Terri Brisbin - The Conqueror's Lady

Once the guards understood their orders, he followed the others down the stairs to the hall where many still ate and drank of the wedding feast’s bounty, such as it was. The fare at table was nothing but a beggar’s meal if compared to some he’d seen in Brittany. Simon’s went on for more than a day while his own half brother’s feast went on for three days, with course after course of fowl and meat and fish and delicacies that yet made his mouth water even at the memory of them.

But neither his father, Simon nor the father of either of those brides had had to worry about their crops burning in the fields and barns. They did not have to spend a moment considering how many of their people would survive the coming war and the coming winter. With a beleaguered sigh after pushing those serious concerns aside for the moment, he climbed the few steps to the raised table and sat in the chair in the middle of it. Brice, Roger and several others of his men joined him there without much fanfare.

Giles tore a chunk of meat off a roast of … something and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing to soften up the tough piece before trying to swallow it. Even a mouthful of ale did not ease its path down to his stomach.

Then he noticed it.

Complete silence filled the hall. It seemed to start with the villagers present and then, when his men noticed it, they stilled as well. As one, they stared at him. Giles resisted the urge to see if he’d come naked to the table, so startled by their silent scrutiny. Leaning over to Brice, who sat at his side, he lowered his voice and spoke.

‘What is the matter here?’

‘You have attended weddings before, my friend. What do you think is the matter?’ Brice whispered in their Breton tongue.

Giles surveyed the faces before him. They wore expressions of surprise and concern and even anger. The people had eaten their fill, drank of the ale and sat at their ease during the meal. Now, darkness called them to rest. Yet, their unhappiness and anger could be seen and felt and even heard as the silence gave way to hushed grumblings in that awkward tongue of theirs. He realised his error even as Brice spoke the words.

‘They wonder how the groom can so quickly return to the wedding feast.’ Brice leaned closer so that he could not be overheard. ‘They know nothing of your concern about the lady’s condition. They know only that you married her and have returned from your marriage bed within minutes of arriving there.’

Merde.

Giles drank down the cup of ale in his grasp and motioned for more. He’d not considered the ways in which his actions would be seen or even considered that any person, villein or free, in his hall might have a concern over them. As a bastard serving his lord, his actions mattered naught except when they interfered with his lord’s desires or needs or commands. Now, it was his word that mattered. His actions were to be heeded and obeyed.

As he drank the ale again he shook his head at Brice. He’d arranged for them to say their marriage vows before her people to lessen the strain in the keep and village about her health. Rumours had flown round in the days after his arrival and her lack of presence had made them wonder whether he’d killed her or not. Only the word of her servants that she was alive had kept the worst of the distrust at bay.

Now this.

‘This is a private matter between the lady and me.’

‘Ah, my lord, you have it wrong there. Within hours, if indeed it takes that long, every person living within the walls or without will know what is between you and their lady. And that you have not consummated your vows.’

He gazed out over the tables before him, seeing the mutinous stares from those who would never dare to say a word. He could not, nay, he would not relent and bed Fayth before knowing the truth. His hand would not be forced in such a grievous matter.

‘Merde. ‘ This time he’d said the word aloud.

‘Exactly, my lord.’

‘I will not explain myself to them, Brice,’ he said, clenching his teeth. Giles looked out over the hall and the people there. His illegitimate standing gave rise to his reluctance in this and he would not discuss it with anyone.

They knew nothing but what happened here, within these walls, within this small village. They knew not of his struggles to rise from his bitter beginnings, to gain fame and fortune in tourneys across his homeland, and to be worthy enough of this prize he’d received. They knew only of their lady and her father and their land and their crops and cattle.

Insulting her or the memory of her father while the rebels gathered throughout the conquered lands and even just outside his lands was not the most intelligent thing he could do. Revealing his doubts about her state of purity or her part in plans to overthrow his lawful control of this holding might be appealing, but he knew that doing that would lead to ruin and uproar and possible rebellion.

For now, he must forbear any urges to strike out too quickly, he must assess his every move and, aye, he must take notice of the way his actions appeared to his people.

‘You understand my actions, Brice. What would you suggest?’

Brice peered out over the people now gathered in the hall and then turned to him.

‘'Tis too late to change your actions in this, nor do I suggest you do, but try not to worsen it. They—’ he nodded in the direction of those watching, ever silent in their disapproval ‘—understand more about your situation than I would guess you do. They know the lady, her late father, and the identities and location of those who sought to usurp your position here.’

Brice gifted him with a knowing look. Ah, so he, himself, had not been the only one to suspect that those now outlawed and their connections to Fayth and Taerford had not yet been revealed or severed completely. ‘Go on.’

‘You know what you must do, Giles. Think of Lord Gautier’s counsel about how to act when others depend on your actions,’ he said with a wave of his hand where no one else but Giles could see it. ‘Treat the lady with respect. Take her to your bed as soon as possible, move on as you mean to go,’ he began, lowering his voice. ‘You have not been a … nobleman before. A baron now, a lord of this realm. This presents you with many new challenges never faced before, Giles, as it will to me shortly.’

Giles nodded in agreement. As the bastard son of a Breton nobleman, he had never been put in a position where others were under his control. Except for his men, the ones who had joined him in fighting with William the Conqueror, he had controlled no one but himself.

Until now. Now, he held property, he held power.

He had a noble-born lady as wife.

‘And you? Will you follow your own wise counsel?’

Brice lifted his cup to Giles in a gesture of respect and nodded his head. ‘I can see these things clearly for you. I only hope I can see them as clearly when I encounter them.’

Giles emptied his cup and placed the metal goblet on the table in front of him. All good counsel aside, there was one immediate problem looming before him—a place to sleep this night. He’d never intended to make her rejection such a public one. However, the sound of the bar securing the door had been unmistakable and the message clear to everyone who’d heard it.

‘You allowed her to make her stand, now make yours,’ Brice said as though reading his thoughts. ‘If this breach remains a source for gossip, it makes you and this keep vulnerable to attack. To ensure that some may believe your outward actions, you might consider taking your hauberk off before seeking your lady.’

Giles laughed as he touched his chest. ‘You did not see her anger when I left the room. I may not see the morn without it.’