Castle of Dreams Read online

Reynaud:

  Sir Edouard the Outlaw did not reign long at Afoncaer. A year after he had taken it, the Welsh rose up and attacked him and claimed the fortress for their own again. The knights sent into Wales by William the Conqueror were too preoccupied by their own conflicts with the natives to help Edouard, even had they been inclined to assist a knight who called no man his liege lord.

  In the summer of 1087, two years after Branwen had fled from Afoncaer, the Conqueror died, and his second son, William Rufus, became King of England. The new king was involved with fighting both his older brother, Duke Robert, in Normandy, and the Scottish king, Malcolm, in the north of England, and had at first little time to think of Wales. Afoncaer enjoyed ten peaceful years until the Normans came again.

  It was twelve years before Branwen returned, and by then there was Baron Lionel. And there was Lady Isabel.

  Part II

  Isobel

  England, A.D 1090 – 1098

  Chapter 4

  Westminster, early December, 1090

  Isabel was pleased with the arrangements her father had made for her. Sir Fulk of Brittany had said nothing to her about his health, but she had watched him decline over the last year. She knew one of his old battle wounds had opened yet again, and the infection in it was slowly sapping his strength. The physicians pretended optimism. Isabel no longer believed anything they said. Her father would die soon, but before he joined her mother in the next world he would make proper provision for Isabel. He had always taken care of her and he would not fail her now. He would find her a good husband.

  She knew he had refused several previous offers for her hand, including one from a certain highly placed gentleman at the French court. In Sir Fulk’s opinion, opportunity lay not in France, but across the Narrow Sea, in the land his old friend William of Normandy had conquered nearly a quarter of a century ago. There were still great titles to be won in England, and Sir Fulk, whose lands in Brittany would all go to a nephew at his death, had dreams of glory for his future grandchildren. He made arrangements to entrust his beloved, if slightly spoiled, only child, and her considerable dowry of his scattered properties in England, to Sir Lionel fitz Lionel of Adderbury. He assured Isabel that her proposed husband was young, good-looking, and, most important to Sir Fulk, a close friend of king William Rufus.

  “I have never met the new king,” Sir Fulk told Isabel, “but let us hope he is as brave, and as good a ruler, as his father was. You will live at the English court, where your husband will no doubt hold a position of great honor and authority.”

  Isabel glowed at this news, her mind filled with thoughts of gowns and jewels, great banquets and royal favors. The prospect was all any young noblewoman could want. She had never been more than a few miles from her father’s castle in Brittany, and the thought of the exciting journey before her, ending in a sumptuous wedding, was almost too marvelous to comprehend. She did not even mind being seasick all the way to England. She had recovered quickly once they landed, and now she stood in the room allotted to her in the King’s House at Westminster and let her maids robe her for her wedding to Sir Lionel.

  The betrothal had taken place by proxy. The marriage, originally planned for the summer just passed, had been postponed by the deaths of Sir Lionel’s father, old Sir Lionel of Adderbury, six months ago, and then his mother only a month later. Sir Lionel had immediately been confirmed in inheritance of all his late father’s honors by his good friend the king. He was now a very wealthy man.

  Now, several months later, Lady Isabel stood in the room allotted to her in the King’s House at Westminster and let her maids robe her for her wedding to Sir Lionel. The period of mourning for Sir Lionel’s parents was ended. The marriage of Sir Lionel and Lady Isabel would take place in early morning, and then the king would give a feast in honor of the couple. Isabel had not yet met her future husband, but that was not unusual, and she trusted her father’s judgment in such an important matter.

  Isabel sighed happily as Joan helped her to pull the soft blue silk gown over her white linen under-dress and Agnes draped a deeper blue mantle about her shoulders. Agnes was weeping.

  “My baby,” she sniffed. “If only your dear mother were here today.” Agnes was old and looked frail, though she was tough as steel. She had served Isabel’s mother, and on that lady’s death had transferred her allegiance to Isabel.

  Joan, the other maid, was younger, a sturdy woman with a pretty, humorous face and capable hands that could fashion beautiful gowns out of the plainest fabrics. It was Joan who, in answer to Isabel’s halting questions, had explained the most intimate duties of a wife, and had made that prospect seem filled with exciting possibilities. Joan had also been a servant to Isabel’s mother and had been married and widowed, and therefore knew all about such matters.

  Joan’s fingers tugged gently at the edge of Isabel’s white silk veil, straightening the shoulder-length material before she placed the gold circlet on top of it.

  “You look beautiful,” Joan said. “Your mantle matches your eyes, and it makes your hair look like spun gold. Sir Lionel will adore you the very first moment he sees you.”

  Agnes sniffed again, and Isabel, catching Joan’s twinkling brown eyes, repressed a giggle. She was not the least bit nervous. She knew she was beautiful, with or without the deep blue mantle, and she had no doubt that Sir Lionel would love her. Everyone she had ever known had loved her and had catered to her little whims and soothed her temper when it occasionally flared, and she fully expected her new husband to do the same. Once the public aspect of the wedding ceremonies was completed, she was certain all would go well.

  Agnes opened the door. With her servants following her, Isabel sailed out to meet her new life.

  Isabel did not think she liked King William Rufus. He had appeared unexpectedly in the chamber where she had just been presented to Sir Lionel. This glittering, silk-robed king, dazzling with gold embroidery, was too polite to her. He made her feel uneasy, as though there were some hidden purpose to his cordiality. He was tall and heavily built, with long, flowing blond curls and a red face. William bent over her hand with affected charm while she swept into a deep curtsey.

  “Ah, Lady Isabel. How long we have awaited your arrival.” Thick red lips briefly touched her fingers before King William straightened and looked into her face with cold blue eyes. “But you are exquisite! What a lovely ornament you will be to our court. A sweet, innocent treasure, entrusted to the tender care of our dear friend, Lionel.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Isabel could not repress a shiver. The king’s eyes and his effusive words did not match. She had the oddest feeling that he disliked her, though there could be no reason why he should. He did not even know her. She lifted her chin, reminding herself that her lineage was an old and proud one, while this king was the son of a bastard and the grandchild of a tanner’s daughter. “I am pleased to be in England at last, my lord, and I am eager for the wedding to begin,” Isabel said artlessly.

  “An eager bride? How delightful. It is usually the bridegroom who is eager.” The king’s laugh was mocking. Around him his courtiers tittered, while Isabel felt herself blushing bright red. Bestowing a last amused glance on the embarrassed and confused girl, William Rufus left her, walking out of the room with a peculiar mincing gait quite at odds with his large, hulking figure.

  Isabel, recovering from her embarrassment after a few moments, transferred all her attention to Sir Lionel. She thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was nearly twenty-two years old to her fourteen, tall and blue-eyed, with golden hair and harsh good looks. He had an enchanting smile and excellent manners, and she was prepared to love him immediately. He had been gracious and most courteous when she was presented to him by her father, and now he extended his hand to her with a little bow.

  “We will meet again, very soon,” he said, smiling, and then he followed his king out of the room.

  A short time later in the chapel, Lionel seemed a little uncertain durin
g the contract reading and at the mass that followed it. He drank overmuch at King William’s splendid, day-long banquet for the newly wedded couple, but Isabel told herself that was only to be expected of a nervous bridegroom. They would soon grow accustomed to each other, and then his uncertainty would disappear.

  Isabel admired Lionel’s fine clothes, his embroidered blue tunic, his red leather shoes with the curled-up toes, his jeweled belt and the finely wrought clasp on his bright green cloak. His hair, like that of the king, was worn much longer than the men in Brittany wore theirs. It was oiled and curled, a style greatly favored by the king and imitated by his courtiers, as Isabel could see by glancing about her.

  Lionel’s companions were arrayed in plumage as gaudy as that of the king and the bridegroom. Isabel noticed her father’s lifted eyebrows as he too surveyed the younger men at the feast. She suspected he was disappointed in the king. She knew he had expected a man of martial bearing. Of course, Sir Fulk would disapprove of elegant court dress. He was a tough old soldier, a veteran of many battles, who wore plain leather tunics and heavy boots suited for riding when he was not in his chain mail armor. He had no understanding of a more cultivated and peaceable generation, and his increasing ill-health sometimes made him irritable. Isabel disregarded her father’s stern looks at the young courtiers and concentrated on the conversation. It was coarse, with the bawdy jokes to be expected at a nuptial feast, and soon brought a blush to the new bride’s cheek.

  There was one in Sir Lionel’s party who did not wear silk or jewels. Young Guy of Adderbury, Lionel’s thirteen-year-old brother, was a page attached to King William’s household, but temporarily freed from his usual duties in order to attend his brother during the wedding festivities.

  Guy was still a boy, his features and coloring, so like Lionel’s, not yet cast into a manly mold, and he was quiet. He watched Lionel and his noisy friends with a serious, thoughtful gaze. His eyes occasionally rested on Isabel, and when she met them he smiled as if in encouragement.

  Did he think she was afraid of the night to come? He was only a silly boy, a whole year younger than she was. Isabel looked away, her delicate nose in the air. When she caught sight of Guy again later he was in solemn conversation with her father. They suited each other, Isabel decided, both too serious. She turned back to her laughing, handsome husband.

  When the feasting was nearly over, Isabel began to feel the first stirring of nervousness. She tried to ignore the sudden fluttering of her heart and the breathlessness that overtook her each time she looked at Lionel. She noticed that he had begun to avoid meeting her eyes. She thought that he too was nervous about what was to come, although he continued to drink and laugh with his friends. Then, suddenly, it was time for her to retire, and her father came to her.

  “Go with these women,” he said, “They will tend to you, my dear. Sir Lionel has suggested that the bedding be done privately. The king has agreed to this. Indeed, His Majesty seemed most eager to grant you complete privacy.” Sir Fulk sounded surprised at this concession.

  Isabel, who had been prepared for the customary public inspection of the bride in her bedchamber, followed by at least a semipublic first bedding and consummation of her marriage, was also surprised. Perhaps she had been wrong and the king did not dislike her after all. Or perhaps he had agreed to please his friend Sir Lionel. Whatever the reason, Isabel was grateful to King William and close to worshiping Sir Lionel for his unusual consideration of her. She felt much more comfortable now, knowing the first occasion of intimacy with her new husband would not occur with only drawn bedcurtains to separate them from the lecherous eyes and randy comments of the courtiers.

  A group of noblewomen, some rather too far gone in wine to see very clearly, accompanied Isabel to her room. There her servants undressed her and the women made the required inspection of the naked bride, to be certain she had no serious physical flaws. The little ceremony was not as bad as Isabel had feared it might be. She stood quietly, letting the women look at her, fully conscious that some were casting envious glances at her slender, high-breasted figure and creamy skin, now just slightly warmed by a gentle blush. Then the women were done with her and they trooped out, giggling and gossiping, going back to the feasting and drinking that would continue all night.

  After the women had left Joan and Agnes fluttered about, tidying the bedchamber, putting things away. They got Isabel into a long-sleeved linen robe, and then they left her alone to await her husband. Isabel quickly discarded the robe and got into bed. Now that the public part of this evening was over, she was more excited than afraid. Joan had warned her there would be some discomfort at first, but that what her husband did to her would be pleasurable. Lionel was good-looking, and when he had kissed her to seal their marriage vows, his lips had been soft and gentle on hers. Surely he would do nothing to harm her. Joan had spoken of tenderness and warm feelings. Isabel waited, her eyes on the door.

  She heard men in the next room, and boisterous laughter. She thought she heard the king. Then there was a period of silence, followed by two voices that went on and on, using muffled words too low for her to hear. An ominous note in those voices carried to her straining ears. Isabel’s nerve began to fail. She was certain now that one of the speakers was the king, but she could not imagine why he would stay so long outside her chamber when he was host at the great feast still going on in the banquet hall.

  At last the bedroom door opened and Lionel appeared, wrapped in a loose red robe. Isabel smiled at him, her confidence beginning to return at sight of the handsome man. He moved toward her, his steps a little unsteady, almost reluctant. His face was very red, his blue eyes unnaturally bright.

  “This must be done to make the marriage legal,” Lionel told her.

  Did he think no one had explained to her what was expected of her now? Was that why he hesitated so far across the room from her? She hastened to reassure him.

  “I understand, my lord. I will try to please you.” She smiled again, a bit tremulously this time, because something about his attitude was beginning to frighten her.

  “Pleasure has nothing to do with it,” Lionel said. “It is an unwelcome duty, no more.”

  He threw off his robe and stood naked by the bed. He was breathing heavily. He had a fine, wide chest covered with golden hair, and strong, muscular arms. His legs were long and straight, but Isabel barely noticed them. Her eyes widened, caught by the sight of the fully erect manhood now presented to her view. She gulped, then reminded herself it was her duty to be agreeable to him. Remembering what Joan had said, she felt excitement begin to knot inside her. She pulled back the covers.

  “Will you come to bed, my lord?” she asked. She moved a little to make more room for him beside her.

  “This won’t take long,” Lionel said, pushing her down onto the sheet. He pulled her legs apart rather roughly and lay down on top of her.

  “What are you doing?” Isabel cried. This was not at all what she had imagined from Joan’s description. Wasn’t he going to kiss her and tell her how lovely she was? She felt something hard pushing against the flesh between her legs, and realized it was his swollen manhood. The feeling was most definitely not pleasant. “Please, my lord, don’t do that.”

  “Be quiet,” Lionel ordered, pushing harder. Isabel clamped her lips together, trying to obey him.

  The bedcurtains had not been drawn, and by the light of the candle on the bedside table she could see his reddened face. He looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. Isabel knew something was wrong, but she did not know what.

  Lionel tried again. Isabel could not stop the cry of pain that came from her lips. Then she realized he had succeeded in his purpose. He was inside her body. Perhaps now it would get better. He moved quickly, panting, his face so red it was almost purple. He was not hurting her so much any more. In spite of her outrage at the abrupt way Lionel was using her, she began to feel the faintest beginning of something that might in time become enjoyable. Just as her arms re
ached around his waist, Lionel stopped what he was doing, and a moment later rolled off her. Isabel lay with her face turned away from him, biting her lower lip and trying not to cry with disappointment.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Lionel said.

  There was only one possible explanation Isabel could think of for what had just happened.

  “My lord,” she asked, bravely fighting back the tears, “Was this the first time for you, too? Did you not know you should be gentle with me, and that we would feel tenderness for each other?”

  “The first time? For me?” He burst into laughter. He laughed so hard the heavy bedcurtains shook, and tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Tenderness?” He was off again, consumed by his mirth. “Tenderness! I must remember to tell William that.” He could not speak further for laughter.

  Isabel was appalled. Surely Lionel would not speak to the king about something so private. She sat up and looked at him, waiting until the spasms had passed and he was calmer.

  “My lord,” she said at last, struggling to regain some shred of dignity, “You hurt me badly just now. I had been led to believe lovemaking would be pleasurable.”

  “Really?” he said, sobering. He looked hard at her, and she realized for the first time just how shrewd and cold his beautiful blue eyes were. “Who led you to believe that? Some fumbling squire at your father’s castle?”

  “No, my lord.” She could not seem to call him Lionel, though that was now her right. The word simply would not come out of her mouth. “It was Joan, my maid, who told me. Since my mother is dead, Joan undertook to explain what I needed to know. She said she and her husband took much pleasure in each other, and that you and I would find the same in time. But I do not think that can be if you are always so rough with me. Do you think you could be more gentle the next time?”