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“No, no,” she said hastily. “I was waiting for Aldith. She’s—she’s with Sigurd.”
“Yes.”
“It was good of you to allow her to see him.”
“I promised I would.”
“Not all men keep their promises,” she responded.
He smiled. “Forgive me, demoiselle, but I would have thought your extreme youth would have prevented you from finding out that sad truth so soon.”
“I am almost seventeen.”
She bridled as she saw his long lips curve into a smile again and added hurriedly, “It is just that I have heard Aldith and the serving wenches say that…”
She broke off in confusion, then her eyes caught sight of the bandaging on his left arm and widened. “Oh, my lord, I hope you did not hurt your arm again in helping me.”
“No, but had I done so it would have been damaged in a worthy cause.”
“You are making fun of me,” she said reproachfully. “I regret that I have not yet asked you how serious it was. I would not have believed that the knife could have pierced through the rings of your mail.”
He grimaced. “A sharp blade can pierce through anything if wielded with sufficient force, as can the iron tip of a good arrow. No, it is but a long scratch. The blade grated on the bone of the forearm and was deflected. It is sore and needs to be kept covered to keep clean, but it pains me little now.”
Her expression had become sweetly grave. “I must thank you, my lord, for listening to our pleas and granting Sigurd his life. I know he was in grave peril. Many lords would not have shown such mercy.”
He shrugged in that Gallic way she had noticed before.
“Do not trouble yourself unduly about the boy. He will do well enough. He will resent the loss of his status. Freemen guard their rights with pride, but a hard winter can cause many of them to starve, while serfs fill their bellies at their lords’ expense.”
“Not always. Compassionate lords will deal with their serfs responsibly but some are neglectful and some are worse—they treat them less kindly than they would their horses.”
“Demoiselle Gisela, if you know how costly a good courser is to buy and maintain, you would understand the possible reason for that,” he said, smiling again.
She turned away, her cheeks burning, as she resented his teasing once more.
“Sigurd can be—difficult,” she said stiffly. “As you have said, he will resent his loss of freedom.”
He shrugged again. “We shall manage him, never fear. He lacks a father, I understand, and has needed a firm hand for some time. Your former nurse must have worried about him constantly.”
“Will he be beaten?”
“If he proves—difficult, as you put it. A sore back will teach him obedience and will do him no permanent harm, as it has done no harm to Huon, nor did to me when I was undergoing my training as page and squire.”
She looked at him thoughtfully, trying to imagine this tall, authoritative man as recalcitrant page and squire and finding it hard.
“Shall we go back into the hall? Your father will be concerned about you. Huon will wait for your nurse and escort her back to you.”
He held out a lean brown hand and she reluctantly placed her fingers within his grasp and allowed him to lead her back towards the keep steps.
Sir Walter was palpably relieved to have his daughter return to the hall and smiled his pleasure. A panting Aldith, breathing hard as if she had been running, hurried through the screen doors and made for her mistress. There were visible marks of tear stains on her roughened cheeks and she curtsied dutifully to the Baron to show her gratitude.
Gisela seized her by the hand and dragged her to the far end of the table to question her about her interview with Sigurd. De Treville followed her progress regretfully and signalled to Huon, who had entered with Aldith, to carry the wine jug, sweetmeats and goblets to the two women.
He took a long pull at his own wine cup and then looked steadily at his guest.
“You have a very beautiful and spirited daughter, Sir Walter.”
“Aye.” Sir Walter followed his gaze fondly. “Too spirited for her own good sometimes. She can be headstrong. I put that down to a lack of a mother. My beloved Hildegarde died soon after her birth and Gisela is as lovely as she was.” He sighed a trifle lugubriously. “I fear I spoil her outrageously.”
“I imagine you will be looking soon for a suitable husband and protector for her. In these difficult times that can be a worrying business.”
Sir Walter shook his head. “The truth is, my lord, I cannot face the prospect of life at Brinkhurst without her.”
“I can understand that.” De Treville sat thoughtfully silent for a moment, then he leaned forward in his seat slightly towards his guest. “Demoiselle Gisela has Saxon blood, I understand.”
“Her great-grandmother was Saxon. Her husband was killed at Senlac and she married a Norman knight. My wife, Hildegarde, also had Saxon blood.” His lips twitched. “Many men in the shire are proud of their Saxon inheritance, my lord.”
“Of course. I am equally proud to know my Norman ancestors came from Viking stock.” De Treville twirled the wine round in his goblet, watching the firelight behind them glimmer in its red depths.
“You will see, Sir Walter—” he looked up and gestured towards the stark bare stone walls of the hall “—that my castle lacks a chatelaine.” He gave a short laugh. “My friend Rainald de Tourel, who visited some days ago and has now left to return to the King’s court, took me to task over this matter and brought a message from the King himself that I should be thinking soon of taking a wife.
“I am twenty-six years old and my hectic life on campaign at the King’s side left me little time to consider that possibility, nor had I sufficient means to do so. Now that I have obtained the castle and desmesne of Allestone, my bachelor state begins to gall me.”
He saw his guest’s body become rigid in his chair and his eyes wary. De Treville looked pointedly at Gisela, who was talking excitedly to Aldith. Her lovely eyes were flashing and she moved her hands expressively as she was obviously engaged in attempting to comfort her maid for the loss of Sigurd’s company.
“Your daughter tells me she is nearly seventeen, Sir Walter, an age when she is ripe for the marriage bed. In our short acquaintance, I have come to have a healthy regard for her unequivocal honesty. She is not only beautiful but brave, and kind to both people and animals. I find both qualities admirable. I take it there is no prior arrangement for her betrothal or you would have mentioned it. I could keep her safe at Allestone. I ask you now, formally, for the honour of her hand in marriage.”
Sir Walter blinked rapidly and, in order to give himself time to think, he helped himself to more wine and drained his cup.
He said deliberately, “I have said Gisela can be headstrong, my lord. Naturally I believe she has every quality finest in womanhood—she is my beloved daughter—but I have to face the fact that she could prove—difficult.”
De Treville laughed. “That is the way she described Sigurd to me, just now. I assured her I would manage the lad.”
Sir Walter’s eyebrows flew upwards and de Treville shook his head very gently.
“Have no fears, Sir Walter, it is not my way to be cruel to women nor unduly so with my servants. I would deal well with the Demoiselle Gisela and I believe she would make me an excellent wife. Her Saxon blood and standing in the shire makes her eminently suitable. With her at my side, I am confident I could achieve the ready co-operation of my neighbours that, perhaps, my Norman heritage may render open to reserve.
“I am the third son of Sir Gilles de Treville. Our manor is close to Caen. I came to serve in the Earl of Leicester’s household as squire when I was but fourteen and have lived in England serving the King since then.”
His dark eyes brightened somewhat. “I have no mistress established here at Allestone and, since my mother is some distance away, there would be no other woman here to challenge the Demoiselle’s rule. My seneschal’s wife, the Lady Rohese, is a very gentle lady and would prove helpful and friendly. She would be delighted to have the company of another female within the bower.
“Gisela would have a totally free hand, which I believe would be important to her. I recognise in her a nature as formidable as that of the Empress Matilda, and I have, on occasion, met that lady.” His dark eyes twinkled and Sir Walter could not hold back an answering smile.
“On the matter of dower…”
“I am sure we could come to some sensible arrangement, Sir Walter. My needs are not great on that score.”
Walter of Brinkhurst gave a little sigh. “My lord, will you allow me time to consider?”
“Of course. Naturally you will wish to speak with the Demoiselle Gisela.” He put one hand gently upon the older man’s arm. “I know you are reluctant to give her in marriage, but Allestone is very close. You will see her often and—in these hard times, you will need a man who can hold her safe. Think well on what I have said and send me word soon.”
Sir Walter said doubtfully, “Though Gisela lacks a mother, Aldith taught her well all the housewifely skills but,” he hesitated, “she is so very young…”
“Not so young that she will not learn quickly.”
“No.”
He turned in his chair as Gisela also turned and caught his eye. Both she and Aldith were looking happier but, as if she read in his expression the gravity of the matter in discussion, her vivid blue eyes clouded over somewhat and one fair brow arched upwards as if in interrogation.
He said heavily, “If you will excuse us, my lord, we should be riding back to Brinkhurst. I promise I will think very hard on what you have said.”
“I know you will.” De Treville rose and held out his hand to the other, who grasped it.
“Thank you again for your forbearance in the matter of the boy.”
De Treville bowed his head.
Gisela came hesitantly to her father’s side and curtsied as he took his leave of his host.
As they rode home together she was aware of his absorption in his own thoughts. She ceased her chatter about Allestone and rode silently beside him.
Over supper he seemed just as quiet and, at last, she ventured to challenge him.
“Father, what is it? I saw you were talking intently to the Baron. Had he some information about the course of the war which has troubled you or are you still worried about Sigurd?”
“No, Sigurd will be safe enough at Allestone. Sooner or later the lad would have come to grief without discipline and I had no real authority over him.” Sir Walter tackled a chicken leg bone with unusual ferocity and Gisela watched him doubtfully.
“Then did he take you to task over my behaviour? I know you think I was unwise to challenge him there in open court.”
He put down the leg and looked at her deliberately. “On the contrary. He appears to have admired your spirit in outfacing him. He asked for your hand in marriage.”
Colour drained from her face and she sat unmoving, her eyes growing larger and larger before his gaze. He waited for her to speak but she continued to sit rigidly still. Then, at last, she said very quietly, “And what did you say to him?”
“I told him I needed time to consider.”
She drew in her breath in a little hiss.
“But you cannot be thinking of saying yes!”
Again he regarded her directly. “Why not? It is a fair match. You would be mistress of Allestone. Many maidens in the shire would give their eyeteeth for such a future.”
“I am not one of them,” she said, again speaking so calmly and softly that he leaned towards her to both hear and catch her expression. Still she appeared deadly pale.
He said almost jovially, but in a tone patently false, “You have never considered such an honour I know, but…”
“Honour?” The single word was suddenly shrill with outrage. “You cannot believe I would welcome such a match?”
He turned from her, embarrassed, and once more gave his attention to his food.
“Child, I cannot afford to simply dismiss this offer. All fathers have a duty to provide for their daughters fittingly and I cannot deny that your welfare and protection would be assured at Allestone.”
She shivered as she had done when they had ridden below the gatehouse arch this morning. “The place is a prison. I cannot face the prospect of being immured behind those defensive walls.”
“That is just it, Gisela. They are defensive. I have to consider, first and foremost, your safety. You heard Kenrick talk the other day of the attack on that manor near Oakham. It seems the shire reeve is powerless to curb that man’s excesses. Baron Alain de Treville has both the ability to do so and the King’s warrant.”
“Father, are you afraid of the Baron de Treville?”
He met her unflinching gaze steadily. “I would not wish to offend him.”
“So I am to be sacrificed so that you can keep the favour of this King’s man?”
“That could be the size of it, daughter,” Sir Walter admitted. “What have you against him? He is young and personable. He did not appear to me to be excessively harsh. You could do worse.”
“I could do better. What of Kenrick, whom I have known and loved since childhood?”
He was visibly flustered. “Kenrick of Arcote has spoken to you of love?”
“No, he has not,” she replied quietly. “That would have been dishonourable without asking your permission to court me first and Kenrick would not behave so.”
“Kenrick is a fine, upstanding young man, Gisela, but he is not for you.” The statement was made bluntly and she winced at the finality of his tone.
“What if I were to say I loved Kenrick?”
“Frankly I would not believe you. You know nothing as yet of love. Your mother did not love me when we met, nor I her, but we grew to love one another. My father chose her for me and I obeyed him as was right and proper. I have spoiled you, Gisela, for you to so defy my wishes in this.”
“Why do you object to Kenrick?”
He turned to bluster, not finding it easy to put into words his doubts about such a mating.
“He is simply not the man for you. He is kind and honourable, I am the first to admit that, but he is weak-willed, easily swayed, too much under the influence of that mother of his. I do not believe you would be happy or fulfilled in such a marriage.”
“But you think I would be, wed to this man you hardly know.”
“I believe I have the measure of Alain de Treville.”
“And,” she said bitterly, “the fact that he is a powerful baron and in the King’s favour does not weigh with you in the slightest. Will you not have to beggar yourself to provide a suitable dower for me? That is usual in such alliances, isn’t it?”
“We did not discuss a possible marriage contract.”
“I will not do it,” she protested stubbornly.
“Gisela, do not be foolish. I have seldom opposed your wishes. In that I was, perhaps, unwise, but this is a serious business. I will not be defied. I have not yet made up my mind but I tell you plainly, every instinct impels me to accept this proposal. I shall inform you of my final decision tomorrow. You can retire to your chamber if you have finished your meal.”
He was dismissing her as if she were an unruly page or servant. She was trembling with distress and fury. Never had he showed his anger so plainly. She could find no words to answer him so she stood and curtsied formally, an action rare with her to this man she knew only as a loving and generous father, then she walked in dignified fashion from the hall.
She felt her limbs still trembling as she climbed the stair to her chamber where she found Aldith sorting gowns in her clothing chest. Aldith had fallen easily into work as her personal attendant from the moment she had come to Brinkhurst on the afternoon of Sigurd’s arrest. Now she slept on a truckle bed within her mistress’s chamber and to Gisela, it seemed her beloved nurse had returned to her as if she had never left to live with Rolf and Sigurd in the little cottage in the assart.
Aldith saw at once that something was terribly wrong. She did not make the mistake of enquiring, knowing that if the matter concerned Sigurd she would have been informed at once and sensing Gisela was not yet ready to tell her what was distressing her so badly.
