The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 152
“I am happy to help,” he said. “But I must say that I am none too pleased to be pulled into Clayton’s schemes. I thought this was a genuine offer of marriage.”
Dashiell sighed heavily. “It is Clayton’s way of undermining my relationship with Belladonna. He will do anything to weaken me, however he can. I support the current duke, as I am sworn to, and Clayton cannot stand the fact that I do. He believes that he should be in command.”
Sherston looked at him with disgust. “I did not know such a thing was happening at Ramsbury,” he said. “My father will be very unhappy to hear this.”
Dashiell held up a hand as if to ease the young lord’s growing frustration. “Tell your father if you must, but if I were you, I would not turn on Clayton,” he said. “Like him or not, he will be the duke someday and you do not wish him for an enemy.”
“I will become an enemy when I turn down his offer of marriage.”
“Nay, you will not. Simply tell him she is not to your liking.”
Sherston scratched his head in a hesitant gesture. “Is that possible? He said she was a beauty.”
Dashiell grinned. “It is not possible,” he said. “She is an angel. She is the most perfect woman in all of England. You are going to have to lie.”
Sherston stared at him a moment before breaking down into quiet laughter. “I am not sure I am that good of a liar,” he said. “But if the alternative is earning your hatred, I would rather earn Clayton’s.”
Dashiell patted him on the shoulder one last time before dropping his hand. “Do this and you shall have my undying gratitude,” he said. “You cannot imagine the hell that Clayton has put all at Ramsbury through over the past three years. I could tell you tales of his behavior, but I do not wish to spread gossip. So, suffice it to say it is worse than you can possibly imagine. Thank you for helping me keep the man at bay on this particular subject.”
Sherston rubbed his chin, eyeing Dashiell as he did so. “I will do this for you, but you will do something for me.”
“You only need name it.”
“Find me a bride as lovely and accomplished as your Lady Belladonna.”
Dashiell fought off a smile. “Have you met Lady Jillayne Chadlington yet?”
“I have not.”
“The last time I saw the girl, she was quite lovely,” he said. “As far as I know, she is not spoken for. Tonight, attend the great feast and find me. I will make the necessary introductions and I will ensure there is privacy so her focus will be on you entirely.”
Sherston was back to being hopeful again. “With pleasure, du Reims,” he said. “And you have my thanks.”
“And you have mine.”
With that, they separated, with Sherston heading back the way he’d come and Dashiell heading back to finish with the duke’s tent.
Damn Clayton! Dashiell thought as he stormed back to the encampment. The more he thought about Clayton’s attempt to undermine him, the angrier he became. He knew the man was underhanded, but this went beyond even what he thought Clayton was capable of. Thank God he ran into Lord Sherston when he did; had he not been the one to intercept the man, then the situation would have been very bad, indeed. Trying to marry Belladonna out from under him was a declaration of war as far as Dashiell was concerned.
He’d received the message loud and clear.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Everything was building up to a spectacular first night of the Chadlington celebration.
After delivering the birthday pup to Jillayne, Belladonna was only able to spend a few moments with the woman before she was pulled away by her mother and servants for a final fitting of her party dress. But she took the dog with her, so very happy for her gift. Belladonna’s last glimpse of tiny, blonde Jillayne was as she hugged the puppy and kissed it, even as she was pulled away.
Pleased that her friend loved the gift but saddened that she wasn’t able to spend a few moments with her, Belladonna had returned to the Savernake encampment with Aston. Once the man had delivered her to the camp, he left her to go about his duties and Belladonna returned to the carriage where her sisters and father were still sleeping. Lulled by the steady sounds of heavy breathing and occasional snoring, Belladonna lay down to rest and promptly fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was to someone knocking on the carriage door. Yawning, she opened it to find Dashiell standing there. He smiled at her and told her that their tents were ready for occupation, so she woke her family and they all staggered to their tents where braziers had been lit and beds had been made. Her father had his own tent, a massive one, while Acacia and Belladonna shared the tent next to it. Lily, unfortunately, was relegated to the tent she shared with Clayton.
They were warm, luxurious accommodations and Belladonna promptly climbed into the bed that the servants had made to try and get a little more sleep before the day truly commenced but, unfortunately, it was impossible because of the noise going on around them.
While some of the soldiers were trying to catch a bit of sleep after the long night, still others were awake, establishing a perimeter around the camp, shouting orders back and forth. The long morning turned into a short afternoon because Belladonna could no longer take the shouting and the commotion. Moreover, she was very excited for the festivities that evening, and sleep simply wouldn’t come. Therefore, she rose while Acacia slept like the dead, and began the process of primping for the feast that evening.
Although the three sisters had a veritable fleet of maids, Belladonna preferred to do much of her personal grooming on her own. Unpacking one of her trunks, the one that contained the tunics for Dashiell, she had a servant run the tunics over to him while she pulled forth the garment she intended to wear – a beautiful mustard-yellow damask with silk accents, and a matching shift.
Donning layers of garments did require help. As the sun began to wane in the west, the maids helped her secure the elaborate dress as Acacia finally awoke and decided she should probably dress, too.
As Acacia stumbled about, bemoaning the fact that her dresses weren’t nearly as beautiful as her sister’s, Belladonna went about styling her hair. She liked to play with hairstyles and she was very good at it. In fact, she had a styling tool that she’d purchased from a merchant who said it had come all the way from Rome, a tube of bronze with a long handle, wooden at the end. When the bronze tube was placed in hot coals for a minute, removed and slightly cooled, wrapping hair around it would curl the hair beautifully.
The bronze curling rod was kept in a satchel along with combs and other hair implements. Belladonna heated the rod in the coals of the brazier and patiently curled her entire head of hair into a cascade of spiral curls. The maids helped a little, but she was determined to do the job herself. With the front of her hair pulled back and bejeweled butterfly combs keeping it neatly pulled back, her hair was positively glorious.
All throughout the encampment now, dusk was falling and the sounds of the night were filling the air along with the smoke from the cooking fires. The herald from Chadlington Castle was walking through the encampment, announcing the feast and inviting guests up to the castle.
As Belladonna finished with her hair, she could hear the man wandering through the camp. Her belly began to twitch with excitement as she thought of Dashiell escorting her to the feast. It would be their first official event together.
Still, she could hardly believe any of this was real. She’d spent so many years pining for the man. Now that her dreams were a reality, she still felt as if it were surreal. Very shortly, Dashiell would show up outside of her tent and he would be dressed in a tunic she made for him herself. Never had a garment been so lovingly sewn. It was enough to send her into giddy fits.
Truly, she never thought she could be so happy.
Outside the tent, she could still hear the herald, so she rushed to the heavy case that held the jewelry. Belladonna’s mother had quite a collection, inherited from generations of her family, and all of that jewelry was passed down to her daughters. They wore it whenever they wished, always to pack it back up into the iron-fortified case that would then be put under guard.
As she lifted the top of the case, rubies and emeralds glittered in the weak light of the tent. Belladonna was looking for a particular necklace, one that was strung with fat pearls and a pendant on the end of it that was made of gold, pearl, and amber. It would be perfect with the dress and after some careful poking around, she found it in its satin pouch. Pulling it forth, she put the magnificent piece around her neck and stood back to look at herself in the polished bronze mirror.
With her curled hair and spectacular dress, Belladonna truly felt beautiful. One of the maids presented her with a small pot of beeswax, with a little ocher in it, that turned her lips a faint shade of red when she smoothed it on. It was such a decadent touch, but one that made all the difference in the world. The young woman gazing back at her in the mirror was someone confident and happy.
As Belladonna looked at herself, she was coming to think that she looked older somehow, but this was the woman she’d always dreamed she would become – one that was loved by the man she loved best in the world.
It showed on everything about her.
“Bella, help me,” Acacia said, breaking into her train of thought. “This dress is too plain for the feast tonight and I do not know what to do about it. What should I do with my hair?”
Belladonna’s happy feelings fled. She turned to her sister, the one she’d been avoiding since that horrible event she’d witnessed. Acacia didn’t seem to understand that Belladonna didn’t want to talk to her, but before Belladonna ignored her plea completely, she remembered what Dashiell had said about it – do not treat her any differently, for she will want to know why.
Perhaps that was true, but it was very difficult to look into Acacia’s face and not explode at her.
“Why are you asking me such a thing?” she said with bitterness in her tone that suggested she would not help. “All you have ever done is criticize me when I wear a pretty garment or dress my hair. You have told me that my vanity is a sin, and now you want my help?”
Acacia tried not to look too contrite or too defensive. “Then don’t help me,” she hissed, turning away. “I will do it myself.”
Belladonna knew she should probably feel bad about the situation, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She was too disgusted with her sister to be nice to her, even after what Dashiell had told her. As she watched Acacia paw through her mother’s jewels, she turned away and addressed one of the maids.
“Send word to Sir Dashiell,” she said. “Tell him that I am ready for him.”
The maid nodded and fled the tent. As Belladonna went to one of her capcases and pulled forth a finely spun shawl, white in color with an edging of gold thread, she heard Acacia speak.
“Why did you send for Dash?” she asked.
Belladonna didn’t look at her as she settled the shawl over her shoulders. Knowing what she knew about her sister and Clayton, she didn’t want to tell her anything that might make it back to the man. She knew she could trust Lily, but Acacia was now another matter altogether. She and Acacia had never been terribly close but, now, Belladonna felt as if there was even more of a barrier between them than ever before.
“He has agreed to be my escort,” she said stiffly. “One cannot attend a party without one. Who shall be escorting you?”
Acacia looked at her with some chagrin. “I… I do not know,” she said. “I suppose any of the knights could. Where is Bent? Or Aston?”
Belladonna couldn’t summon one ounce of pity for the woman. “Mayhap, you should have thought about this before you came along,” she said. “You did not bring any fine clothing and you do not have an escort. You do not even like parties, Acacia. You have told me in the past that they are nothing but sinful orgies. I do not even know why you are here!”
Acacia was trying not to look too unsure of herself as Belladonna snapped at her. Truth be told, she was here because Clayton was here. She hadn’t seen the man in his four months away from Ramsbury when he was on battle campaign, but in the week that he had been returned, Acacia felt as if something between them had changed.
In her mind, something between them had deepened.
He hadn’t told her that he’d missed her, as she had told him, but his actions had spoken for him. Clayton had bedded her more than usual, at least twice a day since his return, giving Acacia a sense of comfort and of being wanted, and the truth was that she didn’t want him to go to this party without her. If he needed her, she wanted to be nearby, although with Lily sharing his tent, she wasn’t sure if such a thing would be possible.
Still, she wanted to be near the man. She was coming to think he needed her, just a bit, and she was coming to be dependent upon him, just in the least. It was something that had never occurred before.
Clayton needed her.
But that wasn’t something Acacia was willing to confess to her belligerent younger sister. Beautiful Belladonna, the woman that all men looked at. She envied, loved, and hated her sister all at the same time. Had she been born with Belladonna’s beauty, things would have been different. She would have been married already, not telling everyone she was pledging herself to Amesbury as a last resort.
What did Belladonna know of being lonely and unattractive?
“I will not bother you any longer with my foolish questions,” Acacia said, turning back to the mirror that a maid was holding up for her. “I shall make do.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Why would you come to a party when you think it is a sinful orgy?”
Acacia was starting to flush in the face. “What does it matter to you?” she said. “My reasons are my own. You needn’t worry about me.”
“Then it is not sinful any longer?”
“I do not plan on sinning.”
Belladonna simply couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Knowing what she did, that was the most ridiculous statement she’d ever heard from Acacia.
“That,” she hissed, “is a lie. You are the biggest sinner of all!”
With that, Belladonna turned on her heel and rushed from the tent. She was so angry that she simply couldn’t face her hypocritical sister any longer and she was afraid that she was going to say something she would soon regret. Just as she rushed from the tent entry, Dashiell and Aston appeared.
Belladonna quickly forgot about Acacia when she saw Dashiell in the beautiful yellow tunic she’d made for him. It matched her dress and she thought he looked enormously handsome in it. But he also wore a big leather belt with his broadsword at his side, several small daggers, and a chainmail coat beneath it. Not exactly party-going attire.
She burst out laughing.
“We are not going to battle, Dash,” she pointed out. “Simply a feast. I do not think you will need your broadsword or mail inside the great hall.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Men are as heavily-armed at a feast as they are on the field of battle.”
“Then you will not remove your mail?”
He sighed, glancing at Aston, who grinned and looked away. “I would prefer not to.”
“Do you really think we will be set upon in the middle of a meal?”
“You will be very sorry I am not armed if we are.”
Belladonna chuckled and shook her head. “Is this your idea of not being a court dandy?”
“Something like that.”
She simply rolled her eyes and went to him, realizing the man was a lost cause. She could never take the knight out of him, nor did she want to. He dressed the same for a great feast as he did for a battle, but if he felt comfortable this way, so be it. Tucking her left hand into the crook of his right elbow, she simply lifted her shoulders.
“Very well, du Reims,” she said. “I will not force you to do anything you are uncomfortable with.”
She tried to walk, pulling him along, but he remained immovable. “I sense you are displeased,” he said.
Belladonna stopped trying to pull him towards the castle, looking up at him with a smile playing on her lips. “This is your personal protest against me turning you into a court dandy, isn’t it?” she teased. “I make you a lovely tunic and you load it up with weapons. You are resisting my wishes until the end.”
The corners of his mouth tugged. “Kicking and screaming all the way, my lady.”
Belladonna was back to chuckling at him. They were still new at this part of their relationship, so she couldn’t get too angry about it. Hopefully, someday he’d learn that he could escort her to a party without preparing for a fight, but she doubted it. He was, after all, Dashiell du Reims, and his weapons were part of him. Gently but firmly, she pulled him along and they began to head towards the warmly-glowing castle.
With Dashiell on one side and the heavily-armed Aston on the other, they passed through the encampment as Dashiell’s fine clothing drew stares and snickers from the men. One of them even made kissing noises at him, but when he turned to see who had done such a thing, no one would confess. They thought it all quite entertaining to tease the master knight, the one who was always so straight and hard with them. But it was in good fun, and Dashiell knew it, which is why he didn’t become irate. He took it in stride.
In truth, he’d never been prouder in his life.
It was with great anticipation that he and Aston escorted Belladonna towards the great hall of Chadlington, beckoned by the smells and sounds, all of them hoping for an unforgettable evening.
For Dashiell and Belladonna, it would be more unforgettable than most.
The great hall of Chadlington was a single long room, and a very old room, as Chadlington was a very old castle.
The great hall resembled a Viking long hall, with wooden support pillars and an enormous open fire pit in the center of it. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling, looking for an escape, but it didn’t always find one. Therefore, the smell of smoke infiltrated everything along with the smell of dogs, of which there were many. Evidently, those at Chadlington were dog lovers, which explained Jillayne’s excitement at the gift of a puppy.
