Priscilla Royal - Tyrant of the Mind

Aye, he decided as he focused on him, that black hair and short stature would suggest that the man was his prioress’ brother. As he watched Robert woo his lady, the monk chuckled with gentle amusement. A man of honor, Robert was. Even though they were out walking in public, he made sure they were properly attended.

Suddenly, the threesome stopped and looked back. Thomas was too far away to distinguish words, but he did hear shouting and watched the party below wait as another man ran up to them.

It was the Lord Henry, Thomas concluded, or at least the man had the same round face and was dressed as Henry had been after the hunt. Considering the encounter between stepson and stepmother earlier, this could not be a happy meeting. Perhaps the stepson now wished to beg pardon for his recent behavior? Thomas rather doubted it.

The monk watched Henry walk over to the Lady Isabelle, put his arm around her waist and, once again, pull her to him. As Thomas bent forward into the window opening, he saw Juliana quickly bend down to pick something up from the ground, then start toward them. Robert pulled her back, leaning over to say a word in her ear. Then he pointed at Henry, his voice raising enough for the monk to hear the anger if not his words.

Isabelle twisted in Henry’s arms and pushed at him. Instead of releasing her, the young man rubbed his cheek against hers. She drew back and pushed again. He laughed, the sound of his harsh merriment rising easily in the cold air to the window where Thomas stood.

Robert abruptly left Juliana’s side. Henry continued to laugh as Robert walked toward him, one hand on his dagger hilt.

Henry pushed his stepmother away and drew a knife. Robert pulled his dagger from its sheath, and the two men began to circle each other.

Juliana shouted as she ran to her stepmother’s side, gesturing at something behind them. The men both stopped and looked where she was pointing.

As Thomas looked in the direction Juliana was indicating, he saw Baron Adam striding toward them as quickly as his bad leg would allow. In his hand was a sword and just behind him were several soldiers.

“Drop those weapons or I will have both of you put in chains,” he shouted.

The baron was the only one whose words he could hear from that distance. Now that was a voice trained in battle, Thomas thought with admiration.

Both Robert and Henry sheathed their knives.

Henry bowed as he said something to the baron, then walked away.

When Robert turned to the Lady Isabelle, she reached out for his hand and pressed it to her breast. As he jerked his hand from her grasp, she laughed. The sound was so harsh that Thomas’ ears ached more from that than from the cold.

Sir Geoffrey rammed his scarred stump into the palm of his left hand. “Juliana will marry and bed with Robert if I have to hold her down while he mounts her.”

Eleanor winced.

“Surely such will not be necessary, Geoffrey.” Adam shoved a pewter cup of wine within his friend’s reach. “She will see that this marriage is both a wise and happy course. I remember her as a dutiful child, however high-spirited.” He smiled.

Geoffrey did not.

“Has she never told you of her calling?” Eleanor asked her father’s friend.

Geoffrey swung around and glared at her. Eleanor instinctively drew back, the ferocity in his brown eyes hitting her like a sharp slap on the cheek.

“Calling?” he snarled. “She has no vocation. She is doing this out of sheer spite.”

“How so?” Eleanor asked. Her voice suggested greater calm than she felt.

“Because I married after her mother’s death. You know the pettiness of women, my lady.” His cheeks began to pale after the red flush of rage. “You are prioress over…how many is it now?” He sat back in his chair, the lines of his face sagging into the look of a very weary man.

“I, too, am a simple woman, my lord, and would benefit from your instruction.” Eleanor cut to the chase. “Death does not often allow us the joy of having our own dear mother or father guide and protect us for the years we might wish, and we are thus accustomed to the remarriage of our parents. Please explain, therefore, why your daughter would wish to spite you so?”

Sir Geoffrey looked heavenward as if seeking guidance, then closed his eyes as if he did not care much for the response.

Eleanor waited. She found herself grieving over the change in her father’s old comrade-in-arms. Once this man had been eager to bend his back and play horse to any child who wanted a ride. Once he had been a man who glowed like a young lover whenever his wife came into view. Now he was an old man, his eyes dull, hair lank, and his shoulders curved inward with whatever burdened him. Finally, with a soft voice, she continued. “In truth, the Juliana I remember from my youth was not malicious. Your daughter and now lady wife were as sisters. I would have expected Juliana to feel joy, both for her friend’s happiness at a fine marriage and her own good fortune in having the Lady Isabelle a permanent member of the Lavenham family from whom she need not be long parted.”

“Isabelle was her friend. That is true. Once they were like sisters, but when my beloved wife died…” Sir Geoffrey closed his mouth and turned his face away. His silence continued, stubborn and impenetrable.

Was there a connection between his wife’s death and the current discord between the young women? Eleanor glanced at her father, but he refused to meet her eyes. Apparently, he had chosen to stand with Sir Geoffrey in protecting whatever secrets his friend wished to keep. She felt a short burst of anger. Had he forgotten all the fine words he had spoken earlier that morning? Had she so quickly and easily lost the ground she thought she had won with him? Or did all fathers forget that their daughters forfeited the innocence of Eden when they became wives, mothers, and, indeed, prioresses?

Whatever the cause, she decided there would be no way she could help resolve the situation if she honored such foolishness. With a deep breath, she turned back to Sir Geoffrey. “You were saying that something happened after your first wife died, my lord?”

He blinked as if surprised at her question, then coughed. “Let it suffice to say that a man must be married, Lady Eleanor. I had no wife, you see, and I was young enough to father more children. Marrying Isabelle would give me wife, babes, and the lands which our family had preserved for her until she married.”

“A wise alliance,” Adam added, this time giving Eleanor a look she interpreted as a clear warning not to pursue her questions. Given his own recently stated misgivings to her over his friend’s new marriage, this remark was quite diplomatic. It was also a blatant lie. She chose to ignore his hint.

“Indeed. More good reasons for your daughter to celebrate your marriage,” she said. “Perhaps the Lady Isabelle was shy about the wedding night? Many women are and that might have caused some concern to Juliana.”

“Nay, the lass was willing, willing enough that she soon quickened with child. I knew it would be a good alliance with the lands, but, well, with the babe coming, I felt double joy. My daughter should have shared our happiness, but God gave me an unnatural child. Indeed she begged that I not marry her friend.”

It was interesting, Eleanor thought, that he had avoided saying the child had been conceived before any contract to marry, then slipped in the final telling. A rare, albeit failed, subtlety for a man of otherwise blunt speech. “What reason did she give?” she asked, deliberately turning away from her father, whom she knew would try hard to gesture her into silence.

“What reason indeed? She had none. When I demanded she state her objections, she said first that Isabelle was too young for me.” His laughter was biting. “Can you imagine? She thought me an old fool with a member limp from disuse!”