Hellion Page 3

  “Pray go on, good father,” the lady Alette finally said.

  “When King Henry learned of your husband’s death, and that you and your daughter were bereft of guidance; when he did not receive the reassurance of your daughter’s fealty as heiress to Langston, he decided that it would be best that Langston be returned to its only legitimate heir, Hugh Fauconier, his childhood friend and companion, for the king knows that Lord Hugh’s allegiance to him is complete.”

  “Then,” said Alette de Manneville, “we are to be displaced and disinherited, good father? What will become of us?”

  “Nay, lady, the king is not without feeling. He would never dispossess you and the maiden. The king has determined that your daughter shall marry Lord Hugh. She is of an age, and, it was learned, has no betrothed husband. Thus,” the priest concluded, “the difficulty shall be solved most amenably. Langston will, I am certain, most gladly accept the grandson of Hugh Strongarm as its lord; you shall not be deprived of your home, and your daughter shall have a most honorable knight for a husband.”

  “I shall marry no man I do not choose myself!” a determined voice said loudly from the entry to the hall. The owner of the voice strode boldly into the room. To their surprise, she was dressed in boy’s clothing; only her long single braid of hair gave testimony to her sex.

  “Isabelle,” Alette de Manneville said, her voice pleading.

  “Oh, madame, do not, I pray you, look like a cornered doe. It is not a look that becomes you,” Isabelle of Langston said scornfully.

  Rolf de Briard rolled his eyes and restrained his amusement, but the priest looked scandalized by the girl’s words.

  “Do not, lady, speak with such disrespect to your mother,” Hugh said quietly. If he had been hoping for a petite blue and gold creature such as Alette de Manneville, he was now doomed to disappointment. The girl was tall for a female, slender, but big-boned, and her hair was a flaming copper color. The green-gold eyes she now fastened on him were both angry and hostile.

  “And who are you, sirrah, to instruct me in my behavior?” Isabelle of Langston demanded furiously.

  “Belle!” her mother half whispered, but was patently ignored.

  “I am, I fear, lady, to be your husband, which gives me the power of life and death over you. For now I choose to let you live,” Hugh finished with a small attempt at humor.

  “I shall marry no man I do not choose myself,” Belle repeated.

  Father Bernard rose from his warm seat by the fire, and taking the girl by the arm, pressed her firmly into his former place. “The king has decreed, my lady Isabelle, that you shall marry this good knight, heir to the last Saxon lord of Langston. Your father and elder brother have perished on crusade. No woman can hold a keep for the king, even so small a keep as this one is.”

  The girl’s face, hard before, now crumbled at the revelation that her father was dead. She struggled to keep her tears from overflowing her eyes. “Then I shall return to my brother Richard’s house in Normandy,” she said stubbornly, “but I shall not marry some Saxon scum!”

  “Oh, Belle!” her mother burst out. “You know that Richard will not have us. Besides, he has married, and Manneville is smaller than Langston. You’ve never even been there. It’s dark and gloomy. I hated it! All the years I was married to your father, I was forced to bear the insults your half brothers heaped upon me for the sake of peace. Oh, they were careful not to show their disrespect before your father, not that he would have chastised them. Rather he would have somehow found cause to blame me. The only thing I ever did that pleased Robert de Manneville was to bear you. In the beginning he was furious that you were not another son. Only when you began to show signs of being like him did you become his adored darling. As for William and Richard, they showed you favor because it pleased Robert, not because they cared for you. Neither of them ever cared for anyone save themselves. Richard will not welcome you, my child, believe me. He no longer has to satisfy your father.”

  “How dare you speak of my father with such insolence, madame?” Belle demanded. “He was a wonderful man, and I loved him.”

  “And he loved you, at least as much as he was capable of loving, my child,” her mother answered, “but I only speak the truth to you. Your brother will not have you, I am certain, and why would you want to leave Langston? It is your home. You love it. Be grateful the king has provided you with a suitable husband, and you will be allowed to live your life even as you have always desired to live it, here at Langston. Do not struggle against yourself, Belle.”

  “You are so weak,” the girl sneered. “How can it be possible that I am your daughter? I am nothing like you, madame. My father would see me dead rather than married to a Saxon!”

  “An event easily arranged,” Hugh Fauconier said dryly, and he fingered his sword, his blue eyes serious.

  Rolf de Briard snickered, but his amusement turned to surprise as the girl pulled a short sword from beneath her cloak, standing to defend herself.

  “Belle!” her mother shrieked, and Father Bernard crossed himself.

  Hugh stepped swiftly forward and yanked the weapon from the girl’s hand. Then jamming her beneath his arm, he smacked her posterior with several hard blows before forcing her back onto her feet before him, his hands gripping her shoulders hard. “Now listen to me, you hellion,” he said in a hard, grim voice. “Your father, God assoil him, is dead. King Henry has restored Langston to me and decreed that you should be my wife. The king is my good friend. Had he known what a virago you are, I am certain he would not have imposed such a wife upon me, but would have had you clapped in a convent instead. I am not a harsh man, lady, and so I will give you a week or two that you may get to know me. Then Father Bernard will marry us and return to my liege lord with the news we have fulfilled his desires. Do you understand me, Belle?”

  “You hit me!” she said in a fierce voice.

  “It is not my custom to strike women,” he answered, not for one moment betraying the fact that he was indeed ashamed she had driven him to such action. Not that he had been wrong to chastise her for her behavior; it was his right. Both the Church and the law gave him total jurisdiction over the girl. His grandfather, Cedric Merlin-sone, however, had always said that when a man resorted to violence with either a woman or an animal, he had lost the battle.

  She glared up at him. “I should sooner end my days in a cloister than marry you, you Saxon!”

  “Sadly, lady, the choice is neither yours nor mine to make,” Hugh answered her. Then releasing her, he said to Alette, “Take your daughter to her chamber, madame, and remain with her until she is calm again. Then return to me, and we will talk.”

  “I hate you! I will never marry you!” Isabelle spat out as her mother tugged at her sleeve, pulling her from the Great Hall.

  “Good night, hellion. God give you sweet repose,” the new lord of Langston answered her.

  “Whew!” Rolf de Briard said as the two women disappeared through a door. “Forgive me, Hugh, but what a termagant! Send Father Bernard back to the king to tell him. Better the girl go to the convent than you be saddled with her for all your days. Surely the king has among his wards some sweet maid who would make you a far better wife.”

  “While I hesitate to encumber some unsuspecting religious order with such a vixen,” the priest said thoughtfully, “I am inclined to agree with Sir Rolf. I wonder if the girl is not mad.”

  Hugh Fauconier shook his head. “Let us give her a little time to become used to all the changes that have been set before her. I do not want to reject her out of hand if there is a chance I may win her friendship. Remember, Isabelle has sustained a great shock. Her father is dead. She has been presented with that news, along with a complete stranger to marry. She is afraid, I think, though she would deny it vehemently, believing fear a shameful thing.”

  “You have too kind a heart,” Rolf sighed. “The girl is simply a bad-tempered shrew.”

  “They call her Belle from Hell,” came the darkly whis
pered comment. “The Langston folk are mortally afeared of her, lord.”

  The three men turned to look at old Eldon. Then Rolf burst out laughing. Even Father Bernard allowed himself a small chuckle.

  “I shall call her ma Belle douce,” Hugh said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “When I am training a particularly difficult falcon or hawk, one that bites without provocation, I win it over with soft words, little treats, and a firm hand, until it learns to trust me. I shall manage the hellion in the same manner, until she becomes a soft-spoken angel, glad of heart and happy to do my bidding.”

  “I think you a madman,” Rolf declared. “The Blessed Mother herself could not tame that girl. If the wench were mine, I should school her with a dog whip until she either did my bidding or I killed her.” He thought a moment. “Or she killed me,” he amended.

  Now it was Hugh who smiled, and when he did, his whole face lit up. He was a plain man, rather than a handsome one. Tall, and big of bone, he had a long face, a long nose not unlike the beaks of the birds he was famed for training, and a long, big mouth. His eyes were among his best features, round in shape and a clear light blue. His smile was broad, showing his white, white teeth. His whole demeanor was serious, almost severe, until he smiled, and when he did, the smile extended all the way to his eyes, and his teeth flashed. Unlike many men, he did not shave the back of his head. His dark blond hair was straight and cropped moderately short.

  “Let me see what I can do to tame this wild bird the king has so generously bestowed upon me. If the task proves an impossible one, my friends, then I shall cage her. She will be a challenge, but I think I can subdue the lady Isabelle.”

  Chapter 2

  Alette De Manneville shoved her daughter into her chamber with an unaccustomed force. Shutting the door behind them, she barred it and then whirled about to face her daughter. “Have you lost your wits entirely, Isabelle?”

  The girl was astounded by her mother’s behavior. Alette was a meek, softspoken creature who had never before shown temper, or uttered a harsh word to her. Much of her own disdain for Alette stemmed from the fact that her mother never spoke up in defense of herself or her ideas. “I cannot imagine what you could possibly mean, madame,” she replied with as much hauteur as she could muster. “You cannot expect me to stand by while Langston and I are parceled off to that long-faced Saxon thief.”

  “Isabelle!” There was utter exasperation in Alette’s soft voice. “Whatever men may think of women, we have intelligence. You are not stupid. You are, in fact, a very clever girl. King Henry is well within his rights to confiscate Langston. Even I can see the lay of the land. Your father worried about it constantly, which is one reason he went on crusade; to escape being torn between England’s king and Normandy’s duke, as all the Norman barons’ families are. That is why he gave you Langston, and Richard, Manneville. Neither of you will be subjected to divided loyalties. You are English, your brother a Norman. Your choice is clear.

  “Because we did not answer the king’s call for fealty, he grew fearful that Langston meant to declare for Duke Robert. We are too strategically located to be allowed to do such a thing. That is why King Henry returned the estate to the heir of its original owner. He knows he can trust in his childhood friend. He even honors your father’s memory by giving you to Hugh Fauconier as a wife, thereby assuring us that we will not lose our home. It is a good arrangement all around.”

  Alette de Manneville pushed an errant lock of her golden hair from her forehead. “Do you know how fortunate we are, you little fool? A less thoughtful, a less Christian man than King Henry would have done nothing for Robert de Manneville’s widow and innocent daughter. And do not dare to prattle to me of your half brother, Richard. He will not have us! It is time you faced some truths, my daughter. Your father married me for two reasons: to care for the two sons his first wife, the lady Sibylle, bore him, and to get other children.

  “William was nine and Richard five when Robert and I wed. They were horrible little boys, always polite and obedient in your father’s presence; always rude and disobedient toward me, though defended by that wretched old dragon of a creature who had been their mother’s nurse. I might have won them over except that she encouraged them in their behavior. It was her way of keeping her mistress’s memory alive.

  “You think your brothers loved you, Belle? They did not! When you were but two months old they put you in a willow basket, carried you to the riverbank, and prepared to drop you into the water below. Had the watchman not seen them, I should not have you today, for surely you would have been killed. Their old nurse begged me on her hands and knees, tears streaming down her face when I had thought her incapable of tears, for witches do not cry, not to expose their horrendous misdeed to Robert. He would have beaten them senseless had he known. I did not expose them on the condition that they never come near you again while you were unable to defend yourself from them. The old nurse swore to keep them from you, and to give her credit, she did.”

  “Why did you have no more children?” Isabelle asked, curious suddenly, for her parents had been wed twelve years before her father had departed on his crusade to the Holy Land.

  “Your father became incapable shortly after your birth,” Alette said bluntly. “I was glad, for though I was a virgin when he married me, I believe him to have been an unfeeling and rough lover. A woman, even one lacking in experience, instinctively knows such things.”

  To her great mortification, Isabelle blushed at her mother’s frankness. Her elegant, noble father had been her ideal. To learn that he was less than perfection was disquieting.

  “My marriage, however,” her mother continued, “is not the point of this discussion, my daughter. Your marriage is.”

  “I will not wed with that plain-faced, great gawk of a man,” Isabelle said stubbornly. “Could not the king have sent me a pretty fellow like his companion? Besides, if I am not willing, there can be no marriage, can there, madame?” She smiled smugly, and then gasped with surprise as her mother lashed out, slapping her cheek hard.

  “Are you really so dense that you cannot fully understand what I have just told you, Isabelle? You no longer have choices. Langston is not yours. If you do not marry Hugh Fauconier, who will you marry? Who will have a landless, dowerless girl? Especially one with such overweening pride, and a bad temper. And what is to happen to me, my daughter? Do you care at all? Must I walk the dusty roads of England in my old age begging charity? Even you cannot be that heartless, Belle! You cannot!”

  Isabelle burst out laughing. “Madame, you are hardly ancient. In fact, you are most beautiful, and yet young. Can you not obtain another husband who will house us both? Why do you not wed Hugh Fauconier? That would certainly be an ideal solution.”

  “For you, perhaps, but not for me. I would not marry again if I could. Widowed, I am free to manage my own life. I am quite content to remain that way, which is just as well for there is no one here to have me. Be sensible, Isabelle. Hugh Fauconier seems a good man who will treat you well if you would but allow him the opportunity and say a kind word to him.”

  “He is a Saxon, madame. You know how my father felt about Saxons. He did not like them at all,” Isabelle reminded her mother.

  “This man is the king’s friend, Isabelle. The priest says that he was raised with King Henry. If the king has accepted him, how can you reject him? Even your father would not deny his liege lord. You must wed him!”

  “I will not!” Isabelle stamped her foot angrily.

  “You will remain in your room on bread and water until you change your mind,” Alette said, equally angry. She knew how her daughter hated being penned up. Isabelle spent her days out of doors, rain or shine.

  “I will run away,” was the defiant reply.

  “And where would you go?” her mother demanded scornfully. “To your precious Richard? Even if he were willing to shelter you, Belle, what would become of you? You should end your days an unpaid servant in your brother’s house. Without this es
tate, you have no dowry. For now you have your youth, and you have beauty. True, you are not the ideal woman so fashionable today. You are too big a girl. But there might be some man of your brother’s acquaintance who would be willing to have you for his leman. Your hair and skin are without flaw. Still, would you choose that kind of a life over being the lady of Langston? No.” Alette held up her hand as Belle opened her mouth to reply. “Say not another word to me, Isabelle. I will leave you now to think about everything we have discussed this evening. I know you will come to a sensible solution.” Unbarring and opening the door, she went through it back into the Great Hall. Alette locked her daughter’s chamber behind her before joining the two knights and the priest by one of the fires.

  “Sit, madame,” Hugh said graciously. “Is the lady Isabelle calmer now, and over her initial shock? I realize it cannot have been easy for so sensitive a female to have learned of her father’s death in such a manner. It is obvious she loved her sire well.”

  “He spoilt her,” Alette de Manneville said quietly, “and while I appreciate your kindness, my lord, let us not dissemble with one another. Isabelle is not sensitive. She is willful. I was not allowed to discipline her, for my husband found what he referred to as her magnificent spirit both admirable and amusing. In truth, however, I have discovered that strength of hers a virtue since my husband’s departure. I have not the steadiness needed to hold Langston together. Belle does. She was born here, and she loves it best of anything else in her life.”