The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 139
“You will let me worry about that,” he said quietly. “You need not be troubled, my lady. I will always protect your father. And you. And your sisters, of course.”
He said the last few words quickly, as if realizing what he’d said sounded a bit too personal. Even so, there was something in his voice when he spoke to her, something soft that Belladonna didn’t hear when he spoke to anyone else. Only her. It was enough to give her giddy heart hope that, perhaps, the softness in his tone indicated his feelings towards her. But she knew that was too much to ask.
“You used to call me Bella,” she said after a moment. “Why is it that you have become so formal with me, Dash? I can remember all through my younger years, you would call me Bella. I can even remember you calling me ‘lamb’ from time to time. What has happened that you no longer address me so? Have I done something to anger you?”
Something flickered in his eyes, something liquid and warm that was just as quickly gone. “Of course not,” he scoffed quietly. “You could never anger me.”
“Then why…”
“Because you are a maiden of marriageable age now, and it is not right that I should address you informally,” he said, interrupting her. “You are an adult, as am I. As an unmarried man, it is greatly frowned upon that I should have any familiarity when addressing you. Some might even view it as bold and lewd. Therefore, I will not risk that with you. I have been addressing you formally for the past year or two, at the very least.”
“I know.”
“And you are only just asking me this now?”
Belladonna suddenly felt very embarrassed. It was almost as if he were scolding her, explaining to her that, clearly, he had no intention of ever being informal with her again. She had seen twenty years and two now, and was quite old for an unmarried woman. Dashiell would never do anything unseemly towards her, the honorable man that he was.
But, sometimes, she wished he would be bold and lewd. God, she wished it with all her heart.
“Then you will forgive me for asking,” she said, feeling her cheeks flame as she turned away. “I would not wish for you to do anything improper or against your wishes. You will excuse me, my lord. I must tend to my father.”
She rushed off before Dashiell could stop her. His heart sank as he heard anger in her words, anger directed at him. He hadn’t meant to offend her, but it was the truth. He didn’t want to be viewed as taking liberties with an unmarried daughter of a duke, no matter how much he wanted to.
And he wanted very badly to.
With a heavy heart, Dashiell watched her approach her father and take him gently by the arm, directing him into the keep where she would help tend to his every need. She was a good daughter that way. Dashiell only wished she understood that what he did, he did to protect her and her reputation. Given the choice, he would not only be informal with the woman, but he might even tell her how he felt about her.
Dashiell came to a halt just before entering the keep, watching the rest of the family and a few servants go inside. He didn’t go with them because he had an army to disband. So with the duke safely indoors, Dashiell headed back into the bailey where men were already underway in moving the provisions wagons back to the stables and the army over to the troop house. As he moved into the dust and noise of the dissolving army, that was when the gruff, no-nonsense knight came out.
“What are you doing?” he boomed to one of the wagon drivers, who drove his horses right into the back of another wagon. “You slop-eyed fool! Pull back on those beasts and let the other wagon pass!”
Dashiell du Reims commanded presence and the insults that went with it were legendary. He’d been known to insult his army into hysterics at times, but the men moved more swiftly because of it. Long ago, they’d learned that du Reims only insulted as a way of motivation. If he insulted you, then he liked you. Woe betide the man he did not insult, for that was a man quickly on his way out of Savernake’s army.
Therefore, the insults were normal in their world and it made the men want to work harder and faster when he did so. It was the odd way Dashiell du Reims had earned the respect of his men, at least for the most part, but he’d mostly earned it for his skill and strength. He was a giant among the powerful knights of England.
But that powerful knight had one weakness, and she was currently tending her father inside the keep of Ramsbury. Dashiell tried not to think about Belladonna’s unhappy face as he went about his tasks, hoping that her anger against him would cool by the time the evening meal came. And then, he might – but only might – try to explain to her that he didn’t address her formally not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Perhaps, she would understand.
Perhaps not.
God’s Blood, it was dangerous for him to try and explain his position on anything personal when it came to Belladonna. But having not seen her in two months, the last thing he wanted was for her to be angry at him his first night returned. But more and more, he was coming to realize something – the more time passed, and the more his feelings deepened, the more difficult it would be for him to refrain from telling her.
And that would be a disaster for all concerned.
Dashiell remembered Christopher’s offer for him to serve at Lioncross Abbey with the de Lohr army. It had been an offer Christopher had given him many times but, at this moment, it was the first time he’d actually considered it.
Truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure how much longer he could remain with Belladonna and not tell her what he was feeling. Christopher had asked him how he would feel if the woman married another man – it would be the worst day of his life.
Unfortunately, it was a very real possibility unless he did something about it.
CHAPTER TWO
“Drink this, Papa.” Belladonna held the pewter cup for her father as he slurped. “That’s right, drink all of it. It will help you sleep.”
Edward pulled the cup away, licking his lips. He was seated on a lavishly carved chair in the middle of his equally lavish bower, as his servants dressed him after his bath and his daughters fussed over him.
As always, Belladonna took the lead with her father. When he was home, she supervised his waking hours, giving orders to the small army of servants who tended him, including the two minders that Dashiell had assigned to him. Belladonna had a kind manner about her, but a firm one, and the servants respected her a great deal.
Even as Belladonna looked after her father, it was Lily who had taken over duties of chatelaine for the duke’s castle when her mother had died. She, too, was very skilled in her household duties. So between Belladonna seeing to the comfort of the duke and Lily seeing to the details of the castle, Ramsbury was run quite efficiently.
Acacia, the middle sister, also had her function in the house and hold, although she tended to be an elitist when it came to any work. It was an attitude that would not serve her well with her intention of joining the cloister. Belladonna had tried to tell her that, as had the priest from the cathedral in Marlborough, but Acacia wasn’t one to listen. She seemed to think that the nuns of Amesbury Abbey, her chosen destination, would simply let her do as she pleased given the fact that the Duke of Savernake was a patron and also because Acacia’s sizable dowry would be donated to the abbey upon her commitment.
All Acacia wanted to do was read her bible, or sew the lace she was so fond of, or walk in the garden. She really had no ambition more than that. Compared to Lily’s quiet beauty and Belladonna’s magnificence, Acacia was tall and slender, with bright red hair and a plain face, and Belladonna had always suspected that the woman simply felt unmarriageable and embarrassed against her two sisters. Men would always look at Lily and Belladonna, but never Acacia. Much like her namesake, a bitter and thorny tree, Acacia was, indeed, bitter and, at times, thorny.
Even now, as Belladonna coaxed her father into drinking a sleeping potion and Lily made sure the servants freshened his bed, Acacia made no move to help other than to sit in front of him with her bible in her hand, slowly reading the passages from the book of Esther.
Acacia had been educated, as her sisters had been, but she wasn’t a very good reader. Her slow, monotone voice filled the air as everyone else around her was moving with a purpose.
“… and all the king’s servants who were at the king’s gate bowed down and did obeisance to Haman; for the king had so commanded concerning him,” she read. “But Mordecai did not bow down or do obeisance. Then the king’s servants who were at the king’s gate said to Mordecai, ‘Why do you disobey the king’s command’?”
Before she could continue, Edward leaned forward and patted the beautifully drawn pages of her expensive bible. “Read to me of the modesty of women, my child,” he said. “Why is your head not covered?”
Acacia looked up from her reading. “It shall be, soon enough,” she said. “Remember, Papa? I am going to Amesbury next month. I will take my vows soon.”
He simply looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “I must speak to your husband,” he said firmly. “He should not permit you to display yourself so. It is against God’s wishes, my child.”
Acacia sighed heavily. “I have no husband, Papa. I am due to join the cloister next month.”
Edward simply wagged a finger at her in a disapproving manner and sat back in his chair, yawning because of the sleeping potion he’d been given. The man couldn’t even join the feasts in the great hall any longer because he completely disrupted them with his rages or his blessings, which physics had told the family were symptoms of his madness. It was far easier to feed him in his chamber and put him to sleep for the night, watched over by his minders.
As the duke was showing his disapproval to his middle daughter, Belladonna was making sure his tonic was measured out in case he awoke in the middle of the night. His sleep was sporadic, at best, and the physics had prescribed a poppy powder mixed in wine to create a tonic that would see him sleep soundly, at least for a while.
But even as Belladonna mixed, she was listening to her father and his clear disapproval of Acacia, who lacked self-confidence enough that she didn’t need her senile father kicking her down further. Acacia was patiently trying to remind their father that she was cloister-bound, but Edward didn’t seem to think a woman who was not modest was good cloister material. As Belladonna listened to them argue, Lily came up beside her.
“Are you finished with his sleeping draught?” she asked.
Belladonna nodded, stirring it well as she took a glance around the room. “All of these people must leave,” she said. “Why so many servants? They only agitate him, Lily.”
Lily was already nodding. “I know, but they brought his baggage up from the wagons,” she said. Then, she turned from her sister and clapped her hands sharply to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone must leave immediately. The duke must rest and he cannot do it with an audience. Go, now.”
Servants and soldiers alike began moving for the chamber door, a great arched doorway with an intricately carved corbel. The panel itself was made from cedar wood, brought all the way from Rome, and it was quite beautiful.
Drusus held the door open for the soldiers and servants to leave, clearing the chamber in short order as Lily and Belladonna followed behind them, making sure everyone was pushed out and their father had some peace. But just as the last person wandered out, Clayton wandered in.
Then, it was as if someone had dropped a curtain; the room instantly went dark and moody. Catching a glimpse of Clayton was all it took for the women to demur, turning away from a man who was genuinely hated and feared throughout Ramsbury. Belladonna saw the man as he entered, turning to Lily to see how her sister was reacting to the presence of her hated husband. To Lily’s credit, she maintained a stony expression, one she always maintained when looking at the man who had ruined her life.
Lily didn’t speak to him, however. She simply turned back to her duties, busying herself over by the bed as Belladonna remained next to their father, trying to coax the man into rising. But Clayton had other ideas. He went up to the old duke, still sitting in his chair, and braced both hands on the arms of the chair, preventing Edward from rising. Belladonna stiffened as Clayton smiled his gap-toothed smile.
“It was a great victory, my lord,” he said rather loudly. “Your presence, as always, inspired the men.”
Edward’s memory of Clayton had left him long ago. As he looked at the man, he truly didn’t know who he was. He simply lifted his hand to bless him.
“Go with God, my son,” he said.
Clayton stared at him a moment before chuckling, as one does when ridiculing the less fortunate. Then, he stood straight as Belladonna practically pushed him out of the way in order to help her father stand up from the chair. Clayton’s gaze was on his wife’s luscious younger sister.
“Take good care of the duke, Bella,” he said in an utterly insincere tone. “We must take very good care of the man. He is a great inspiration to the troops and we want him well rested for when we depart again.”
Belladonna didn’t rise to his sickly comment, but Lily did. “Oh?” she said. “You will be leaving again, soon?”
Clayton turned to her, his blue eyes glittering with what could be construed as contempt. He didn’t really hate the woman, but he had no use for her. She meant nothing to him. Reaching out, he pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Do not sound so hopeful, my sweet,” he said. “You and I will have plenty of time to become reacquainted.”
That wasn’t what Lily wanted to hear and she had to make a conscious effort not to appear repulsed. “It was simply a question, Husband,” she said as she turned back to the bed where Belladonna was helping her father climb in. “Whether you go to war or remain at Ramsbury, it is all the same to me. I care not either way.”
Clayton cocked an eyebrow at her disrespectful comment, but he didn’t explode at her; he rarely did. Instead, he took a dig at her, which was his way. He liked to beat her down with sly insults.
“Nor I,” he said. “I do not want your love or your kindness, my pet. I’ve never asked for either. I already have the most valuable thing you have to offer, which is the marriage. That is all you are worth.”
With that, he turned away, but not before he passed a glance at Acacia, who had been listening to the exchange. When she saw that Clayton’s focus was on her, she quickly lowered her head and went back to her bible. She pretended to be focused on it as he quit the chamber. Much like her sisters, she didn’t like confrontation with the man any more than they did, so it was best to keep a low profile when he was around. At least, that’s what she did in public.
But what she did in private was another thing entirely.
The feast to welcome home the duke’s returning army was always a grand occasion and tonight was no exception.
Since they’d received word of the army’s impending arrival the day before, Lily had been able to make preparations for the meal. Fowl had been slaughtered and stewed, baked into pies, and fish from the pond in the kitchen yard had been caught and roasted over an open flame. An entire cow, which had been slaughtered weeks before and the sides aging in the cold vault, had been brought forth and prepared in a variety of ways but, mostly, it was simply roasted over the large spit in the kitchen yard, hand-turned by an old servant.
Therefore, the smells of roasting meat wafted upon the still evening air, strong enough to singe nose hairs. Dashiell had been smelling it for the past two hours and he had to admit that he was ready to eat. The first night back from a battle campaign, strangely enough, was always one of high energy and festivities. The men from the army would gather in the bailey and partake of the feast while, inside the cavernous hall, senior soldiers, knights, and the family would eat in shelter and warmth.
Men were happy on occasions such as this, happy to have survived another battle campaign, and eager to celebrate. As Dashiell walked from the knight’s quarters through the bailey, he was greeting with soldiers congratulating him on their victory against the king. Dash had an excellent relationship with his soldiers, which was why Clayton had been so ineffective in the power struggle.
As Dashiell walked through the muddy bailey, dotted with small fires as the men sat around the flames and ate and sang, he was stopped every few steps by his men. Some wanted simply to talk, while others gave him gifts and pieces of tribute, mostly stolen from dead enemy soldiers. Dash was given two lovely daggers, a coin purse, and a finely studded belt before one man gave him a magnificent broadsword that had come from Scarborough, taken from a Teutonic mercenary knight fighting for the king.
It was a truly expensive and beautiful piece, with a lion’s head hilt and rubies for the eyes. When Dashiell insisted the man keep it, the soldier relayed that it was a sword only a knight could use. When Dashiell finally made his way into the great hall of Ramsbury, he was loaded down with enough weapons to single-handedly take the castle.
“Dash!” a knight called to him, cup in hand and congenial, until he saw all of the weapons Dashiell was holding. Then, he came to a halt and pointed. “What’s this? Who did you rob?”
Dashiell fought off a grin. “It looks that way, does it not?” he said. “Every soldier in the bailey had some manner of gift for me. I am so weighted down that I will surely sink to the center of the earth at any moment.”
Sir Aston Summerlin laughed softly. A very big man with blond hair, dark eyes, and a brilliant smile, he had been under Dashiell’s command for four years. Aston and Bentley of Ashbourne constituted Dashiell’s senior knight command. There were three other lesser knights, very young men who mostly kept to themselves but were eager to obey, but Aston and Bentley were close to Dashiell, and he relied on them heavily.
“Let us find you and your weapons a drink, man,” Aston said, slapping Dashiell on the shoulder as they made their way into the warm, stale hall. “Of everyone in this chamber, you are the one who truly deserves the chance to relax. It has been a hard few months, with you assuming the burdens for all of us.”
