Chapter 38

Stern Castle

T he first hour after receiving Hector’s missive, Fira could hardly breathe for what her brother revealed of his summons to court. Amaury had been taken from the Tower of London for an audience with King Edward and, aided by the testimonies of Hector and Achard, pardoned—albeit provisionally as would be explained soon.

Though that last cast a shadow, it was lightened by his assurance England was now Amaury’s country and following his reunion with his son at Wulfen, he would continue to Stern.

“This day,” Fira whispered where she sat on the dais with her grandmother trying to concentrate on one addition to The Book of Wulfrith and several alterations regarding Mace de Chanson’s lost sire who was found.

A touch on her shoulder making her snap her head around, she peered through her spectacles at Hector’s golden-haired wife who had come to stand behind her .

Putting a finger to her lips, Séverine nodded at Héloise, and Fira saw her grandmother’s head hung to the side and trembled, mouth was lax and eyes raced behind her lids.

When had she fallen asleep? she wondered, then chided herself for not noticing so she could help the lady to bed to ensure good rest for one increasingly given to sudden bouts of sleep.

Leaning down, Séverine said in her lovely French-accented voice, “Worry not. She is more comfortable in our midst.” Her smile was pretty, and known to all nearly as well as to her husband and two-year-old son though it had dimmed these months as she also awaited the fate of Amaury who she insisted must be allowed to reclaim his son and begin anew in England. Blessedly, Hector had not failed her nor his sister.

“You know my grandmother well,” Fira said and set her thirsty quill in its stand, pushed her spectacles down her bodice, and rose to hook an arm through her sister-in-law’s. As they descended the dais, she said, “You look almost as much in need of rest as your boy who I guess fought his nap.”

“You know and love our Guarin well,” Séverine used her two-year-old’s Christian name rather than the shortened Garr , the former honoring their conquering 11 th -century ancestor who wed the conquered Lady Hawisa Wulfrith, the latter honoring the 12 th -century ancestor who wed Lady Annyn renowned for disguising herself as a young man to gain training—and revenge—at Wulfen.

“As I shall know and love my new niece or nephew well,” Fira said and, as they neared the hearth, looked to Séverine’s belly that had begun to swell.

“Join us,” Ondine invited where she sat by her husband’s sister, Audrey, who had never been lovelier than these past months of courtship .

When they lowered to a bench across from the two, Séverine asked, “Where is your wee one, Ondine?”

“Since Maedine remains as averse to naps as Garr, when Willa offered to take her to the garden, I accepted. Hopefully, the adventure will tire her enough to sleep.”

Knowing the cook’s niece adored the one-and-half-year-old girl and guessing Willa sought distraction from the likelihood her friend, Mace, would accompany his sire to Stern, Fira said, “It should tire her some.”

Ondine, who had been watchful of the skies since Fira revealed last summer’s encounter with her owl and the adder, gave a smile that no amount of scarring could dim, then patted Audrey’s hand. “We have been discussing my sister-in-law’s wedding.”

To the squire to whom she became betrothed during his convalescence at Stern following the patrols’ clash with the sea brigands. After he was knighted alongside Rémy, the young man would wed Audrey who yet questioned how she of healthy appetite and small dowry was so esteemed and loved. Though she had answers aplenty from her betrothed, brother, and the family into whom Sinjin married, she struggled to reconcile all the years her mother and others made her feel unworthy and more tolerated than loved.

“Have you chosen a date, Audrey?” Fira asked.

“We have discussed it with Sinjin, and he is persuaded the reading of the banns should be scheduled as soon as my betrothed is knighted. Thus, we shall be man and wife a month later.” She flushed prettily and, rather than cast down eyes as often done when she became the focus of attention, smiled.

“That will be a joyous occasion,” Ondine said, smoothing her gown of diaphanous material. “How fare you, Fira?”

She could be honest with these women, and more so now she understood the deception about her affliction had worried them as much as—if not more than—the truth. After a glance at her sleeping grandmother, she said, “I seek to set my mind elsewhere, but ever it strays to Amaury.”

Since they knew all of her tale, none questioned that, nor her profession of love.

“He should be here soon,” Ondine said. “Until then, let us occupy ourselves by?—”

A squeal of delight sounded, and Fira and the others saw Willa of good height and breadth enter the hall with her charge perched on an arm.

One hand holding a hank of Willa’s hair, the other a flower whose yellow petals were edged in red, Maedine squealed again.

“Woe’s sakes,” Ondine said, then chuckled. “It seems we must further tire my wee one.”

For a half hour, the child was passed around the womenfolk, happily demonstrating how to smell a flower and commanding, “Sniff fow-uh!”

After giving her into Audrey’s arms, Fira returned her thoughts to those she prayed were en route and wondered if Rémy would accompany them. His recovery from a blade to the back had progressed well, and more rapidly when news arrived a sennight after their return to Wulfenshire that The Pleiades captained by Pietro had run Hugh and Islay’s ship onto the rocks near Scotland. Most of the pirates drowned, washing up on the beach or remaining in the depths to become food for fish, but a handful made it ashore and fled inland.

Though Hugh and Islay might be among the survivors, Rémy who had threatened to hunt them to ground had seemed content with the outcome. Hopefully, it was godly contentment, rather than that sprung from the possibility he might yet punish those who injured him and threatened his sister. Regardless, King Edward must be pleased since pirating along England’s coast and waterways had declined considerably.

When Ondine said it was time Maedine nap and carried her from the hall, Audrey surprised by asking, “Do you think the Church has decided against acknowledging they infiltrated Drumfiddle’s Free Spirits?”

Fira did. Until recently, she had expected a response to the missive Hector wrote that detailed her abduction from St. John’s, harsh questioning and barbaric attempts to exorcise a non-existent demon, the sacrifices of Brother Eldon and the repentant novice, and the fiery death of her persecutors at the hands of one whom Brother Eldon had believed returned to his faith. However, there had been no response, and she thought it possible the man who murdered the Free Spirits—and nearly her—once more wore the robes of his Catholic order and might even be esteemed for ridding the world of heretics.

Fira sighed. “I fear certain Church representatives are more pleased than displeased with what happened and, believing more was gained than lost despite Brother Eldon’s death, have swept the matter into a dark corner.”

“Were it widely known some of their members traded their beliefs for radical ones, it could reflect ill on the Church,” Séverine said.

“True.” Audrey nodded and glanced at Héloise who yet slept and Willa who yawned behind a hand. “And yet…”

“Yet?” Fira prompted the lady who rarely spoke on matters of religion and politics, but when she did, it was with a mind toward reform of systems that oppressed the needy no matter how often those systems were bent into seemingly new shapes to rectify injustice.

“Just as some who profess to be of our faith sour it, those of other beliefs sour theirs,” Audrey said. “And it need not be the whole of the body affected since even a gangrenous little finger can poison the uninfected if not severed.”

This among the reasons her betrothed wishes to wed her, Fira reflected. Until the squire healed sufficiently to return to Wulfen, such exchanges were overheard between them, complete with disagreements that, blessedly, almost always ended with good-natured compromise.

“Wise words,” Séverine said. “If you write them down, eventually you will have enough to compile The Book of Audrey Daschiel.”

“Daschiel?” the young woman exclaimed. “Fie on you for forgetting I am to have another surname.”

All laughed, awakening Héloise who quickly corrected her posture and called, “I told you not to allow me to sleep away my life, Fira, yet here I am. And likely snoring.”

“’Twas only a short rest without a single snore,” Fira said as she rose to rejoin her.

When she was halfway between hearth and dais, the sounds of horses entering the inner bailey and men’s voices came through the unshuttered windows.

One being French-accented, she whipped around and, seeing Séverine’s eyes were wide, gasped, “He has come!”

“And Mace!” Willa proclaimed. “I hear him!”

“Fira!” Héloise brought her granddaughter’s head around. “Compose yourself as befitting a Wulfrith lady. And you, Willa, return to your aunt and aid in preparing viands and drink for those come from Wulfen.”

Fira looked to the girl whose disappointment was obvious though she quickly did as bid. She was too young to be truly in love with Mace, and neither was he of an age for such, but both were old enough to think they were. In years to come, should their hearts entwine, the difference between the common of Willa and noble of Mace could be tested. Though Fira did not believe her family would allow such to part those genuinely in love, what of Amaury?

Though much I know of him, not as much as I do not know, she thought. But if his heart is entwined with mine, in time I shall know all of him. She glanced at Séverine and Audrey who now stood at the hearth with clasped hands.

Doing the same, she watched Hector enter ahead of the others, his gaze and smile falling first on his wife before swinging to his youngest sister. Next came Amaury and Mace, on the latter’s lips an uncertain smile as if he dared not trust he could be so happy. The two needed time to become acquainted, but they seemed to have made a good start.

Now came Sinjin and Rémy. Seeing their expressions were relaxed, with heart beating faster, she returned her attention to Amaury. His gaze was all for her, but before warmth reached her toes, Hector’s advance came between them.

Though her brother surely wished to be reunited with the wife he had not seen since well before his summons to court, it was Rémy and Sinjin who veered toward the hearth where Séverine contained the desire not only to be embraced by her husband but reunited with her uncle.

Hector halted before Fira, and with a smile in grey-green eyes, raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Sister.”

“Well come home,” she said and, when he released her, looked to father and son who had drawn alongside him. “Well come to Stern, Amaury and Mace de Chanson.”

The smile of the former who appeared to have fully recovered from injuries sustained before the second keelhauling was attempted, showed the teeth it had been necessary to file down. As for the latter, his face reflected confusion, doubtless for being greeted like a guest though he was encouraged to consider Stern his home.

Before she could assure him it remained that and tell she but acknowledged he now had kin closer in blood, his face cleared and he said, “Lady Fira, though nearly all hope was lost, my sire has returned.” Pride evident, he looked up at the imposing man. “During the ride, he told some of the adventures you shared. Thus, though he did not name you as the lady of Stern he?—”

“Mace!” Amaury interrupted, then as if realizing his offended son needed time to accept a father’s authority, set a hand on his shoulder. “Those are things the lady and I must discuss in private. Until then, will you reacquaint me with your cousin whom I see has grown into a beautiful woman?”

Mace’s face easing, he slid a hand into his father’s and said, “Séverine never lost hope.”

Eyes moistening, Amaury dipped his head in parting and drew his son away.

Though her brother remained, Fira felt nearly alone—worse, less certain of what Amaury felt for her and what might come of what she felt for him.

Likely naught, she told herself as Séverine embraced her uncle. After all, for how easily optimism could become an enemy in matters of the heart, it was best not to befriend it.

“In spite of Amaury’s pardon being provisional, all has come right for him,” she said as she looked to Hector who smiled amid a beard that needed trimming.

“Certes, more right for him than not, Fira. Providing he serves our king well, he can be the father long denied him and make a success of his shipping company.”

Needing to know the limitations Amaury faced, she asked, “What provisions did our king place on his pardon?”

“That should be told by Chevalier—rather, Sir— Amaury, regardless of what comes after.”

“You know what I wish to come after, Hector, just as you know likely it exceeds my grasp. ”

“I do not know it does, little sister. What I know is my greatest reward as your guardian is securing your happiness. Since we are fairly in accord as to how that can be achieved, I have only to be called upon to uphold the Wulfriths’ side.”

The other side being that of the De Chansons being led to the dais by Séverine, one hand on a belly that months from now would be sizable enough to rest an arm atop it. Hector would allow what Fira longed for, but Amaury and Mace must wish it too—and be fully aware of the ill that came with her.

“I thank you, Brother. Now as I am late for practice, I shall go.”

“Practice?”

She managed an impish smile. “As you strongly advised, I fly arrows again.”

“Since when?”

“Your summoning to London. Being a good distraction, no longer do I tremble nor wince, my unsteady arm has steadied, and over half my shots land center.”

“I am pleased.” He glanced toward those ascending the dais so the family matriarch could gauge the worthiness of Mace’s sire.

“Amaury and I will speak later,” she said, and though she did not look behind as she crossed the hall and ascended the stairs to retrieve her bow, she felt more than one pair of eyes on her.

As she went from sight, her grandmother said with volume and minor creaking, “So, another lost D’Argent.”

“But this one found, Lady Héloise!” Mace exclaimed.

“Indeed. Come, Chevalier, sit beside the keeper of The Book of Wulfrith so we may determine how to expand on your place within these pages.”

Fira could not laugh over that—not yet—but she could smile .

An hour later, the outer bailey’s training yard having gradually cleared of others practicing at arms, she realized she had it to herself when she finished removing arrows from her target and heard only the sounds of those patrolling the walls and laboring in workshops that produced goods that kept Stern’s household running smoothly.

Still, she felt watched. When she sought the source, she saw Amaury stood with arms folded atop the fence. Only when his eyes swept to her feet did she realize she had dropped her bow and quiver.

Pick them up, she silently instructed as he strode to the gate, but they were still on the ground when he halted and said, “A lovely sight, though I am unsurprised.”

Fira knew the part he played in that endeavor, Hector revealing Amaury asked him to retrieve her bow on the return journey to Stern. Lest she disagree, he had provided enough direction to discover its whereabouts and asked her brother to point out how wrong it was for future generations of Wulfriths to futilely search for the famed Fira Bow as she had the Annyn Arrow.

Raising her chin to better hold his gaze, she almost wished she had donned her spectacles. “The Fira Bow,” she said lightly despite heaviness in her chest. “You knew that would appeal.”

“I did. Now I must ask if something else would appeal.”

Heart nearly ceasing its beat over what she hoped was behind his words, she whispered, “Pray, ask.”

“First, know I do so because you have claimed this battered heart, having light enough to cast out the dark.”

Her throat bobbed.

Amaury reached, and when she placed her hands in his, said, “I wish you to be my wife and mother to Mace and the children we may?— ”

She gasped.

He squeezed her hands. “…the children we may make do you not fear The Falling Sickness as I will not.”

Tears heated her eyes. “You have not seen how ugly and painful it can be, and likely do not know that just as it can strike during waking hours, it can do so in sleep.”

He moved nearer. “Though I have yet to experience your affliction at its worst, I have much experience with great suffering of body and mind. As I survived it and time and again you survive yours, we can aid our children should they be afflicted.”

“What if I say nay to children?”

“Though preventing pregnancy during marital relations is not always successful, if you are willing to trust the Lord to determine whether, despite our efforts, we make children, I shall be as well.” He set his head to the side. “What does that tell you, Fira?”

She swallowed. “I would have it tell my love for you is returned, if not in equal measure, then good measure.”

He drew near. “Perhaps in greater measure.”

Breath rushed from her, warming the space between their mouths. The kiss was there and could be had in sight of the curious on the walls and working the bailey, but that was not what made her step back.

“Fira?”

“My brother said your pardon is provisional. What does that mean for us?”

His expression shifted, revealing a self-conscious side so abashed she guessed it reflected the youth he had been—the carefree tempered by repentance. Settling back into his heels, he said, “I assume more than I ought.”

“What do you assume? ”

“That the love of the woman I wish to take to wife will be enough for her to accept King Edward’s provisions.”

She smiled. “Without knowing what they are, my love is more than sufficient. But they worry and, as you know, I am a curious being.”

He glanced around. “I am thinking Stern boasts a lovely garden.”

“You think right.” She turned to retrieve her bow and quiver, but he reached them first and offered his arm.

When they lowered to a bench, the distance between them felt immense though they were close enough his face blurred. Thus, she donned her spectacles and saw clearly the fine scars, lovely eyes, nose, and mouth. And that he looked as closely at her.

Once more the kiss was there. Once more it could be had. But then he began, “Though once King Edward promised much coin to whoever ended the life of Le Fléau de l’Anglais, he offered me and my men a pardon and citizenship providing our shipping company serves England beyond import and export.”

“Beyond?”

“We are to continue our efforts to end pirating and protect the coast. I have no argument with that, Fira.” He caught up her hands. “My men and I are better qualified than most, and we would count it a privilege to serve our new country thus. The problem is that more of my life must be spent on the coast.”

“Boston, then.”

“That is The Great Mercia Shipping Company’s base. Hence, just as it would not be much of a marriage were you to reside at Stern, it would be much to ask you to leave your family and reside with me in Boston, especially since there will be times I am under sail. ”

She shook her head. “’Tis not too much to ask.”

“Are you not the next keeper of The Book of Wulfrith?”

Her hesitation was slight. “Boston is not terribly far from Wulfen, and when you are gone an extended time, I could journey here. Too, much work can be done in Boston and, during my visits to Wulfen, added to the book.” She set a hand over his. “I know ’twill be difficult, but I can adjust. And I would like to aid with your business.”

Was that wonder further lighting his face? “Yours sounds a great love, Fira.”

“It is. And yours?”

“I would give my heart into your keeping and keep yours as true and safe.”

“Yours is a great love as well.”

“It is.”

“Then I shall wed you.” Her smile faltered. “What of the king?”

“When he said I should take an English wife to further secure my place in England, I told I would have you if you and your family agreed. He was well with it.”

Struck by what his ancestor had to do to wed the woman he loved, she said, “Then unlike Ma?l d’Argent and his Mercia who had to flee England, we must not.”

He shook his head.

Joy abounding, Fira sighed and heard music in the exhale just as her family teased. “It will be three long weeks before all the banns are read?—”

“Not three weeks. This day, then this night, Fira.”

She drew back. “We wed this day?”

“King Edward put his seal to a document waiving the reading of the banns.”

Fira gave a cry and threw her arms around him.

A kiss at long last and well explored until Amaury ended it. “ Since the sooner we speak vows, the sooner you shall be mine in body as I shall be yours, let us go to your family and see if there is enough daylight to wed.”

She took his arm and they walked the garden path. At the donjon door, he said, “I pray you do not mind having no special gown for the occasion.”

“But I have one!”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Aye. The Wulfriths have trunks of our ancestors’ gowns waiting to bless another Wulfrith. And I have in mind one fashioned a hundred years gone for a lady near my size.”

“What color?”

“You will see, Husband-to-be, though for how late the day and nearer the night, methinks you will not look upon it for long.”

Fira of the Wulfriths, this day made Fira de Chanson, correctly predicted the fate of the blue-green gown of ribboned lace cuffs. It was not to be seen when Amaury entered the place her womenfolk had beautifully transformed into a nuptial chamber between preparing for the ceremony and the end of the feast whose preparations Lady Héloise had supervised on the arm of her grandson, Rémy.

Now Stern’s priest having blessed the bed’s occupants and departed with the family members who escorted the groom abovestairs, Amaury turned where he sat against the pillows to look upon his bride whose fiery hair tumbling over chemise-clad breasts was burnished by candlelight. Though there was nervousness about her, greater her curiosity and excitement.

“Wife,” he said .

“Husband.” She caught her breath. “I love speaking that!”

He fingered the bow securing the neck of her fairly sheer garment. “May I?”

“You may, but…first may I?”

Such a request from a maiden might be unseemly did he not understand what she asked was no conventional prelude to lovemaking. She wished to look upon scars only hinted at by those on his hands, neck, and face.

This was not how he envisioned the night that would seal their marriage, but unashamed of what was beneath garments the same as Lady Ondine’s gowns concealed what The Pestilence inflicted on the rest of her, and that it would give his bride more time to prepare herself for intimacy, he said, “My lady wife may.”

She turned back the covers and rose to her knees, and when he nodded for her to proceed, raised the undertunic to expose his abdomen and lower ribs. There was sufficient light to reveal scars more obvious than the ones on his face and hands, but not as prominent as those yet to be seen for him being unable to shield those places when he was dragged beneath the ship—arms, shoulders, back, buttocks, shins.

“Oh, Amaury.” She touched each scar, looked up. “I am sorry for what was done you, and I know this is not the worst. May I see the rest?”

Her exploration rendering him intensely uncomfortable, and not for how marred his skin, he said, “You have things to learn about how much a man in bed with a desirable woman can tolerate, especially with candlelight pressing through her garment to make her every curve known.”

She dropped back onto her heels. “Forgive me!”

“Naught to forgive, only much to do.” He rose to his elbows and cupped her jaw. “Let us make love, and if we do not sleep afterward, you may look upon all with which your hands have become acquainted.”

She grinned. “Pray, teach me how to make love.”

Moving to his knees, he drew her up against him. “Let us return to the kiss,” he said and closed his mouth over hers.

Soon the sweet of it became passionate. Soon there were too many barriers that needed shedding. Too soon they would have consummated their marriage had Amaury not enough control to ensure what was wondrous to him was wondrous to her.

Later when they lay on their sides amid the glow of slowly dimming candles, Fira’s head tucked beneath his chin, he reflected on how certain he had been following his escape from the mines that never again would any but he control his body. But now there was Fira.

Sighing contentedly, she moved a hand from his chest around to his back. For how soothing her fingers over those scars, he thought it possible this night’s sleep would be more restful than any had in years. Though he did not believe the flashes and dreams of what befell him after he was taken on the beach of Calais were finished with him, if anyone could wash them away, it was this woman.

Eventually they slept, and when he was awakened by fingers caressing his chest, the candles had come to the ends of their wicks.

“Husband?” Fira whispered into the dark.

“Wife?”

She leaned up and touched her lips to his. “Once you warned it a reckless and dangerous thing to touch a man so, that such an invitation should be issued a husband alone.”

He smiled against her mouth. “I spoke true.”

“Hence, is it not lovely it no longer applies?”

“Lovely, indeed, Fira de Chanson. ”

She slid a hand to his jaw. “Since you are as awake as I, mayhap I ought to issue an invitation.”

He laughed and dropped onto his back, taking her with him. “My response to so lovely an invitation is oui, my lady wife. Most ardently, oui.”