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  Love Everlasting

  Flora Speer

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Flora Speer

  Published By Flora Speer At Smashwords

  Cover Design Copyright 2014

  By http//:DigitalDonna.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Note:

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  Chapter 1

  Wortham Castle, England.

  Late Autumn, A.D. 1121.

  “Enough!” Royce the baron of Wortham slammed his hand down hard on the high table. As the sound reverberated throughout the great hall, the pleasant buzz of mealtime conversation ceased. Faces turned toward the dais in astonishment at the display of temper by a lord who made a habit of keeping his emotions under control.

  Sir William the seneschal, who was also seated at the high table, gaped at his master in disbelief. So did Royce’s secretary, Sir Michael. Even Lord Cadwallon, Royce’s old friend, fellow spy, and current guest, stared at him with raised eyebrows, though a hint of amusement curved his mouth and a twinkle lit his brown eyes.

  “My lord?” The manservant who stood before the high table holding a large silver platter of sliced meat began to tremble. The sudden movement sent a spray of greasy sauce flying off the platter to land beside a spot that already decorated the originally white and pristine linen tablecloth. “Is aught amiss?”

  “Amiss?” Royce roared. Pointing to the reddish-brown grease spots that marred the cloth and then to the platter, he demanded, “What, exactly, is that foul-smelling mess supposed to be?”

  “It’s - it’s a haunch of venison, my lord,” the servant stammered. “Roasted and sliced, and then sauced with cinnamon and dried cherries that have been plumped in wine, my lord.”

  “By the smell, it is slop!” Royce declared. “Fit only to feed the pigs. How dare you serve such a dish to an honored guest?”

  “I really don’t mind,” Cadwallon said quietly. “I’ve smelled - and eaten - much worse in my time. And I am very hungry after my long ride.”

  “My lord,” William the Seneschal spoke up, “I believe Alice ordered this menu yesterday, after you announced that Lord Cadwallon was coming to visit. Unfortunately, Alice is no longer able to supervise in the kitchen - on your specific orders, sir.”

  “I know, William.” Royce took a deep breath to calm himself and settled back in his big, carved chair. “When I spoke to Alice late yesterday afternoon, she looked completely exhausted. Caring for twin babies a few months old can be no easy task, especially when a woman has older children to look after, too. ‘Twas I who sent her to your quarters and told her to rest. I’ll not have your wife becoming sick for my sake. You may serve the meat,” he said to the waiting manservant.

  Cadwallon smiled at the man and asked for three slices of venison and extra sauce. Royce accepted a single slice and barely touched it.

  “Lady Alice has been serving as my chatelaine since Catherine married last summer,” Royce explained to Cadwallon some hours later, as they walked upon the castle battlements. He did not have to describe how his daughter had met Sir Braedon during an investigation aimed at uncovering a traitor among the band of spies whom Royce directed. Cadwallon had been at Wortham the entire time and he had been present at Catherine’s wedding to Braedon, who was now the baron of Sutton. “Alice is completely preoccupied with her new babies. She refuses to consider having a nurse to help her.

  “The truth is,” Royce continued, “Alice is a good woman, kind-hearted, gentle, devoted to her husband and their four sons, and she’s very grateful to me for allowing her to marry William. But she lacks the firm purpose and the temperament required for the chatelaine of so large a castle.”

  “Perhaps, she is simply overwhelmed and exhausted,” suggested Cadwallon. “I am no stranger to the effort put forth by ladies who have to manage growing families as well as their duties as chatelaines. Only last spring, my Janet warned me not to get her with child again until after she was finished overseeing the restoration of our keep. Though, I suspect that was only her clever way of convincing me to roll up my sleeves and work harder at the project so it would be done sooner. Which it was,” he ended with a contented chuckle.

  “Women,” Royce mused, a faint smile crossing his lips. “My own wife, Avisa, was most efficient. After she died, Catherine took over as chatelaine, so I never had to think much about the work a woman does to keep a castle running smoothly. I admit that until the last three months I have always taken the domestic side of castle life for granted.

  “I want a clean and orderly castle,” Royce continued, irritation sharpening his voice. “I detest the smell of dirty rushes in the great hall. I want my bed linens changed regularly. I long for the fragrance of lavender on those linens. Most of all, I want decent food that’s properly cooked.” He slapped his hand on the stone wall as he had earlier slapped it on the high table. “Cadwallon, my friend, I apologize for the inferior meal you were served this midday. Lately, even the bread is hard and stale.”

  “A slab of stale bread makes a fine trencher,” Cadwallon remarked with a grin. “It soaks up the sauce and the meat juices better than fresh bread.”

  “You are assuming the sauce is worth eating,” Royce said, his mouth twisting as he recalled the taste of sour dried cherries and too much cinnamon. “I need a new chatelaine. I should have seen to the matter months ago.”

  “As I recall,” Cadwallon said in his mild, slow way, “you were somewhat preoccupied with saving King Henry from secret agents sent by King Louis of France to spy on him.”

  “That matter has been resolved. The spies have been flushed out and punished. And I have been home again for weeks,” Royce said. He fell silent, frowning through the dusk at the well-tended fields that spread below the castle and then at Wortham village just down the road. Harvest was almost over and soon his people would be preparing for winter ... for long, cold nights. Royce would not allow himself to think about those cold nights, nor about his cold bed in the lord’s chamber. “I need a chatelaine,” he repeated.

  “You need more than just an official chatelaine. I know you well enough,” Cadwallon remarked, “to know that you are not a man to summon a castle woman to your bed. You’d consider that sort of thing bad for discipline.”

  “‘That sort of thing’ is none of your business,” Royce snapped, annoyed that Cadwallon had made such a shrewd guess about his present state of mind.

  Cadwallon regarded King Henry’s spymaster with a wise air and chuckled once more. Royce feared that a favorite theory of Cadwallon’s had just been confirmed. A few moments passed, during which Royce continued to frown at the landscape while he avoided meeting the other man’s too-knowing gaze.

  “You need a wife,” Cadwallon said.

  “I will never marry again,” Royce stated with a firmness that should have silenced his friend. Knowing Cadwallon, he didn’t think the man would let the subject go.

  In truth, Royce was of two minds on the matter. The idea of a wife was not entirely displeasing. A comfortable, quiet, sweet-natured woman, perhaps a little older than he was, a plump widow who understood men and who had experience managing a large manor house or a castle, would suit him well.

  It ought to be easy enough to find a dowager who lived in her son’s home and who thus would be glad to escape from the shadow of a daughter-in-law. She would be grateful to R
oyce for rescuing her from the fate of many aging women. He wouldn’t even require a large dowry; he held enough lands not to crave still more.

  Best of all, such a practical arrangement need not besmirch his fond memories of Avisa. He wouldn’t have to care deeply about such a wife. He’d only be expected to treat her with respect.

  “The right wife could solve both of your problems,” Cadwallon persisted, his words echoing Royce’s thoughts. “You would have a chatelaine who is bound to keep Wortham Castle as neat and clean as you want it. She would see to all of your other properties, too. And whenever you need a woman in your bed, you’d have one close at hand.

  “I’d be lost without my Janet,” Cadwallon went on, his voice softening and his smile filled with tenderness. “Not to mention the joy our little children have brought to both of us.”

  “I have grown children,” Royce said. “And a grandchild on the way. I do not want more young ones under foot.” His repressive tone should have ended the conversation there and then, but Cadwallon had never been a man to give up when he believed a friend needed help.

  “You are not yet too old to enjoy a woman,” Cadwallon told him. “If you bed one regularly, your temper will be milder. I’m sure the people of Wortham will be grateful for the improvement.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my temper,” Royce growled. He knew that was a lie. The need for a woman gnawed at him, often keeping him awake at night. But he didn’t want just any woman. He had always found hasty couplings unsatisfying, even in his randy youth. He preferred a woman he knew well, who knew him, who would accept his often urgent male needs with understanding kindness, a woman who would lie close and talk with him once his manly passion was spent, who would discuss the day’s events with him and listen to his plans for their future. He’d had that once, with gentle Avisa, but never again since her death. With a sigh, Royce admitted to himself that he was lonely.

  “Just think about what I’ve said,” Cadwallon advised. “Now, to the real reason for my visit. I asked you to find a place where we could speak in complete privacy because I bear an urgent letter from King Henry.”

  Cadwallon wore at his belt the kind of leather pouch often used by Royce’s secret agents to carry some of the smaller tools of their trade. This pouch he now unfastened. From it he pulled a metal pick that could be used to open locks, a miniature knife in a small wooden sheath, a length of thin but strong twine, a couple of stoppered vials and, finally, a parchment document that was folded many times until it was narrow enough to fit into the pouch. He handed the document to Royce, and while his friend unfolded it, Cadwallon replaced his belongings and refastened the pouch.

  The document in Royce’s hand bore the royal seal, the red wax still unbroken through all its rough handling. Royce ran his thumbnail under the wax, carefully lifting the bottom half off the parchment. He stared at the message within, his mouth tightening as he read.

  “Do you know what this says?” he demanded, not looking up from the neat, clerical handwriting.

  “King Henry doesn’t always confide in me,” Cadwallon answered with wry amusement. “Why? Has some new problem arisen? Are you needed for another mission so soon after the last?”

  “It’s not the usual kind of mission.” Royce refolded the parchment, taking his time while he tried to quell his rebellious thoughts. “I am summoned to Caen as soon as possible.”

  “Well, then, we can travel together,” Cadwallon said cheerfully. “Janet is at court and she wasn’t too happy about my leaving. She dislikes our separations, so she’ll be glad to see me return promptly.”

  “Does Janet - or do you - know Lady Julianna of Louvain?” Royce asked.

  “A tall woman, rather distant and arrogant in her manner? I’ve met her. Janet seems to like her. She’s a great heiress. Her husband died recently and, since she has no blood kin left, she has become a royal ward.”

  “That must be the one. How is it that I’ve never met her?” Royce considered the red wax seal on the parchment in his hand and wished he weren’t sworn to obey his king in all matters.

  “Most likely,” Cadwallon said, “it’s because she hasn’t been at court when you are. During the past year or so, while her husband was slowly dying, Lady Julianna seldom came to court at all. You will recall the husband, though. Deane the baron of Craydon was a sly, sneaky man. He was one of King Louis’s people. We kept a watch on him for years.”

  “Yes,” Royce said, nodding. “I do remember Deane. When I applied to King Henry for an arrest warrant against him, I was told the man was close to death - a very painful death, according to Henry. I was advised to leave him alone and let Heaven see to the justice he deserved. By not arresting him, of course, we were able to conceal how much we knew about the activities of the spies who belonged to Deane’s particular group. As it turned out, that was a wise decision on Henry’s part.”

  Royce had never heard that Deane’s wife was involved in his secret activities. Still....

  “What about Lady Julianna?” Cadwallon asked. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “You could say that.” Royce finally lifted his gaze to Cadwallon’s honest, presently very puzzled face. “King Henry has ordered me to marry her as soon as possible.”

  “So, that’s why you thought I must know what’s in the letter.” To Royce’s great discomfiture, Cadwallon began to laugh. “From what you said earlier, and from the look on your face right now, I conclude that you really don’t want to marry again.”

  “I do not.” Between one breath and the next Royce gave up his unspoken fantasy of a sweet, grateful, pliable widow. His future was going to be far more difficult than he had imagined. “And Henry knows it.”

  “In that case, I’d say our beloved king is taking unfair advantage of your loyalty and obedience to his wishes.”

  “Reading between the words of this letter,” Royce said, holding up the parchment, “Lady Julianna is neither loyal, nor obedient. And you say she’s arrogant.”

  “The king expects you to tame her?” Cadwallon shook his head. “I consider that a miserable reward after all you’ve done for him.”

  “The lady’s character scarcely matters. I can lock her in a dungeon if need be. What Henry wants,” Royce said, “is for me to take control of Lady Julianna’s lands and prevent any possible act of disloyalty on her part. Apparently, a French nobleman has been courting her and she appears to favor the man. Henry fears she will accept his suit. If she does, all of her properties will, of course, become her husband’s. Which is to say, everything Lady Julianna has inherited will fall under French control.”

  “Well, now, we can’t allow that to happen.” Cadwallon folded his brawny arms and leaned against the stone parapet. “King Louis of France would dearly love to gain a bit of land at King Henry’s expense.”

  “Aye.” Royce frowned, trying to think of an honorable way out of his king’s scheme, and failing. As usual, Henry’s political instincts were correct. The king had devised the perfect solution for a potentially dangerous problem. “It’s more than merely a bit of land. Several great estates are involved. According to this letter, Lady Julianna has inherited property in Normandy, in Flanders, in Cornwall, and in East Anglia.”

  Cadwallon whistled. “I was right to call her an heiress. And Henry is willing to see all of that pass to your control? In addition to the lands you already hold? There’s proof, if you needed it, that he trusts you as he trusts few other men.”

  “I cannot betray his trust.” Nevertheless, Royce’s deep unhappiness with the latest assignment laid upon him by his king sounded in his voice.

  “Well, then, I see only one course for you,” Cadwallon said with unaccustomed seriousness. “Grit your teeth, smile, and marry the lady, as Henry wants. Bed her once or twice to make the marriage thoroughly legal, so there can be no question about your right to hold and administer her properties. Then install her here at Wortham, so you’ll have the chatelaine you need. You may find you enjoy having her ava
ilable to warm your bed, but if you discover that you cannot like her, or if you distrust her too much to want her sleeping next to you, then set a guard to watch her, provide her with her own suite of rooms, and ignore her. That’s what a lot of other men do with their wives.”

  “Could you ignore Janet?” Royce asked.

  “Well, no.” Cadwallon grinned sheepishly. “She’d never let me ignore her. You may recall that Janet has a rather sharp tongue, and she doesn’t hesitate to use it when she is unhappy or displeased.”

  “I do remember,” Royce said dryly.

  They left for Caen at dawn. In addition to Cadwallon and his attendants, Royce took with him his usual complement of a dozen men-at-arms, a few squires, his secretary, Sir Michael, Michael’s squire, and a considerable amount of baggage. Since Michael suffered the lingering effects of ill treatment at French hands he was unable to ride as rapidly, or as long each day, as the other men. Michael’s presence would slow them, a fact that suited Royce well. He wanted time to think and to form his plans before he met the unknown lady he knew he must wed.

  The Royal Fortress at Caen

  Lord Cadwallon’s chambers.

  Julianna regarded the fiery-tempered Scottish woman with respectful appreciation. Lady Janet was small, with bright red hair and flashing blue eyes. If only Julianna dared to speak her mind as forcefully as Janet did. It was clear to her that the convent in Flanders where she had been educated was a very different place from the Scottish convent where Janet had lived.

  When Julianna was a girl, she had never dared to raise her voice lest she be thrashed for disobedience. In those innocent, long-ago days, she had dreamed of the happy change that marriage would bring, for her dowry was large and she believed she must be pretty because the nuns constantly admonished her against the sin of vanity. Surely, if she was a good girl, her future husband would cherish her.