Hellion Page 11

  “How dare you spew such a filthy lie about my mother?” Isabelle cried angrily, and, kicking her horse into a gallop, she rode off.

  Hugh followed, chasing her across the fields and along the riverbank, where the geese, grazing, flew up in a panic, and finally into a stand of woods. They burst forth from the trees, galloping across a meadow. She was an amazing rider. He wondered when she would tire of their chase. Why was she so distressed that her mother had found happiness again? Perhaps she did not understand that Rolf wanted to wed Alette. Certainly when he explained it all to her she would calm herself. Then Isabelle’s horse stumbled and she was pitched over the mare’s head into a snowbank. To his amazement, and relief, she immediately leapt up, swearing colorfully, brushing the snow from her cloak.

  Hugh jumped from his mount. “Are you all right, ma Belle?” he demanded anxiously, rushing up to her.

  Isabelle looked up, and then she hit him as hard as she could with her fists. “Liar!” she shrieked at him, pummeling him with both of her fists. A big girl, the impact was not soft.

  Hugh grabbed for his wife’s hands, but she successfully eluded him, raining blows upon his body wherever she could. “Stop it, you hellion!” he shouted at her. “Stop it! I have not lied to you. Ask your mother if she has not taken Rolf for her lover.”

  “How dare you even suggest I ask my mother such a thing?” Isabelle yelled at him. “I should never offend her delicacy in such a manner, nor my father’s memory, which I know she honors!”

  “Your father was brutal to your mother,” Hugh shouted back. “Rolf de Briard is gentle and kind to Alette. She never knew a man to be so with her. Are you aware that she believed I was abusing you because we spend so much time alone together? She would crouch outside our chamber door at night listening to see if I beat you. Twice she was found there, once by Ida and once by Rolf. Now she knows a man can be amiable and mild of disposition. She no longer fears for you. Ask her yourself, you damned hellion! I am not in the habit of lying.”

  Isabelle’s hands fell to her sides. She seemed drained. “I will ask her,” was all she said. Then remounting her mare, which was standing nearby, she rode back toward the keep.

  Hugh Fauconier sighed deeply. What in the name of heaven had made him believe he had tamed her so easily? Then he laughed at himself for his naiveté. Isabelle was a wonderful bed partner. She was passionate, and quick to learn. That, at least, they had in common, he thought wryly; but there was far more to his wife, he was discovering, than just her amorous talents. She was intelligent, clever, and loyal. She also had a fearsome temper that had obviously not waned a whit simply because she enjoyed making love with him. Oh yes. He was a fool. A fool who was falling in love with his wife. Mounting his horse, he turned the beast’s head toward home, wondering just what he would find there when he arrived.

  When he reached the keep, Isabelle was nowhere in sight, but he saw a stable lad leading her mare into its shelter. Calling the boy to take his stallion, too, he dismounted and hurried up the steps of the porch into the hall. Alette was seated at her loom, weaving at her tapestry. Rolf was on a stool by her side, strumming his lute. Belle stood in the shadows watching them. When Rolf took Alette’s hand in his, kissing it, their eyes met tenderly.

  Isabelle then strode into the hall, unaware that her husband was just behind her. “So, madame,” she said in haughty tones to her mother, “this is how you honor my father’s memory! I am told you have become this man’s whore. Shame! Shame!”

  Alette paled, but she jumped to her feet, facing her daughter bravely. “How dare you presume to criticize me, Isabelle,” she said angrily. “The father you loved was a bad husband to me, though I never complained of it. He was a bad father to you as well, though you know it not. Had he been a better father, he would have allowed me to punish you when you were unruly. That he did not is to both our detriments.”

  “You were too much of a mouse to dare complain to Robert de Manneville of your alleged mistreatment,” Isabelle snapped.

  “No one, but a man and his wife,” Alette quickly responded, “knows what goes on behind the closed doors of their solar.”

  “How brave you have suddenly become, madame,” was the sneering reply.

  “Love, my daughter, has made me both brave and strong,” Alette said quietly, standing proudly by Rolf’s side.

  “And does he love you, madame?” Isabelle said. “And if he does, why does he not make you his wife? This man wants only what is between your legs. He shows you no honor. At least my father did.”

  “I have asked your mother to marry me, my lady Isabelle,” Rolf spoke up, “but she will not. I will, however, pursue her until she does, for I love her with all my heart. I do, indeed, honor her.”

  “Is this so, madame?” Isabelle demanded of her mother.

  “I will never marry again,” Alette said quietly. “I will not allow myself to be in any man’s keeping. I will be my own mistress.”

  Father Bernard, who had been sitting by the fire all this time, now arose and joined the warring factions. “My daughter,” he said to Alette, “such conduct does not set a good example to others. I know this is not your customary behavior. Sir Rolf has tendered you an honorable proposal of marriage. If you do not choose to accept it, then you are permitted that freedom by virtue of your status as Sieur de Manneville’s widow. However, as your spiritual adviser, I must forbid you to behave in such an unchaste fashion any longer.” He turned so that his stern gaze took in Rolf de Briard as well. “You are forbidden, my lord, from further carnal knowledge of this woman, Alette de Manneville, unless she takes you as her husband. If either of you disobey me, the sacraments will be denied you both. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” he concluded severely.

  Alette glared at her daughter, and without a word went to her chamber, slamming the door behind her with as much force as she could muster.

  “You will give me your knight’s oath, my lord,” the priest said. “Women are weak, but men weaker when a woman pleads prettily. Your oath, Sir Rolf.”

  “You have it, good father,” Rolf said, though reluctantly, and he glowered at Isabelle, but she looked smugly back at him, triumphant.

  Hugh saw the look. “Go to your chamber, Belle,” he said quietly, but in a tone that brooked no nonsense and dared her to disobey.

  She opened her mouth to protest, but his look was suddenly so fierce it quelled her defiance. “Yes, my lord,” she meekly replied.

  “And remain there awaiting your punishment until I come,” he added.

  Belle bit back the reply on her tongue, doing as she was told.

  When she was gone, Hugh turned to his friend. “It is my fault. I told her the truth because she saw the change in Alette’s behavior these past few days. I am sorry, Rolf.”

  Rolf shrugged fatalistically.

  “Why will she not wed with you, my son?” the priest queried.

  Rolf explained.

  “Ahh,” the priest said, shaking his head. “While a man does indeed have the power of life and death over his wife, and St. Paul instructs wives to obey their husbands in all things, too many men abuse this power that God has given them. Women are the weaker and gentler sex. They should be treated well, revered for their ability to bring new life into the world, and respected. You have my permission to continue wooing your lady, Sir Rolf, but there must be no further carnality until she speaks her vows with you before me. Now, go and comfort her, for she is heartbroken, I am certain. Your gentle persuasion will win her over in the end. I will pray for it.”

  Rolf hurried off, and the priest turned to Hugh. “My lord, I believe you have a wife badly in need of correction. It is not a task that I envy you, but you must see to it.”

  Nodding, Hugh moved grimly away and into the solar, where Isabelle was waiting. She glared at him angrily, inwardly frightened, as he closed the door behind him and made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he faced her. “Well, Belle, what have you to say about your outr
ageous conduct toward your mother and Sir Rolf?” he demanded of her.

  “Even the priest said I was right,” she defended herself. “My mother was wrong to behave like some common slut, ready to spread herself for the first man who came along and whispered pretty words in her ear.”

  “Your mother did not behave like a slut,” Hugh said quietly. “You are new to passion, ma Belle. Tell me how you like it?”

  “It is wonderful!” she burst out.

  “Your mother is new to passion also. She thinks it wonderful, too, else she would not have pursued it with Rolf these past few weeks,” Hugh said. “Rolf is desperately attempting to overcome your mother’s understandable reluctance to remarry. I think he will in time, but you had no right to expose them publicly in the hall. Thank God no servants were about. Rolf is our steward. You could have diminished his authority with your outburst. You have also hurt your mother, and forced Father Bernard, who might have otherwise turned a blind eye, into forbidding them their passion at the cost of their immortal souls. You have behaved like a willful, spoilt child, ma Belle. As your husband, it is my duty to chastise you. I have, it seems, no other choice in the matter. Remove your gown.”

  “What?” She looked at him, astounded.

  “Remove your gown, madame. You are to be spanked,” Hugh replied. “You have acted like a child. You will be punished like one.”

  “You would not dare!” she gasped.

  “What, madame, further defiance?” He raised an eyebrow menacingly.

  “Did you yourself not say you are not in the habit of beating women?” she demanded of him.

  “You give me no choice in the matter, Isabelle,” he told her. “Now, obey me, madame. At once!”

  Belle was dumbfounded. He actually meant it. He was going to physically punish her. A tiny thread of fear curled itself tightly in her belly, but outwardly she showed no signs of nervousness. Looking him straight in the eye, she carefully removed her gown, laying it neatly aside. Then she looked questioningly at Hugh, who was now seated on the bed.

  “Come here,” he said, beckoning her, and when she stood in front of him, he told her, “Raise your chemise and lay yourself across my knees, facedown, Isabelle.” His look was very stern.

  “I shall kill you one day,” she said low.

  “But not today,” Hugh responded, reaching up and pulling her down across his knees. “This, Belle, is for your mother,” and his hand descended hard upon her bottom. She shrieked, more from outrage than any serious hurt. “And this is for Rolf.” The hand once again made contact with her flesh. “And this is for me!” He smacked her a third time. “Now, you impossible hellion, keep yelling,” he ordered her. “I want everyone in the hall to believe that you are getting the punishment you truly deserve.”

  She heard his hand slam down upon something, and she shrieked, terrified, until she realized he was walloping their mattress and not her person. Tears of relief slid down her face and she struggled to wipe them away, all the while sobbing and crying at the top of her lungs for the benefit of those who were surely listening.

  “There,” she heard Hugh declare in a loud voice. “That will teach you to misbehave, Isabelle. I hope you have learned your lesson and will behave with more dignity in the future. After all, you are the chatelaine of Langston Keep.” Then turning her over, he pulled her into his arms, saying softly, “You were very bad, madame.”

  “So were you,” Belle replied. “Why did you not really beat me, my lord? I did deserve it,” she admitted.

  “A bitch beaten does not grow to love her master, ma Belle,” came the surprising answer.

  “I am not an animal!” she exclaimed, struggling to sit up.

  “No, you are not,” he said, “and because you are not you should have more sense than to behave as you did earlier in the hall. Your mother does not owe your father further loyalty. She is young yet, and beautiful. She can have a happy life with Rolf. Are you so jealous of her that you would deny her that happiness?”

  “No, no!” Belle cried. “I know my father was not a kind man to my mother, but he was always good to me. Her memories and mine come into conflict in this matter.”

  “Try then,” he said, “to understand hers better, chérie,” He slowly kissed her ripe mouth. “Did I hurt you?”

  “You have a hard hand, my lord,” she admitted, rubbing her injured posterior. “It stung.”

  “Good!” Hugh told his outraged wife. “Then the next time you are tempted to act rashly, you will remember my hard hand and act more prudently, ma Belle. N’est-ce pas?” His eyes were twinkling as he spoke.

  “I really am going to kill you one day,” Belle said darkly, and he laughed.

  Part II

  ENGLAND

  Spring 1101–Summer 1103

  Chapter 6

  The ewes had lambed in midwinter. The inhabitants of Langston manor considered it a good sign for the coming growing season that not one of the new lambs had been lost. Several cows had calved in very early spring, and three mares had dropped foals. Again, the new offspring were healthy, lively animals, chasing their mothers, and chasing each other through the meadows filled with asphodels. Everything was beginning to show signs of new life by the time the ploughing began. The art of fertilization was not well-developed in England, but a three-field system of crop rotation had been followed for centuries at Langston. Every third field would lie fallow, while the fields on either side of it would grow green with their crops, one planted in the winter for late spring harvest, the other planted in the early spring for a summer harvest.

  The common fields were carefully divided into neat strips, and the serfs given strips in each field on which to grow crops. The serf could also pasture any animals he owned in the common pasturage, or allow his pigs to eat acorns in the lord’s woodland, where he might gather firewood for himself. Serfs, like the trees growing in the forest, belonged to the land. They could not leave without their lord’s permission. Obedient, loyal serfs could be fairly certain of their small cottages and strips of field; but in return for these tenuous possessions, they rendered whatever services their lord required of them.

  They worked his fields in the demesne before they worked their own. They gave special favors at certain seasons to their lord, which had been predetermined. And they gave their lord payments in kind. Their flour had to be ground in the lord’s mill, and woe if the miller, usually a freedman, was dishonest and took more for his payment than he should. Their bread was baked in the lord’s bakehouse ovens. The serf could not marry without his lord’s permission, nor could his children, although a good master rarely withheld permission if both parties were willing.

  But at Langston, as on all small manor estates, the lord, his serfs, and the freedmen who made their home there, were bound together by their dependence on each other.

  For his part, Hugh Fauconier owed his allegiance first to King Henry, from whom he had received his lands. The king required certain things of his vassals. They must ransom him should he be taken captive in any battle. They paid the expenses of making his eldest son a knight, and provided a dowry for his eldest daughter. Each vassal gave forty days military service yearly in exchange for his fief; attended court when required; entertained the king when necessary; and accompanied his lord on expeditions and wars when requested.

  All this done, Hugh’s next duty was to his lands and his people. Slowly, Hugh and Rolf were building a defense force which they would lead should it ever become necessary to protect Langston from outside marauders. Though he had gotten his manor from the king, if someone stronger desired it and Hugh could not protect it, he would lose it. As long as the new lord swore fealty to King Henry, it would be unlikely the king would object. A weak vassal was of no advantage to him. So the inhabitants of Langston were all bound together by their necessity to survive and to prosper.

  The arable fields were finally all planted, and began to sprout green almost immediately. In the meadows the cattle and sheep thrived on the new
grass. The orchards bloomed, giving promise of a bumper crop of fruit to come. In the kitchen gardens Isabelle and Alette, barely speaking but allied by the keep’s needs, planted cabbages, carrots, onions, leeks, peas, and beans. The herb garden, also within the keep’s walls, was Alette’s special province. It was here she grew the flowers needed for medicinal purposes and for flavoring the food. When they had first come from Normandy, she carried some of the original plants with her.

  “How long have you tried to teach me what I must know about these herbs?” Isabelle said pleasantly, trying to slip back into her mother’s good graces again. In the weeks since she had exposed Alette’s love affair to Father Bernard, her mother had hardly even glanced at her. Isabelle had finally realized the cost of her heedless actions. Her mother was the only woman of her class on the manor. Alette, she was discovering, had been her only friend. She was anxious to heal the breach. Alette, however, did not seem so eager to let bygones be bygones.

  “You have never been interested before,” she replied coldly. “Why are you suddenly so interested now?” She knelt and gently drew away some of the winter cover with which she had protected her plants.

  “Because I am chatelaine of Langston now,” Isabelle said quietly, “and if I am to be a good mistress over my people, I must learn whatever I can to help them. One day I will pass the knowledge you share with me along to my daughters and granddaughters.”

  “You have a great deal to learn,” Alette responded as her daughter knelt down beside her. “This is southernwood. You will know it by its hairlike leaves. It will soothe fevers and wounds. Here is wormwood, its cousin. We use it for constipation and the stomachache. It is also used for worming, man or animal, and is a good flea repellent. It causes headaches and nervousness if inhaled excessively. You must be careful.” Alette pinched a slender leaf of southernwood, and rubbing it between her fingers, held out her hand. “Smell,” she said.