The Baron's Bride. Joanna Makepeace

you having trouble with your villeins?”

      “No, just with my neighbours, it seems.”

      De Tourel’s merry brown eyes met the darker ones of his friend and they both laughed.

      “Do you anticipate trouble with her father?”

      “I sincerely hope not, since I intend to further my acquaintance with the lady more closely.”

      “Ah, then she is pretty?”

      De Treville raised one eyebrow as he considered. “Truth to tell, I am not sure, she was so hooded and muffled in her mantle. I could see by the way she carried herself that her figure is pleasing and she is fair. I saw just a glimpse of tawny hair and—” he laughed joyously “—what counts most with me is that she has spirit enough to match that of two good men. By the saints, Rainald, I was greatly taken with the wench.”

      De Tourel looked thoughtfully round the sparsely furnished and appointed hall, noting its lack of tapestries and hangings to keep out the draughts and only the most elementary luxuries.

      “You know, Alain, it is more than time you considered taking a wife. This place needs an efficient chatelaine to oversee the work and enhance its comforts. Allestone is a fine castle and you are fortunate to have it within the King’s gift, but it could be considerably more comfortable.

      “Incidentally, I am on no particular business, as you asked when you first came in. I am on my way to join the royal army. It’s likely Stephen will lay siege to Wallingford soon and will need my support. The last time I was at Court he asked after you and, strangely enough, expressed a hope that you would soon marry and get an heir.”

      He gave a little regretful sigh. “He sorely misses the late Queen, you know. That was a love match indeed and he thinks we should all be so blessed. Her death was a terrible blow to him.”

      Alain nodded thoughtfully as he sipped his watered wine and experimentally moved his sore arm. “She was a fine woman and as good a commander as her lord. I do not know what he would have done without her on many occasions. Think what pains she took to have him released when the Empress held him prisoner.”

      “So, this little demoiselle is unwed?”

      “Yes, so I hear.”

      “Not betrothed?”

      “I have heard nothing about that.” Alain laughed again. “Do not take my telling of this encounter too seriously, my friend. I have talked with the demoiselle but once, but I confess my curiosity to see her at close quarters is piqued. She has Saxon blood, as do many of the knights and squires in the shire. If I took one of their women to wife, it might be pleasing to the community and be more likely to achieve their willing co-operation in the defence of the district.

      “I think one or two look on me as an interloper, especially since I was born in Normandy. She is young and appeared healthy; she could give me sturdy children, I think. I have no great need for her to possess a large dower, though that, too, would prove beneficial. You might be right. The time has come for me to settle down and marriage could be the first step in establishing myself in the shire.”

      “So you will visit her father?”

      Again Alain de Treville’s eyebrow was raised comically. “Nothing so definite. She, I am sure, will come to me.”

      “How?”

      “Well, I hold her young protégé in my dungeon, don’t I? His fate is very much in my hands. Unless I am very much mistaken, she will attend my manor court when the boy is arraigned.”

      De Tourel’s expression became more grave. “You cannot afford to lose face, my friend, even to please the lady. You must treat this attack upon your person with the gravity it deserves. The boy must be severely punished.”

      De Treville’s dark brown eyes met his squarely. “I am well aware of that, Rainald. My hold on this castle and the desmesne must be absolute, and my villeins and serfs made to be aware that I will brook no trace of indiscipline. The question is—how do I accomplish this without further antagonising my neighbour and avoid once more coming into open conflict with his daughter?”

      Chapter Two

      Gisela shivered as she, her father and Aldith passed under the grim gatehouse arch of Allestone Castle. Here, somewhere in one of the guardrooms, Sigurd had been confined or, possibly, he had been moved to an even less salubrious dungeon below the castle keep. As they cantered into the inner bailey, grooms hastened forward to take their bridle reins and one helped Aldith down, for she had been riding pillion behind Sir Walter.

      Another attentive straw-haired young man, more stylishly dressed, with a round, boyish face hurried to lift up two arms offering to assist Gisela down. She allowed him to help her and waited until her father joined them and their horses were led away to the stables. Aldith stared bleakly at the tall keep before them and then at the ground.

      Sir Walter identified himself and his daughter and servant and explained the reason for their arrival.

      “I understand, the boy, Sigurd, is to be brought before your lord today and, since Aldith, here, is his mother and naturally very concerned for him, we hope your lord will not be offended by our presence at the manor court. My daughter, the Demoiselle Gisela, was present on the unfortunate occasion of the attack and is anxious to hear his fate.”

      The young man bowed. “I am Huon, Lord Alain’s squire. Allow me to escort you into the hall. I know he will wish me to afford you every courtesy. I will see to it that chairs or stools are provided for you.”

      Gisela thought he looked very young for a squire; indeed his polished manners and boyish intensity suggested he had only recently completed service at some other household as a page. He led them up the steps to the entrance of the castle keep and stood back politely for them to precede him into the great hall.

      Aldith padded silently in the rear, looking neither to right nor to left. Gisela cast her a worried glance. She felt Aldith had little or no hope for her son’s survival. After that first day when she had arrived at Brinkhurst and wept hopelessly, they had had hardly one word from her since. She had attended Gisela efficiently as she had formerly when she had been her nurse and, privately, Gisela, who had missed her sorely, was pleased to have her back at Brinkhurst.

      As she was escorted to the front of the little knot of villeins and serfs gathered for the manor court to stools brought hastily for their use by servants summoned to attend them, Gisela reached out and placed a comforting arm round Aldith’s shoulders as she seated herself. Sir Walter gently but firmly pressed the woman into a stool by Gisela’s side while he took another brought for him. Gisela took Aldith’s hand and her maid sat listlessly not even gazing round the great hall.

      Gisela, for her part, stared round curiously. The hall was circular with a small gallery at one end. There was a central hearth and a lantern trap above it for smoke to escape, but it appeared it was rarely used these days for another, more ornate, hearth had been constructed beneath the gallery near the dais where, presumably, the Baron sat at meat, at the far end.

      She gazed up at the huge smoke-blackened roof timbers and round at the solid stone walls. The place had certainly been built primarily for defence only, for there seemed no vestige of comfort to be had here. One arras near the dais looked dirty and torn and would do nothing to keep out draughts, nor did it do anything to soften the uncompromising grimness of the hall’s general appearance.

      True, the rushes underfoot had been freshly strewn and the place was swept scrupulously clean. She tightened her lips as she thought how this new lord kept discipline within his desmesne. If his servants feared him, and he was certainly well and efficiently attended, it did not augur well for Sigurd’s chances of mercy.

      There was a little stir behind the dais and the group of villagers, awkward and undoubtedly worried about their own summonses to attend this court, stopped whispering together and looked expectantly for their lord to enter. A door beneath