Courtly Love Page 8

  * * *

  At breakfast the next morning Serena was silent and withdrawn and Gyles marked with interest the deep shadows beneath her eyes. Serena picked at her food and finally pushed it away, drawing Gyles's attention.

  "If you are ill, Serena, perhaps you should remain inside." The mocking concern in his voice made Serena long to tear at his handsome face with her nails. Gyles saw the brief flash of her anger and, smiling, he continued. "You do look a bit feverish, m'lady, I fear you took a chill after our swim yesterday. Yes, I believe 'twould be best if you kept to your chamber until you are better."

  It was impossible that she could have taken a chill in yesterday's heat, Serena thought, and Gyles knew it, but she merely shrugged. "As you wish, m'lord. I had planned to spend the day abed."

  Serena rose and left the hall, her departure noticed by none save Richard to whom she gave a slight nod. She gained her chamber, but did not enter, listening instead to the cacophony of voices diminish as the guests left the castle. Only then did she hurry into the room and bar the door behind her.

  * * *

  Gyles watched the tilting with little interest, awaiting his turn with the lance. The riders were good, but so far few had shown any style at tilting; instead they appeared content to charge pell-mell at each other without taking careful aim with their lances. Well, Gyles shrugged, that was the difference between seasoned fighters tempered in battle and untried boys.

  His turn came, and Gyles mounted his horse, a strong stallion that had served him well for three years. The horse pawed eagerly at the earth, sensing the upcoming excitement. At the far end of the field, Gyles could see his opponent—the well-polished armor glinting brightly in the sun, as he adjusted his shield, snapped closed his visor, and extended his arm for a lance. Gyles did the same and both men waited for the signal to charge. A banner dropped and Gyles set his spurs into his horse's sides. The cheering of the crowd barely carried over the din of thundering hooves as Gyles settled his lance more securely in his grasp. All the weapons used today had been blunted and their blades covered, so no mortal injury would befall the contestants. Gyles watched his adversary approach and felt a flicker of admiration. The man wavered neither to right nor left and his lance—angled across his body—was pointed directly at the center of Gyles's shield. It appeared to Gyles that his adversary was slightly off balance, the weight of the lance carrying him too far to the inside of his horse. Gyles adjusted his own lance so that it would catch the upper right portion of the shield. At the instant before they met, the knight pushed his shield up and out, and Gyles's lance skittered harmlessly skyward while the other's lance caught fairly on Gyles's shield. Braced as he was for a hearty blow, Gyles was surprised by the light contact of the lance and had no trouble retaining his seat. He reached the end of the field, tossed aside the used lance, deftly caught the new one thrown by a squire and wheeled his horse around. The other knight was already charging full-tilt across the green, and for a moment Gyles was taken aback by the size of his opponent. It was strange that he hadn't noticed before how small the knight appeared in contrast to the horse. Gyles's mount surged forward, but Gyles's actions were purely automatic, his mind concentrating instead on the knight—armor had a way of deceiving the eyes because of its bulkiness, it could make a large man appear smaller than his normal size and the opposite was also true, and yet...

  The distance between the two had rapidly diminished and at the last minute, Gyles altered the angle of his lance so that it caught the knight square in the chest instead of the shield. A muffled "oof" came from behind the visor, and the knight neatly somersaulted backward over the rear of his horse. The lance flew uselessly from his grasp and the knight hit the earth with a thud and an alarming clatter of armor. As he galloped toward the end of the field, Gyles caught sight of the squires racing from their places on the sidelines to aid the fallen knight to his feet. By the time Gyles turned his horse and returned to the site of his victory, the knight was being led into one of Lord Geoffrey's pavilions. His shield lay against the side of the tent along with the unused lance. Gyles rode to the pavilion and dismounted. The shield caught and held his attention, and he knelt to study its logo.

  Divided into three parts, it bore no resemblance to any of the coats-of-arms Gyles had seen before: the upper half of the shield was divided into two equal parts, on the left a white rose bloomed, the petals painted in such perfection that they appeared real, green leaves perched delicately on gently curving, thornless stems; the right showed the sword Excalibur protruding from the stone from which King Arthur had freed it, and proclaimed its owner's Saxon heritage; the complete lower portion of the shield was devoted to the image of a bolt of lightning twisting and tearing its way through a cloud. The colors used also fascinated Gyles, for they were not the bright, vivid colors typically used, but were instead muted tones of green, blue, and gold that gentled the senses rather than assaulted them.

  Gyles rose and hefted the lance. It was lighter by far than those normally used, and with a frown Gyles tested the shield as well. It, too, was of less weight than it should have been; well made and sturdy, it was true, but the shield was still too weak to withstand an assault of any duration, for it would surely bend and crack under the repeated blows of a broadsword.

  "Serena was far too light—she was constantly unhorsed." The echo of Bryan's words burst into Gyles's mind. "Far too light . . . constantly unhorsed; far too light. . . constantly unhorsed . . . unhorsed . . . unhorsed . . . unhorsed." Serena! Gyles made for the flap of the tent, but found the way blocked by a grinning Bryan and an ashen-faced Richard as they exited.

  Bryan glanced at the shield and lance that Gyles still held and the grin deepened. "I can assure you, Lord Gyles, that yon knight admits his defeat; he is of no mind to continue the contest, as you seem wont to do."

  Gyles replaced the weapons. " 'Tis an unusual logo, not familiar to me," he said as he straightened.

  Bryan threw back his head and laughed, "Did you not know? 'Tis Serena's own coat-of-arms. Did she never show it to you? Odd, for she is inordinately proud of it."

  Gyles pulled the helm from his head and brushed the mail coif back from his face. Serena! He should have guessed; she had acceded too readily to his request to remain in her chamber. No wonder Bryan was laughing; Serena had made a fool of him! If it was ever discovered that he had tilted with a woman, and his own wife at that...

  The wickedly curved scar whitened as the corner of Gyles's mouth tightened. "I should like to see my wife!" Gyles growled.

  "Serena?" Bryan looked puzzled. "She's at the castle! Oh, no!" He began to laugh. "You think Serena is here? You think Serena was . . . that she jousted. . . ." He dissolved into helpless gales of laughter and sank to the ground.

  "There's no cause for hilarity, Bryan!" Richard snapped. "Godwin might have been badly injured." Some color had returned to Richard's face and he addressed Gyles. "The shield is Serena's, as you know." He hesitated before continuing. "When—before Serena left Broughton, Godwin was her sparring partner, since he was the only man near her size. He has always carried Serena's shield in the lists she herself did not take part in."

  Gyles had watched Richard carefully as he spoke. The younger man did not meet his eyes, and his speech, somehow, did not ring true. "I would meet Godwin." Gyles said.

  Richard glanced briefly at Bryan who had recovered and was gaining his feet. Bryan shrugged. "Of course. Godwin will be honored, m'lord." Turning, he led the way into the pavilion.

  A young man lay on the pallet, and by the dim light that filtered through from the outside, Gyles judged the lad to be no more than twenty. Godwin was nude save for his loincloth, and Gyles bent to examine what slight damage his lance had done; his brown, lean fingers gently pressing the unmarked skin covering the breastbone.

  "There seems to be no serious damage," Gyles said as he straightened. "Is there much pain?"

  "N-no, m'lord." Godwin stammered.

  Gyles's eyes probed the corner of
the pavilion. "Was your armor badly dented?"

  Godwin stirred uneasily. "No, m'lord."

  "His squire is seeing to his arms, m'lord." Bryan broke in smoothly. "By tomorrow no one will be able to tell where your lance caught him."

  Gyies nodded and left, and as he rode from the pavilion, Bryan's laughter floated on the air behind him.

  * * *

  Serena leaned against the wall, her head tilted to one side, as she listened to the minstrel's love ballad. A tiny smile curved her lips and her eyes held a dreamy, far-off quality that unreasonably angered Gyles when he happened to glance her way. Richard joined her and handed her a goblet, and Serena pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek; a gesture that caused Gyles to stiffen and his scar to whiten. Richard bent to Serena's ear and she raised her delicate shoulders in a shrug and laughed teasingly up at him.

  Serena had not condescended to speak a word to her husband, but instead had enchanted everyone—at least every knight—that had come within her sphere of influence. Gyles had to admit that Serena was dazzling. Her hair was caught beneath a snood of woven pearls and her dark green dress set off her complexion to decided advantage. Her cheeks contained a hint of color, her mouth the shade of the pastel pink wild roses that grew unbidden in her garden, and Serena's eyes glowed with an excitement that Gyles had never seen before.

  Serena was acutely conscious of the burning looks Gyles sent in her direction, but she steadfastly ignored them. Gyles had chosen to condemn her for Bryan's and Richard's behavior—very well then, so be it. If 'twas a marriage of convenience he desired, Serena too could seek contentment elsewhere. He was more remote and aloof than ever before, and Serena damned herself for having let him glimpse the naked yearning of her heart for love. She began slowly, stone by stone, to build a wall about her heart, so that he could not hurt her again.

  Where her wounded heart had failed her, Serena's pride did not, and her bearing this evening left no doubt in anyone's mind that she was indeed mistress of Camden. Beda had been relegated to a less obvious seat at the head table and the servants responded willingly and without delay to Serena's every command.

  Every movement Serena made was perfectly in keeping with her role, but it seemed she deliberately provoked her husband's ire at every opportunity. She charmed Gyles's friends until every one was willing to happily give his life for her. If Gyles—driven into a savage mood— played the gallant with Beda or any of the other ladies present, Serena retaliated in kind until Gyles came dangerously close to violence as he watched his wife fend off overeager advances. But what drove Gyles perilously near the breaking point was that whenever Serena passed him, she swept into a deep curtsy and did not rise until he had gone some distance from her. Whenever the act was performed, eyebrows raised among both Normans and Saxons, as well as murmured comments about an unnatural marriage. The evening had progressed in this manner until Gyles avoided going anywhere near his wife for fear she would think of some other outrageous act. Gyles was sure Serene had lost her mind.

  On the contrary, Serena knew precisely what she was doing as she set the spur deeper into Gyles's pride. She had been deeply hurt and she had set about to repay Gyles in the same coin. But even though her plans were going well, Serena could not help the sinking sensation in her heart that told her Gyles was lost to her forever.

  Serena closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool stones of the wall. Instantly a mental image of Gyles appeared behind her closed lids—Gyles as he had looked the afternoon at the pool; his lithe body tall, straight, and bronzed; his powerful arms holding her against him; the weak helpless feeling that invaded every inch of her being as Gyles lowered his head toward her.

  No! Serena's eyes flew open. That had not happened, Gyles had not kissed her that day. It was all in her imagination! She must stop dreaming, hoping.

  The minstrel had finished his song and was waiting for some show of pleasure from Serena. Distractedly, she tossed him the gold goblet she held. The minstrel bobbed his thanks and continued on his way.

  Richard murmured into Serena's ear, "The man spoke truly, Serena. You are, indeed, a feast upon which no man would tire of dining. Come away with me, my love. Tonight. We can be far away from here by first light tomorrow. Once at Balfour we will be safe; no one could harm us there. We will be happy, Serena, I swear it. As soon as your annulment is granted, we shall be wed. Ah, Serena, you shall be my most treasured wife, and I shall teach you the full measure of a man's love. Our children will play where I once did; and never shall I give you cause to doubt my love for you, for I will worship you day and night."

  Serena's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Oh, Richard, you spin such lovely tales. I only wish that they could come true."

  "They can, Serena! They can!" Richard caught her hands urgently. "Come with me, and all these tales will become real."

  Serena shook her head. "It can never be," she said sadly. "Gyles would come after us—he would tear Balfour down stone by stone, kill you, and take me back to Camden. Unjust as it may be, I am his wife and he will keep me until death ends this mockery." Serena gave Richard's hands a gentle squeeze. "Marry, Richard," she implored him. "Marry! Forget me, I beg of you, for my sake and yours. Produce heirs for Balfour; find a wife." Richard watched her closely, and Serena's control nearly vanished at the kindness and love that shone in his eyes. "Go away from Camden and never return. I can bring you naught but pain. Go! Oh, please, Richard, go!" The tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Leave me to my own private hell!"

  Serena stumbled blindly toward the stairs, but Gyles blocked her path. Automatically Serena sank into a deep curtsy. A band of pain circled her chest and grew tighter and tighter until she nearly choked with it. Serena was being torn to pieces, her soul severed to bits between Gyles, Alan, Richard, Bryan, and herself. Her breath came in short gulps and seared her lungs.

  "Get up!" Gyles snarled.

  "I—I cannot, m'lord." Serena gasped.

  "Rise, Serena, or I will carry you from here!" Gyles warned.

  Serena struggled to obey him. The band of pain tightened further, and Serena felt certain she would swoon. Her legs would not obey her and Serena closed her eyes to try to right the suddenly tilting world.

  "Will you leave the hall on your feet or in my arms, Serena? Whichever way you choose, I swear you will pay for your behavior this night." Gyles's voice was harsh.

  Serena lifted her tear-streaked face and gave vent to the humiliation that bit so deeply into her heart. "Then beat me! Kill me if you will! I do not care! End this hellish existence you have given me. I am weary of your biting words, your spiteful actions." Gyles's hands closed around Serena's arms and he pulled her roughly to her feet.

  How could she alter so quickly, Gyles wondered? The evening had been hers; she had beaten him in their unspoken war. There was not a man present who did not adore her, nor a woman who did not envy Serena her grace and beauty. Gyles stared down at his wife, not daring now to release her for fear she would collapse. She was trembling violently, the tremors passing through her body and up his arms. Gyles caught sight of Richard watching them and a violent wave of anger flooded him. So that was what had reduced Serena to tears! He was tired of Serena's former suitor constantly reminding his wife of what might have been.

  "We are retiring, my lady," Gyles said sarcastically. "And if you make a scene, I^will drag you from the hall! Do you understand?"

  "Please," Serena begged, the tears flowing freely now. "Let me go. Allow me to find my own peace."

  "With Richard? Nay, Serena, not now or ever shall I let you go. You are like a wild mare, you need only to be properly broken."

  Serena's temper flared at his words. "You are not the man to do that, m'lord. Better have tried."

  "But not in my fashion," Gyles said silkily, and guided her up the steps.

  The band of pain diminished, the tears slowly halted as Serena's self-control returned. By the time they entered her chamber, she was in command of herself and sh
e eyed Gyles warily.

  "What is it you wish, m'lord? Your husbandly rights?" Serena sneered. "Shall I strip for you or would you prefer to tear the gown from my back?" Gyles's scar showed starkly white against his face. Serena knew her attack was effective and she pressed it home. "Pray tell me how I may pleasure you, m'lord. Shall I rub the weariness from your body? A warm bath perhaps? Wine? No, I can see none of those appeal to you. Then what?" Serena dropped gracefully to her knees. "I am yours to command. Give me an order and I shall obey."

  Gyles's features hardened. "How did you pass the day?" He began to wander aimlessly about the room.

  "I slept. Alan came to my room and I played with him. I worked on a piece of tapestry." Serena wearied of her game and rose from her knees to seat herself more comfortably on a chair. "Why do you care?"

  Gyles ignored the question. "You allowed another to carry your standard and colors. I will not allow you to do so again."

  Serena removed her snood and began to uncoil her hair. "Why should Sir Godwin not bear my colors? Are you volunteering to do so? You bear your own so proudly. I cannot believe you would prefer to wear my colors."

  "You are my wife, and I will allow no other man to accept such an honor from you." Gyles paused beside the chests that lined one wall. "Bryan tells me you have a set of armor and a coat of mail, I want to see them."