The Everlasting Covenant (6 page)

“
His fancy,
”
Marcella shrugged, smiling rather deviously.
“
He is rich and was not enticed by her dowry. Understanding his fancy is not my concern, an alliance with his influence is.
”

“
But Mother
--
”

“
Lower your voice, Divina. I will not listen to this shrieking.
”

“
I will not go to the convent in her stead. I will not!
”

“
It is not too late to find you a suitable marriage. I was almost twenty when I was wed. And ... we have invested a goodly sum in that effort already. Your clothes will do you no good with the sisters.
”
She glanced at Anne and frowned. She had not considered Anne to be good marriageable stock, she was small, thin, and had always preferred playing with the boys to learning the management of a castle. Divina, hearty and deter
mined to copy her mother
’
s behavior, seemed more logical in a wifely role. Yet Anne had captured a rich earl in her simple, ill-fitting frocks, saying nothing encouraging, smiling shyly. It was beyond Marcella
’
s comprehension. Beside Divina, Anne appeared frail.

Marcella pinched her eyes closed. Like Daphne. Anne was more like Daphne than she had realized. Perhaps it made men feel powerful and strong when facing frail and timid women.

She had never looked at Anne as an eligible nobleman might. But she would gladly accept the earl
’
s influence in any case.

“
I will not stay in this room with her any longer,
”
Divina cried.
“
I will not!
”

Marcella ground her teeth.
“
Do not make the convent seem a preferable place for you to live, Divina.
”

“
How could you allow it, madam? You should have refused his offer. Refused it outright.
”

“
It would have been much as refusing an open chest filled with gold,
”
she said, failing to mention that it had also been a favorable match, that the earl would make an exemplary mate, and that he had approached the Giffords, not the other way around.

“
Madam, tell her not to hate me so,
”
Anne entreated.
“
Tell her it was not of my doing. I did nothing to entice the
--
”

“
You have been a great deal of trouble,
”
Marcella said.
“
Try not to goad the rest of us with your good fortune, which was little of your own making.
”
She turned to Divina.
“
Find another room if you wish, but do not make me listen to any more of your tantrums. I have a great deal on my mind.
”

Anne watched as Divina finished dividing her belongings from Anne
’
s.

“
I would give you this betrothal if I could,
”
Anne said quietly.

Divina glared at her.
“
Perhaps that will happen yet,
”
Divina replied icily.

Chapter Three

Summer came
and was gone. The days shortened and grew cold and the candles and torches burned until late at night at Raedelle Castle, for the Giffords were busy with secret meetings, the gathering of arms and funds, and many messages were being sent and received. The Duke of York was preparing to take London by siege, if necessary, and at his right hand would be the Gifford family. Marcella
’
s energy was high and ran rampant through the castle as her demands increased, her temper shortened, and a flush of excitement brightened her cheeks.

The Gifford sons and the men-at-arms suited daily for possible call to battle, laying out their accouterments and keeping their squires and pages fleet and ready. Horses were curried and exercised with dubious intent. At the first call to arms, they would ride.

During this time Anne heard nothing from Dylan. Only her memories kept her warm as the days grew colder. Word had come that the deFraynes rode with the forces of Henry
’
s queen, Margaret of Anjou. Anne prayed each night that Dylan was not
with them, but she knew he must be. She had waited for over five months to see that twinkling eye emerge from behind a thick-trunked oak, or that playful smile sparkle from within a group of traveling monks. Never before had so many months passed without a surprise appearance. He had promised he would come, yet nothing happened.

The Earl of Ayliffe journeyed to Raedelle five times in five months. Each visit stretched out longer than the last, and each time Anne pitied him more. His eyes grew velvety soft with desire, his words deep and resonant with longing. And all Anne could accord him was respect and a mien of obedience. For all his claims to have put aside t
he impatience of youth, his man
nerisms betrayed him as a man who chafed at delay and grew eager for a bride. His extended courtship had won him only a young woman who admired him, but did not want him for a husband.

Brennan Forbes had stolen a kiss on his last visit. Oh, it was not a theft, as Anne recalled. He desired to be kissed. And so she allowed, closing her eyes and tilting her chin. He had moved over her mouth with hunger, but she met him with indifference. She wept that night for shame, for nothing in her was stirred, and he deserved better. He was a good man.
“
There is no lacking within you, Brennan,
”
she had said.
“
‘
Tis I. I fear I will not please you.
”

It was the truth, for she had begun to curse her inability to accept such good fortune. There was not a man in the land who would make a better husband than Brennan Forbes. Even Dylan, she well knew, could not offer so much. His temper was shorter, his passion for all things was not only quicker, but richer and deeper, and he would not be a docile mate. Sometimes frivolous, sometimes deadly serious, she wondered if a life of flight and hiding would cause him to one day resent her. It would take strength to share Dylan
’
s pallet, when all Brennan wished to do was spoil and pamper her. However, Dylan was the man she loved. It was then that the realization came to her as it had earlier come to Dylan
--
this was not a love they willingly
struggled to keep alive, as in those first early days. It was a love neither of them could deny. She hoped it would not lead to their doom.

Yet Dylan did not come, and Brennan visited regularly
.
And in the month of October old Minerva, Anne
’
s nurse since birth, fell ill and bedridden. The lonely days stretched out longer as Anne sat vigil by Minerva
’
s bed while the rest of her family plotted wars and reigns.

Minerva had lived in Raedelle all of her sixty-seven years. She had taken Ferris from the womb and nursed him, and she had tended others of the Gifford house, and each of Ferris
’
s children. Of the entire family, it was only Anne and Ferris who suffered when she fell ill. From her rasping breath and fevered form, they knew death was imminent.

Ferris placed his hand on his daughter
’
s shoulder and looked down at his dying nurse.
“
Go on, lass,
”
he said softly.
“
I
’
ll sit here for a time with my old love.
”

“
She is no better, Papa,
”
Anne whispered.
“
Her fever does not break and she can barely breathe. The midwife and the leech know of nothing more to do.
”

“
I know that, lass. She has had a long life. You have been a faithful ward. You alone sit with old Minerva.
”

Tears began to gather in Anne
’
s eyes. She knew that her beloved servant would die. This woman, not her own mother, brought her through childhood with love and tenderness. There were few enoug
h remedies for serious illness –
none for old age. And it hurt her deeply that none of the other children nor their mother, all of whom Minerva had served so faithfully, paid homage in this sickroom.

There was a faint stirring in the bed, and Minerva opened her eyes. For a moment her stare was blank as she looked at Ferris and Anne, and then recognition cleared her gaze. A weak smile touched her lips.
“
Ferris, my boy,
”
she whispered.
“
Get this sweet child from this foul place.
”

Anne picked up Minerva
’
s hot bony hand and rubbed it against her cheek.
“
I would stay with you, my dear.
”

“
Death is unpleasant enough, without being seen by one with
such life,
”
the old nurse said.
“
Let me talk to my boy. Come back in an hour.
”

Anne exchanged troubled glances with her father.

“
Walk about in the cool air, lass. Clear your head of this sickroom and come back later. She
’
ll be here.
”

Anne left as she was told, wandering about Raedelle Castle absentmindedly. She paused briefly to watch as Quentin prac
ticed arms in the courtyard in front of the hall with other knights. Quentin would be the next baron of Raedelle, and she had no trouble imagining him in that role. Though he strongly resem
bled their mother, his temp
erament was more even than Mar
cella
’
s. Quentin loved soldiering, and he loved Raedelle. He was not soft, but sometimes
kind. Quentin was usually fair-
minded, as was borne out when he reprimanded Bart at the feast following the tournament. Quentin was large, thick, and som
ber. He excelled at knightly arts, mostly because of his natural bulk and strength. But he was not ambitious. He would inherit Raedelle and there was little reason to wish for more.

She spied, or rather heard, Bart as he snapped orders at a group of squires who had not yet won his approval. Bart strongly resembled Quentin in looks, but not size. Not as tall, not as broad, Bart had to work twice as hard to do half as well as Quentin in the contests. And Bart was quick-tempered and am
bitious, as was often the case with the second son. He longed for wealth and power, but Raedelle was Quentin
’
s, and Bart
’
s fortunes must be earned another way. It was becoming apparent that he was not going to get his due through soldiering, but through clever association. She had noticed that when he looked at her of late his eyes would slowly traverse her slight form from nose to toes and back again, as if trying to account for the fact that she had lured an earl into their midst. Sometimes the gleam in his eye made her shiver. She knew, without being told, that Bart had plans revolving around this proposed marriage.

And Trenton, who was busy examining the battle gear that lay in shining rows in the courtyard, turned and smiled at her. He was a gentle lad at sevent
een, too young for all this con
spiracy, too young to go to battle. But he was without choice
and must follow his brothers or be labeled as a weakling and coward. He was not, of course. He would be as large as Quentin, and with good training just as strong, but Trenton was kind and good through and through. He was neither conniving nor am
bitious.

Anne and Trenton had been playmates until Trenton was sent to another keep for training as a squire. Upon his return he had cast aside playful games and concentrated on his knightly skills
--
a third-born son had much challenge ahead to even cover his head. Their fondness for each other had not really waned. Pre
cious were the evening hou
rs when Trenton sang sweet trou
badours
’
songs in their common hall. Trenton alone shared the raven locks and dark eyes of their common sire. She greatly feared losing him to a senseless war, and if there was one sibling she could tell about Dylan, it might be him. But, like his broth
ers, he had been strictly taught to suspect and despise all deFraynes. And it was Trenton, not Bart, she would have asked the earl to see to, if indeed she were to marry him, which she would not.

The busyness of the courtyard changed her mind about a stroll there, and she went back into the hall and through the galleries and cookery toward the rear of the castle. She paused to watch Divina, who had taken over Marcella
’
s duties in the cookery, since Marcella was so occupied with letters. Divina
’
s command was no lighter than their mother
’
s, and possibly harsher. She barked orders at the maids and matrons like a seasoned baroness, though she was only nineteen. She yelled about the many hungry knights, chided and ridiculed them for laziness, though it looked as though they worked feverishly. Divina tried hard to live up to their mother
’
s standards, mimicking Marcella, and Anne was suddenly filled with pity. For so long she had envied Divina
’
s apparent closeness to their mother, but now she could see the true value. Divina was neither betrothed nor happy and was busy with Marcella
’
s chores.

Raedelle
’
s wall had been built thick and tall two centuries ago, and the gates were opened for the passage of troops and villagers. The town lay to the south, a hill stood at the back of the castle, and the bastions and parapets were stocked with both new guns
and ready archers. There was a strong feeling of impending war. Anne frowned in confusion and disappointment, for she could not think of any amount of money or power that could make war so appealing, causing people to forget family loyalty. Mi
nerva lay forgotten, quietly dying. Yet, her family, with the exception of Divina, was happier and more excited than she had ever seen them. There were whisperings of duchies, once the power had been won for York. And laughter over the monk
ish, impotent King Henry, whose wife, they said, had cuckolded him with the Duke of Somerset. The prince, they gossiped, was wrought of Somerset
’
s loins, for the king was too often at poetry and prayer.

She wandered into the gardens, but there was much astir there as castlewomen clipped late-blooming herbs for poultices and lotions for warriors at roost here. Troops must be tended after battle. Large groups of calves, piglets, and lambs were being led to slaughter, for there were many mouths to feed, soldiers needed meat for strength. And the stable was no help, for an army that could not be housed in the main hall had found refuge there. In the weaving rooms the women frantically spun their yarn for cloth for gambesons, banners, and standards for the house of York, or of Gifford green. Finally, the church proved the only quiet place, and Anne
knelt to pray for Mi
nerva ..
. and Dylan.

She did not raise her head for what she perceived to be an hour and shared the church only with a peasant from the village who knelt behind her. He had undoubtedly sinned worse than she, for his capped head was bowed the whole while. When she reasoned it was time to return to Minerva, she lifted her head. She rose to leave and turned to depart the chapel. The peasant finished his prayers and lifted his bright turquoise eyes to meet hers. Her heart nearly stopped. Dylan! Inside Raedelle walls!

She stood numbly, terrified. She could not speak to him here, for the priest might come out of an ambry and catch them together. She lowered her eyes and with head bowed, fled swiftly with small steps, knowing he would follow. But where?

All of Raedelle was astir with the commotion of building an army for a subversive cause. There was no nook in all of the castle and town that would be safe. And Dylan was at risk inside Raedelle grounds.

She considered his costume, his peasant rags and straw hat. He sat unbot
hered in the church because ..
. because Raedelle was so astir with preparations for war that no one paid attention to another serf. She walked on, trying to keep her steps short and her manner relaxed, through the portcullis of the inner bailey and through the town to the gate. And there she saw what she had seen for weeks
--
knights and squires and pages and peasants roving through the opened gates as if a Mayday fair was taking place within Raedelle
’
s walls. Women carried baskets, carts laden with supplies were coming in, empty carts moved out. Farmers gathered the last remnants of their crops from the fields, corralled their stock, and destriers were being led about as pages exercised them for the knights. Outside the walls she could hear the shouts from men who practiced arms in the fields.