Chapter Two
On the first day of Yuletide my love gave me,
a promise, a vow and a kiss under a snow-covered tree...
“I do not care if King Edward decrees it!” Elspeth de Sancerre said, tossing her brush at the door. “I will not—will not—marry that odious earl of Hellborne! They call him Gallowglass. Did you know that?”
Lesslyn de Sancerre bent over to retrieve the tossed brush and make sure it was not broken. Brushes were costly, and hard to come by. You simply did not destroy one in a fit of anger. Except mayhap her spoiled sister. “The earl is not odious. I have only seen him a couple of times when he was riding on his grey horse, but he strikes a handsome figure. He is tall, straight of spine, and with broad square shoulders. There is a power about him. A dark power. Most women wouldst find no disfavor in being his lady wife. Hellborne is rich in estates, and is close to the king. Wed him and you become his countess.”
“His eyes are cold. Just seeing him from a distance you have not looked into those grey eyes. They scare me! He has no heart, I tell you. The man is an assassin. He kills men just because Edward commands it.”
“Many men do that, if you think upon it. Elspeth, you are grasping at straws. Besides, you know you cannot see his eyes clearly when you are close.”
Her sister snatched back the brush, giving her a pouty sneer. “God gave you perfect eyesight. To me he bestowed the blessing of a beauty above all others.”
Lesslyn rolled her eyes. Well, without doubt her sister was indeed a beauty, with pale hair and huge blue eyes. Only, those eyes were weak so that perfect countenance was marred by her need to squint her eyes tight to make out things close up. She guessed God had a sense of humor.
“Sad He did not give you humility to go along with it,” Lesslyn muttered under her breath.
Her sister, picking up the polished plate, was suddenly entranced, smiling at her reflection. Then, she squinted to get a clearer view. Disgusted with her mole expression, she tossed the mirror aside. “What? Lesslyn, cease grumbling and speak up. I so swear, you scurry around like a dormouse, squeaking out who knows what.”
Lesslyn picked up her sister’s gown, carelessly tossed across the bed. Her hand caressed the rich brocade of deep green, then folded it and carefully placed it in the chest at the foot of the bed. She had never worn such a beautiful garment. Oh, as a small child, when her mother was still alive, she had pretty things. Only, she had died in childbirth when Lesslyn was not yet seven. Then, things changed.
She was only a step-daughter to Roye de Sancerre. He had kept her, given her his name to please her mother, but he never spared an ounce of caring. Elspeth was the product of her mother’s second marriage to Baron de Sancerre. The sun rose and set with his fair daughter.
The baron never missed a chance to remind Lesslyn that she sadly took after her father’s looks. And as she aged, she had slowly been pushed into the role of serving her half-sister. There were always fine bolts of material for Elspeth, or ribbons for her hair, but with an absentminded wave of his hand, the baron insisted he lacked coin for such things for Lesslyn. She quickly learnt not to expect such indulgences to be bestowed upon her. Defiantly, she never asked.
It was not in her nature to be jealous of Elspeth. Such emotions served no purpose. Only, at times, when she was afforded a private moment, she daydreamed that a handsome knight—well, reasonably handsome—would come riding to Castle Sancerre and declare he wanted not Elspeth, but Lesslyn for his bride. She could live her life without the velvet gowns, gold buckles or silk under tunics. Those were just things. She was good at weaving and sewing, so she could make her own serviceable kirtles. Howbeit, she did wonder what it would feel like to marry, to have a husband to share a life with. Hoping to escape this life of disenchantment, she longed for an offer of marriage. She yearned of having her own home that she could run, where she would find happiness. De Sancerre had pushed aside any notion of finding a marriage for her. As the years passed, Lesslyn recognized such imaginings were just wisps of fantasies that would never be.
She glanced down at the plain brown kirtle she wore. De Sancerre had not presented her at court, so there had been no need to waste coin upon expensive fabrics for kirtles for her. The baron was not an evil man, but a pinch-coin with a shriveled heart. He resented Lesslyn’s father for reasons she never learnt. He almost seemed to take delight in reminding her that to get a good marriage cost coinage for a dower. Whilst a man might accept a lesser amount for the hand of Elspeth because of her beauty, such would never be the circumstances for Lesslyn. “I have not enough silver to dower you. Your father should have left provisions. He did not. The matter is at end. You are blessed that I kept you here at Sancerre after your mother died in childbirth, instead of sending you to a convent.”
Lesslyn pulled her mind from such dispiriting thoughts, and returned to the topic of the king’s demand Elspeth marry. She said in a calm, resigned—and mayhap a wistful tone, “’Tis the king’s will, Elspeth. None can stand against him.”
“Fie, I wouldst spit in the eye of the king! Why do men always think they know best and that women should have no say in these matters? They marry us off to some old lord…why, we are naught but a cow to be bartered off!”
“The Earl Hellborne is not old,” Lesslyn said, almost defending him. She had never liked the pretty faced courtiers that followed in Elspeth’s wake. They hardly seemed more than boys. Hellborne was a knight, hardened by battle. He was...a man—not a fey faced child.
“Mayhap to someone of your advanced years—”
In a strange mood this night, she cut off her sister’s prattle. “I am only five years older than you. You near a score years, Elspeth. Past the proper age of marriage—”
This time it was Elspeth’s turn to silence a thought. With a screech. She sounded like the Bansidhe. Lesslyn curled her fingers into her palms to stop herself from sticking them in her ears—or slapping Elspeth senseless.
“Enough!” Lesslyn finally cried.
The door flung open and the elderly baron rushed in, his canes tapping on the floor. “God’s breath! What goes on here?”
“Elspeth merely expresses her displeasure at the announcement of her coming banns.” Lesslyn bit down on her lower lip to keep from saying more. Or laughing.
The baron glared at his favored child—likely for the first time in her life. Elspeth blinked in shock. “Cease this childish lament. Fix your mind to the marriage with the Earl Hellborne. It shall be.”
“I wouldst rather marry someone younger,” Elspeth whimpered.
The baron eyed her with mistrust. “Like the caitiff son of the Comte di Conti?” Elspeth opened her mouth to express her wishes in the matter, but for once, the baron’s will was of iron resolve. “Do not bother with feigned innocence, daughter. I saw he wore your colors on his sleeve when they held the joust two fortnights ago. ’Tis what pushed me to seek out a husband that will breed some warrior blood back into this line. Your child will one day hold Sancerre. Have a care to marrying someone that will breed upon you sons that do not sit around composing poetry! You shall marry the Earl Hellborne, and that is the end of that!”
The baron spun on his heels and stormed out of the room, leaving Elspeth with her mouth hanging open. Never had he said a harsh word to her, so she was unsure how to react to this severer version of the man who had always coddled her.
“Ooooo...I shan’t marry Hellborne!” She threatened, “I will starve myself first. I will throw myself from the tower. I will run away and die of exposure in the wood.”
“Dearling, you cannot do all three.” Lesslyn could not resist the jest.
“I want to marry Aristide di Conti!” She stomped her foot petulantly. Whilst Elspeth in a temper was amusing, it was quickly wearing thin.
“Matters naught, Elspeth. ’Tis the way of the world. Railing at this shall change naught. You will only make yourself sick with anger,” Lesslyn cautioned.
“Well, why should I not be angry? I am not a cow. I do not make mooing sounds, do I?”
Elspeth tended to carry on at the injustices of being a woman. Whilst Lesslyn held similar views, she had learnt the world was not kind to females daring to push outside the boundaries afforded them. Elspeth had not reached that same point of acceptance. Lesslyn sighed wearily, having heard it all before. Every slight, each hurt done to poor Elspeth. She knew the next words coming out of her half-sister’s mouth.
“My mother died when I was but two—”
Lesslyn gave her a sad smile and said softly, “She was my mother, too.”
At least, Elspeth had a father that loved her. Rarely had Lesslyn left Sancerre. She was just a step-daughter consigned to the shadows. Too tall, not as pretty, someone to fetch things, merely a companion—nay, servant—for the precious daughter of Roye de Sancerre.
“What?” Elspeth’s head whipped around, her eyes trying to focus on Lesslyn as if she was just now seeing her standing there. Mayhap, like she truly saw her older sibling for the first time. Of course, since she could not see her too clearly, she squinted her eyes. “You know...if you wouldst fix your hair and wear something bright and colorful you would not appear such a wren. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown kirtle...that tends to wash away the color from your face.”
Lesslyn gnawed the inside of her cheek to keep the words back. She did not choose to be...well, brown. Life seemed to have made the pick for her.
“I believe my hair was in a crisponette when I was presented to the earl.” Elspeth spun to her wardrobe, and began searching the shelves until she found what she wanted. “Yes, I do recall— this was it. I loved the gold netting on the pockets, but was disappointed because it did not show to the best advantage on my pale locks. On your brown hair, the gold wouldst stand out more.”
Lesslyn eyed her sister, suspicions rising. Her face was innocent, but a devious glint flashed in her unfocused blue eyes. “You want me to wear your crisponette because you plan to toss yourself out the window?”
“Nay, I ponder upon other paths our lives might take...” Elspeth’s words trailed off, as her brow crinkled into a frown of contemplation.
Lesslyn could not resist tweaking her nose. “You scowl like that for very long, the creases will set and you will get wrinkles.”
“Sister dearest, I do believe you are pulling my big toe! Refrain from such urges. We needs must cypher upon what to do...what...to...do...” Elspeth finally gave a nod. “Sit, and let me try the head piece on you—”
“Whyever for? Have your senses taken leave?”
Elspeth put both hands on Lesslyn’s shoulders and gave her a determined shove until she was seated. “Men are deceivers and users. I think mayhap they fear females, so they seek to keep us under their thumb and see we are dependent upon them for our every wish. They barter us off for position or coin, without a by your leave, no care to what would bring us happiness.”
“Are you going to rally the females of Sancerre to revolt against such worldly bonds?” Lesslyn had no idea what her sister was up to, and wondered if the stress of being told she had to wed a stranger was taking its toll.
“In a manner of speaking...mayhap just a small rebellion.”
“Elspeth, cease the mummery.” Lesslyn reached up and snatched the crisponette away from her sister, as she tried to stuff her long brown hair into the side pockets. “What are you about?”
She gave Lesslyn a sidelong glance and sat down in the facing chair. Spying the open door, she popped up and rushed to close it. She leaned against it. Clutching her hands to her chest, she smiled wistfully. “I am in love, Lesslyn!”
Lesslyn drew in a slow breath. “Aristide?’
“Oh, yea! He makes my heart rattle inside my chest. When he asked if he could wear my colors, I thought I could not draw breath! Even his name makes me sigh. Aristide.” She exhaled dreamily.
“He is not titled, Elspeth. Only a second son—”
Her face darkened for a moment. “But his elder brother is a Templar. Do they not take some vow of chastity and poverty? If the man refuses to father a child to carry on the title, and renounces his earthly goods, then Aristide would become Comte di Conti. Is that title not like an earl? Oh, he talks about how beautiful Italy is! ’Tis warm, not like dreary England with its perpetual rain. Flowers grow there, cascading over the hillsides. You do not have to spend your days warming your backside by hearth. He speaks of Venice—one of the most prosperous cities in all the world. Do you not think a comte in Venice would be worth more coin than a master of a holding out in the middle of some foggy fen?”
Lesslyn was growing concerned. “This is a lot of speaking of Venice, flowers and the weather. What are the intentions of this second son of an Italian nobleman? You yourself said men were deceivers.” Mistrust was rippling up her spine, so she slowly rose to her feet. “Elspeth, you have not done something stupid, have you?”
“His intentions are with honor, Sister. He tried to speak to father, but...Ooooo...he spurned Aristide’s offer. Would not even hear him out.” Full of excitement, she nearly bounced to Lesslyn’s side. “I love him—”
Lesslyn gave her a doubting glare. “You thought you loved that French marquis last summer. And before that, it was the nephew of that Scottish baron. You tend to fall in and out of love with the changing of the seasons. What makes you think this is different?”
“I know you believe I am a senseless girl with a flighty heart, but each time I started to fall in love, something held me back. The thought of going north to some remote island off the coast of Scotland—where 'tis cold, and oft the snow drifts higher than a horse—well, left me chilled. You are cut off from the world for half of the year! I wouldst die. Truly. Soon, it will be Yuletide. I will freeze and grow ill. There will be naught to do, and I will take sick of staring at the walls of this bloody fortress—or another just like it. I shall grow old without ever traveling farther than court. I want to go someplace where the sun shines hot. Where flowers grow nearly year-round, and so big, their fragrance fills the air. Oh, why should men go off to faraway places like the Holy Lands, when we are forced to stay behind and suffer cold blains?”
“What about your father? To do that, you wouldst have to leave him behind.”
A trace of selfishness molded the corners of Elspeth’s mouth, which hardened into determination. “He is not well, you know this. He will not live much longer.”
“Elspeth! You should not say such things. ’Tis like an ill wish.” Lesslyn chided.
Her beauty vanished, as harsh shadows settled upon her countenance. “Sometimes, Lesslyn, I feel like I am the older sister and you are the naïve one. You may be content to waste the years of your youth going through days of drudgery, but I want to see Rome, Venice, mayhap even go see the deserts of the Holy Lands. There is so much more to life than dismal England. Father will die here. The cold weather saps his strength. Each year, he grows more feeble. It hurts him to walk now. Mayhap if I married and went to live in Venice, then he would be forced to come see me, and find the warmer clime granting him a few years more. So many possibilities are before us both—if we but open our eyes and seize control of our paths.”
“Our paths?”
Elspeth pulled her chair closer. “Do sit, Sister. We needs must talk and be frank.”
Guardedly, Lesslyn sat back down. Immediately, Elspeth leaned forward so she could see Lesslyn’s face. “Please, do not do that. You make my eyes want to cross.”
“’Tis the only way I can see your reaction to what I say. I am determined to marry Aristide. I love him. He wants me to go back to Venice as his lady wife. I speak in seriousness: I shall die if I have to marry Hellborne and live out my days in rainy, cold England.”
“And what does that have to do with my path?” Lesslyn was mistrustful of her sister’s sudden worry about her fate. It had never before bothered her.
Elspeth flashed a smile. “Well, you are ever the left hand, whilst I am the right. You love rain. I see how happy you are on rainy days. You get this dream-filled look upon your face, and your eyes are faraway, as if you go to another place, another life. You wish for a home, and the things that go with it. A husband, children.”
Lesslyn looked down at her hands, trying to hide the yearning from flooding her face. “You know your father will not arrange a marriage for me.”
“Again, men deciding what must be. Because he is a pinch-coin he will not permit you the choice of finding a husband and a life of your own. Do you really wish to spend your days here, turning more brown with each passing year? Never to know love? Never to hold your child? Or...” Elspeth prodded, “wouldst you like to wed a man who strikes a handsome figure? One that is tall, with a straight spine and broad, square shoulders? A man with a power about him?”
Lesslyn jumped to her feet nearly knocking over Elspeth. “God have mercy! You are plotting for me to marry Hellborne—so you can dash off free as a bird with a second son of an Italian nobleman!”
“Oh, you can go all mooncalf eyes over Hellborne when I am to be bartered off to him, but when you might be the bride, suddenly you look panic stricken.” Elspeth argued.
“Hellborne is close to Edward. A man of influence. He has bargained for you to be his bride, not me. He wouldst be angry to find himself tricked.”
Elspeth’s cheeks burned red with fury. “Think, Lesslyn! The man has seen me once, nearly a year ago. My hair was bound in the crisponette so I truly doubt he could tell much about me. We barely spoke. If anything, he seemed impatient to be away from my presence. I hold true doubt he could pick me out of a roomful of females even if his life depended upon it. You could go to him, present yourself as me, and marry him. You could have the life you want at Hellborne. You wouldst be happy there. And I shall be happy in Venice.”
“Such trickery could never pass! Your father—”
“Stays here at Sancerre because the weather is too bitter for him to travel. He will not leave the fireside. Never leaves the hearth anymore. He will expect us to travel on the day after morrow. We shall. Only, after I send word to Aristide, he will be waiting with his guard. I shall go with you partway, and then you will travel on to Hellborne.”
“’Tis dangerous. ’Tis...” Lesslyn floundered for words.
“A way for us both to be happy?” Elspeth smiled triumphantly.
What Elspeth dangled before her eyes was tempting, so much so it was hard to think of the reasonings to explain her misgivings. Elspeth lured her with her deepest desires, the very things she hoped for but never dreamt could be made real. Could she risk such? Beauty faded. Mayhap, he could come to see he had a wife that could offer more? On the other hand, Hellborne might end up hating her instead. Howbeit, when she thought of her endless days at Sancerre, little more than a servant, her spirit cried out for something more.
The cloudy mood banishing from Elspeth, she rushed to the trunk and threw back the lid. “We have much to do. There is not enough time to make you new gowns. I am smaller than you, but some of my kirtles will work. The side-lacings will adjust to fit your own fuller figure. You can use your under tunics which will give enough length...”
Clearly, Elspeth, used to getting her way in all, thought the matter settled.
• ♥ •
Later that night, Lesslyn shifted in her small bed, unable to sleep. She would like to throw back the faded tapestry over the window and allow the moonlight in, but it was cold outside. So bitter, the fireplace was having a hard time banishing the chill of the room. Getting up, she crossed to the fire, and added two arm-sized logs to the flames.
Restless, she tugged her gown’s hem under her, folding her legs to sit down on the hearthstone to enjoy the heat. She liked the smell of the hardwood. Elspeth was right about her—she enjoyed simple things. The scent of wood burning. The way the heat caressed her face. And she so loved rain. Even falling snow seemed to bring a magical joy to her heart. Also, her sister understood that she yearned for a life of her own, not one of a poor relation who felt obliged to earn her keep.
She thought back on the times she had seen the Earl Hellborne. Searching her mind, she tried to recall his name. Greyson. She remembered because his name reminded her of his eyes. She cast her mind back to an early morn last spring. Unable to sleep, she had gone for a walk at dawn, enjoying the thick fog. Hellborne had been leading his grey stallion out of the stables. He had mounted with a fluid grace, which bespoke that he and the animal were one. The horse pranced out of the portcullis and away from the fortress. The second time she had encountered him, she had been hurrying to get back to the room she was sharing with Elspeth. As she turned the corridor, she slammed into the chest of a man. Hellborne. With strong hands, he caught her upper arms and prevented her from falling. With barely a glance he begged her pardon, and then moved on down the shadowy hallway.
Yes, her heart had pounded and she felt drawing a breath hard. Lesslyn stared into the flames wondering if she dared to take this bold step.
Wondering if she dared not.