He had seen her briefly when they were breaking their fast down in the Great Hall; then she had disappeared. Likely she was avoiding his mother. At least she never left the keep now without an escort. He had hope for her sense.
Jerval pressed his knees to Pith’s sides and galloped to the far side of the tiltyard, where Chandra sat astride Wicket, looking everything over.
“Good morning, wife,” he said, reining in Pith beside Wicket. “What do you think of the course? Have you picked your favorite to win?”
“Bayon explained it all to me,” she said. “As to who will win, why, since I wish to compete, I must wager on myself.”
As always, she sounded so sure of herself. He said slowly, “You must know that you cannot compete in this competition, Chandra. It is not a game. Archery, wrestling, and hunting are one thing, but not this. This is deadly serious.”
“I am well used to riding at straw dummies. This course does not look all that difficult.”
“It is misleading. You may watch. You might consider cheering for me.” He leaned over, gripped her chin and kissed her hard. He felt the immediate response in her. He grinned as he straightened, looking directly through her tunic to her wildly beating heart, she was sure of that, and then rode away.
He rode to where all the men were mounted and waiting. “Prepare the Scots. Malton, you will keep the scores and count the seconds.”
Chandra looked hard at the course. She’d studied it since early that morning. It was set the length of the practice field, with straw figures bound upright to long poles, spaced haphazardly, their heads tilted at odd angles. Her fingers fairly itched to draw her sword. She leaned forward to pat Wicket’s glossy neck, guessing that success depended greatly on the destrier’s skill.
As Ranulfe was readying himself for the first run, Lord Hugh rode onto the tiltyard and pulled his horse to a halt beside his son. “So, Jerval, I see your wife is here. Does she wish to show the men how to run the course?”
“She is watching, that is all. Hopefully she will cheer for me as well.”
“You do not sound certain that she will.”
“Nay, I am not, but I am hopeful.”
“It seems that I have saddled you with a hellion,” Hugh said, grinning at his son, “but by damn, she is a beauty.”
“Aye, I know it well.” And the son smiled at the father. “She is exactly what I would want.”
“Does she accept you yet as her master?”
“Probably not.”
“I envy you the taming of her. Your mother believes that you give the girl too much rein, but all in good time.”
“She bends—you just don’t see it much as yet.”
“Actually,” said Lord Hugh, “I have seen none of it.”
Maginn raised his arm, then, with a loud whoop, sliced it through the air back to his side.
Ranulfe raised his sword over his head and galloped toward the nearest straw Scot, yelling, “À Vernon! À Vernon!” The straw head went hurtling into the air. There were thirty Scots in all, and by the time Ranulfe wheeled his horse about at the end of the run, fourteen had lost their heads.
“Not bad for a Cornishman,” Jerval shouted out as the men cheered.
As the sewers raced through the course to fasten the heads back to the bodies, Chandra inched Wicket toward the field. She watched the next three men take their run, heard Malton call out their scores and their times, and wondered why they had all avoided the center of the course, where most of the straw Scots were bunched together. It was a narrow passage, to be sure, but to win, it had to be tried.
She called out, “What is the prize for winning?”
“Do not dare say it, Father,” Jerval said. He called back to her, “It is two pieces of gold, Chandra.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he usually won and his prize was one of the serving maids, usually Glenna, because she knew how to pleasure him until his teeth ached. But that was over now, Glenna forgotten.
“That is a good prize,” she said.
Lord Hugh gave a deep belly laugh. “So you will not tell her.”
“Oh, no.”
“It would make her jealous.”
“It would hurt her. And that is different.”
They turned their attention back to the course. Maginn raised his arm and dropped it, but instead of Thoms galloping toward the course, it was Chandra, shouting, “À Avenell, À Avenell!” as Wicket bounded forward.
Chandra felt a surge of pleasure as her sword sliced through the first straw neck, sending its head flying upward before it landed, careening wildly on the ground. It was not so difficult. Four more heads went flying, clean strikes, all of them. Then she whipped Wicket toward the center lane. She realized quickly enough that she had to hold Wicket on a straight path, and that meant she would have to lean as far as she could, her arm extended to its full length, to have a chance of reaching the straw Scot. Then, within but an instant of time, she would have to get her sword in her other hand to lean dangerously far the other way to behead the next Scot.
She would do it. She set Wicket down the center of the course. She whipped her sword up high, extended it as far as she could, and its weight nearly pulled her from the saddle. By the time she recovered, she’d missed the Scot. She whipped her arm back, having no control now, nearly slashing her thigh. She tossed her sword to her left hand. The time cost her dearly, for a straw Scot to the left was nearly upon her. She twisted about in the saddle, unwilling to pass it by, and slashed her sword at it. It sliced cleanly through the straw man’s chest but embedded itself in the pole. She did not release soon enough, and in the next moment, she was flying off Wicket’s back. She landed on her bottom and rolled instantly to her side. She was laughing at herself when she managed to get to her feet.
She was trying to work her sword from the pole when Jerval galloped to her side and jumped from Pith’s back. “The course is much more difficult than I thought,” she said over her shoulder to him, and kept working at the sword.
He grabbed her, jerking her about to face him. “Are you all right?”
“Aye, but I was a fool to take the center. I had not realized how far the reach was, and how little leverage and time I would have. I am all right, Jerval. My bottom is sore, that’s all.”
She wasn’t hurt. He tightened his grip about her upper arms and shook her. She tried to jerk away from him, but he held her tight. He stuck his face right into hers. “You disobeyed me.”
She tried to pull away again, but it was no use. He was very strong. She said, her voice reasoned and calm, “How could I not? Your order was unfair. With a bit of practice, I could take the course as well as any of the men.”
“When will I ever learn?” he asked no one in particular. “When will you recognize that when I tell you something, I mean it? That when I give you an order, there is a very good reason for it? Even if I do not choose to give you a reason, it matters not. I am your husband. You are to obey me.”
“Aye, you are my husband, I realize this well every night when you force me to feel things that I never wanted to feel. Why are you not proud of me? Why do you not encourage me? Praise my skills? You would have before we married.”
Jerval suddenly felt the utter silence. None of his men had moved. All just stood there, watching. Why? Did they believe he would beat her? “I have no intention of giving the men any more of a show than we already have. If I have changed it is because I’m now your husband and you, you damned girl, are now my responsibility.”
Before he could drag her to Wicket, the men were no longer silent. They surged toward them and gathered about her. Ranulfe thwacked her on the back. “God’s bones, lady, it was not so bad for your first time.”
Malton groaned, rolled his eyes, and looked toward Jerval, who was just standing there, not believing what he was seeing. Jerval had judged wrong.
Ranulfe said, “She sliced off five heads before she tried the center. No, it was not bad at all.”
Chandra grinned. “Thank yo
u. I was a fool to believe it was easy.”
“Aye, if you had realized how hard it is, you would not have a bruised butt,” said Bayon, and he too buffeted her shoulder. Just as though she were one of them.
Jerval saw Malton eyeing him, shook himself, threw back his head and roared, “Back to work, all of you bleating goats, or there will be a lot of sore butts from the flat of my sword.”
When they were finally alone again, Jerval said, “Do not think that all the men’s praise changes a thing. Come with me.”
“They thought I did well. They praised me, encouraged me.”
“Aye, you did well for your first and last time. Now come.” She dug in her heels, but it didn’t matter. He dragged her to Wicket, grabbed her about the waist, and tossed her into the saddle. “You will follow me, Chandra.”
Malton shook his head as he watched Jerval and Chandra ride from the tiltyard and swing to the east toward the lake. “Jerval’s lady is in for it.”
“I told him she wants taming,” Lord Hugh said. “Not an easy task even though he is one of the most strong-willed men I know. He was wrong to believe the men would agree with him and condemn what she did. They were proud of her. It was amazing.”
Lord, but Chandra had made Jerval look the fool today, but perhaps his men did not realize it. Well, Malton did. He hoped Jerval wouldn’t beat her too badly.
Chandra followed Jerval to the small emerald lake. He dismounted and stood waiting, hands on his hips, for her to do likewise.
“The men didn’t seem to think I did badly.”
“I would not care if you had beheaded each and every one of those damned Scots. That is not the point.”
As soon as her feet touched the ground, he grabbed her about the waist, fell to one knee, and upended her over his thigh. He brought his hand down on her buttocks as hard as he could. She already hurt, and his hand was hard, very hard. She yelled curses at him and twisted frantically to free herself.
“You could have killed yourself,” he said, and slammed his hand hard again. He wished her bottom was bare, for the thick woolen chausses protected her.
“Stop it! Damn you, my father would never give me such an order. Stop beating me.”
He did not stop. Every time his palm connected with her bottom, he had something to say. “I am tired of your disobedience. That is what is important here. You must do as I say. I must be able to trust you. Don’t you understand that?”
“You are not responsible for me, damn you. Stop pounding me.”
To her surprise, he did. He rose abruptly and rolled her off his leg onto the slightly grassy incline; she managed to stop herself before she rolled into the water. She rose to her knees. She hurt badly. She felt tears sting her eyes and swallowed.
He stood over her, his hands on his hips. “Listen to me, Chandra, and listen well. Never again will you disobey me. Your behavior is that of a spoiled child. Furthermore, you disregard my mother’s every instruction. It is time for you to grow up. Dammit, woman, do you think any of the pages, squires, or men would ever disobey me? No, keep your mouth shut else I’ll take you over my knee again. From now on, you will meet with my mother every morning and learn those things you are expected to know. If you hold your tongue and become skilled at household tasks, then I will allow you to continue on the practice field in the afternoons. Do you understand me?”
“Make your own beer.”
“Do you understand?”
“Aye.” She managed to stand up. She walked slowly, favoring her right leg, to where Wicket stood grazing on the water reeds.
She saw that Jerval was still standing some feet away from her. He had beaten her. Slowly, she mounted Wicket, inching toward Pith. She reached out suddenly and grabbed Pith’s loose reins.
She yelled at him as she whipped both horses about, “I will send Hawk back to walk with you. I dare you to beat him!”
She dug her heels into Wicket’s sides, urging him up a steep slope to the path. Suddenly, there was a loud whistle, and in the next instant, Pith reared back, jerking at the reins in her hand. She toppled backward off Wicket’s smooth rump, landed on her side in the thick grass and rolled down the slope, unable to stop herself. She heard Jerval laughing his head off.
She came finally to a stop and looked up to see her husband, legs apart and arms clasped over his chest, standing over her.
“I don’t like you,” she said, and he only laughed harder.
“Next time, you will know that even my horse obeys me. By all the saints’ fevers, you are a mess.”
She struggled, trembling, to stand up. Her tunic was ripped, and the cross garters on her right leg had come loose, leaving her chausses sagging and wrinkled like an old sack.
“Why don’t you take a swim?” he called to her over his shoulder. “It will make you more presentable.”
He jumped onto Pith’s back and rode away from her.
It galled her so that she could think of nothing to yell after him. She pulled herself painfully to her feet and leaned over to fasten her cross garters. Then she stopped. He was right. She was a mess. She took off her clothes and dived into the small lake.
He watched her from the cover of the trees as she rubbed her bottom, the flesh reddened from his palms, before she dived cleanly into the water.
CHAPTER 16
Chandra sniffed, caught the smell of the jakes from a stiff south wind, and slipped back into the hall. She climbed the stairs past the family’s chambers, until the steps twisted and narrowed and became finally a ladder that led to the summit of the keep. She paused on its board roof, gazing upward to the round turret that rose another twelve or so feet into the air. From atop the turret fluttered the orange banner of Camberley, embroidered with a black lion standing on his hind legs, his claws bared to all who approached.
She turned to gaze over the lush, wild countryside to the east. Small squares of tilled land set upon sloping hills dotted the thick forest. Beyond them she saw a sparkling blue lake that wound about the small village of Throckton with its thatch-roofed houses. The lake was small, but still; it reminded her of the sea, and of the tingly salt air that left tendrils of sticky, damp hair falling into her face. She felt suddenly homesick, felt immense hunger for that girl she had been, and tears stung her eyes. Then she saw herself straddling her husband, saw him as part of her, no way around that, deep inside her, and she was mewling like a weak pathetic animal, beyond herself and what she knew she had to be—strong and reliant, and alone, complete unto herself. She was astride him and she was only what he made her feel. In those moments, she had lost completely what she was, and it was just too much. She had to get away from him or that girl she had been at Croyland would die. She closed her eyes over the tears.
“I’m a weak fool.” She turned away to look down into the inner bailey. People milled about below, their talk, their laughter, their yells muted by the distance. But there was one below her whom her eyes sought without her even being aware of it. Jerval was wiping down Pith, his large hands graceful, fluid. She drew herself up, for she did not wish to think about her husband, much less see him.
She heard the ladder creak and saw Mary’s head. “Careful,” she called out. “I don’t like the sound of that ladder.”
“This is like the top of a mountain,” Mary said, looking about her. “I had not been up here before. It is beautiful.” She sat down beside Chandra. “I saw you climbing the outside stairs, but I did not tell Lady Avicia where you were, so do not worry that she is searching the keep for you.”
“What has she in store for me today?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. She burst into tears.
“Mary—oh, my God, Mary, what is wrong? Did that old bat say something mean to you?”
“Oh, no, Lady Avicia is never unkind to me. Only to you. Let me stop these silly tears.” She held her eyes closed for a moment, then sniffed, wiped her knuckles over her cheeks and said, “I’m sorry. There was no call for that. Oh dear, I had to speak to you away
from the family and all the servants.”
“Whatever is wrong if it is not Lady Avicia?”
“There is no easy way to say this. I am with child, Chandra.”
Chandra stared at her. “Pregnant? You are pregnant? But how do you know?”
“Do you know naught about being a woman? My monthly flux has not come, and I feel sick to my stomach and I’m nauseated. Sometimes I vomit, particularly in the mornings. It can be nothing else.”
“Graelam,” Chandra said.
“There could be no other.”
“But I do not understand. It was but one time. You were a virgin, how—” Even as she said the words, she felt Jerval deep within her, felt his seed filling her. How many times? Oh, God, nearly every night he’d wanted her, taken her, even two times the previous night, and it no longer even occurred her to fight him. Her monthly flux—had she missed it? She never bled the same time each month, so she didn’t know. She wiped her hands on the skirt of her gown.
“It would seem that I am not very lucky.”
Chandra jumped to her feet and struck her fist against the turret tower. She winced, then struck it again. “Damn men—all of them are wretched bastards, disgusting worms. They take what they want with no thought of what can come from their lust. I would slay them all if I could.”
“Well, you cannot, Chandra. I do not know what to do. The de Vernons will have to know soon, for my stomach will begin sticking out, and they cannot allow me to stay, not a woman who will bear a bastard.” Mary covered her face with her hands.
Chandra took Mary in her arms and held her tightly against her. “No, Mary, don’t cry. I will think of something—I swear it to you. You must not despair, and you must promise me to say not a word to anyone. Now, wipe your eyes, else my mother-in-law will wonder why you are crying, and blame me for it.”
Mary smiled through her tears. “You are probably right.”