifted an ermine-lined cloak from the new clothing spread across her bed. She went to the donjon and stood alongside a watchman, looking out over the Raedelle lands. She examined the forest’s edge for any detail, for fresh tracks in the snow. If she caught the slightest glimpse of him, she would scale the wall with her bare hands and run to him. But there was nothing. He had been four leagues away when he passed the note to the old woman – he was now surely ten leagues gone.
Tears slowly slid down her cheeks, and the guard did not comment until she had stood there for over an hour. “My lady, you’ll become ill of the cold if you do not descend.” She shook her head, her cheeks chapped from the tears, the winter wind, the icy cold. A hundred desperate plans coursed through her mind: to dress like a soldier and pass through the gate on horseback, or as a monk, but there were no monks in Raedelle, or as an old woman, as she had first attempted. But the guards let no one pass now, since the successful surprise attack on the Duke of York. And Dylan was gone--he had made his choice.
The sun began to lower in the sky. “My lady,” the tower guard whispered. “Please, why do you weep?”
“My betrothed,” she said weakly, her voice catching on a sob. “We are at war.”
“But mademoiselle, the earl is one of the very best, his army is strong and well known. You need not be afraid for him.”
“Of course not,” she said, letting her chin fall. She could not see as far now, for the sky had darkened. Around the parapets the archers were lighting cressets. She returned to her chamber with a heavy heart and tears continued to stain her reddened cheeks as she placed her clothes in coffers. She looked up at the sound of her opening chamber door. Marcella stood there, a frown on her lips.
“What ails you now?” she demanded.
“I ... I am overcome by Lord Forbes’s generosity,” she stammered, wiping at her tears.
“As are we all. ‘Twas unkind of him to laud his wealth over us in this way. Your sister has never had such good fortune and I am certain her pain is great. Divina weeps.”
“Madam ... Mother ... I would gladly share my good fortune with ...”
“Divina will not take your leavings, girl.”
Anne stiffened. “I have taken hers often enough.”
Marcella smiled tolerantly. “It has not taken you long to become haughty. You were not so vain before the earl took a fancy to you.”
Marcella looked away and closed her eyes briefly. Anne saw a flicker of pain cross her mother’s features.
“Because birthing me was hard? Because I was a horrid child?” She choked on a sob. “Was Divina so much better?”
Marcella looked back at Anne. Now Anne saw it again--hate. Pain had turned to hate. She did not understand. “You are mistaken if you think I favor your sister over you, though she tries much harder to please me than you ever have. She is older and should marry first, but somehow you have managed where she has failed. You must be careful, Anne, that you do not become vain.”
“Oh madam, there is little chance of that,” Anne said wearily, turning away. “You and my sister will surely put me in my place.”
“Do you expect me to coddle you as does your mighty earl?” Marcella snapped in sudden fury. “I have raised five children--three of them great knights--and what does he choose to discuss? Not the power of the family that will support him, not the arms we lend to his cause, but the frayed hem on the gown of his young tart! Do not pretend innocence with me – you relish in his poor treatment of me!”
Anne felt as though she had been slapped. “Where have I failed you, madam? How is it you love me so little? Does a mother really forget to love a child whose birth was painful? I cannot imagine it.”
“You have been very fortunate, Anne. And take special care that you do not misuse your new power.”