The Rose Of Lorraine Part 7

Chandos balanced on one knee and rested his forearm across the other. He methodically laced his fingers together as a dark frown creased his brow above the haughty aquiline flare of his nose. His eyes seemed to be a fathomless drill, boring into Bella's mind. "Bella, enough nonsense. Do you continue with this, I shall have no choice except to brand you as a demented madwoman. Is that what you want? To be chained and locked away? Cast in some forgotten tower and hidden out of sight forever?"

"You can't do that to me," Bella gulped, frightened by the very thought of being labeled a madwoman in his day and time. "I'm not insane. I'm telling you, I've been through some extraordinary experience. I know I'm not explaining it well, but, John, please believe me, I'm as sane as you are."

"Then stop this. Now," he demanded.

Bella sat up. Her hair fell over her shoulders, curtaining her nakedness. "Look, I know this is difficult for you. I mean, here you are a proud man, how old are you? Thirty-one, thirty-two? And this is your world. You've got horses to travel with and a king to serve and three very wonderful sons. But have you given the slightest thought to what I'm going through?

"I mean, can you just for one second suspend your reality and imagine that I actually might be from some other place in time?"

"No, Bella."

"No what? No, you have no imagination? No, you can't suspend judgment for even one hypothetical question or thought? It could happen. It did happen. I'm living proof of it."

His brow knotted. "What does being second have to do with this? Or first, or third for that matter? You're talking pure nonsense."

Exasperated, Bella's hands dropped to her sides, useless, incapable of making any gestures that might a.s.sist in explaining all of what she was talking about. Minutes and seconds did not exist in a world where time was measured solely by the slow movement of the sun.

She stared about the darkened room as if she could find something in the shadows that would help. "Okay. Wait. A little while ago you asked me to stop telling fairy tales."

"But you haven't stopped. You are still pretending to be someone else, Bella. I grow weary of this game. It serves no purpose. You grievously insulted King Edward. You disobeyed me in the most malicious way. You threatened my sons and you caused yourself serious injury. You can't put the blame for your sins on someone else. And I shall not tolerate this again, Isabella."

"Sir John!" Bella said sharply. "That wasn't me! I'm not that woman! I haven't disobeyed you, defied you or done anything sinfully malicious to myself or to your sons. I couldn't. I'm not that kind of person."

"Wife, do you realize how grievously you press me to beat you?" He raised his voice in a thunderous shout, revealling how serious he considered his real wife's blatant transgressions. "In sixteen years I can not think of another instance when a sound beating would do more good than right. You are willfully spoiled and more stubborn this moment than you were the day I married you."

"You beat your wife?" Bella asked incredulously.

"No. Perhaps that is the trouble now. I should have. You would not be living in an ivory tower of dreams, talking endlessly to fairies and trolls if I had brought you down to earth a long time ago."

It was at that moment that Bella came to the most appalling conclusion of all. "You don't believe a word I've told you."

"Nay, Bella. Who could?"

He got to his feet then--an angry, sorely pressed man of his time. He reached down, caught Bella's hand and pulled her upright. Bella glared at his shoes, the soft leather that she now recognized as some kind of suede.

d.a.m.nit all, here she was, naked again before him, and he had boots and britches on.

She felt as achingly vulnerable as she had felt beside the well this afternoon. He caught her shoulder and spun her around.

"Get you to bed." The gruff command was followed by the solid impact of his palm against her b.u.t.t. Bella spun back to face him.

"I thought you said you didn't beat your wife."

He put his fists against his hips and glared down at her. For a very long moment they both remained rigidly frozen, each glaring at the other in a true display of the battle of wills evolving out of this arguement.

"There is always a first time. Do you press me." He offered that chilly warning as proof that Bella should back down from her challenge while she still had the chance. "No."

Bella wasn't giving any warnings. She made a fist and punched it straight into his chin, catching him completely unawares. The blow snapped his jaw shut and rocked his head back. And it felt d.a.m.n good from where Bella stood, as good to imagine as it was to deliver.

"Don't you ever slap my b.u.t.t again, Buddy-boy. I won't stand for it," she declared.

"So be it," Sir John rejoined ominously. "Stand you shall. A good sennight at least."

"Oh, yeah? Are you threatening me?" Had she been thinking properly, Bella would never have pushed the confrontation to a higher level. But she hadn't had a proper thought since ten am that morning.

"Nay, lady, 'tis no threat I say. 'Tis a promise."

"Oh, yeah?" Bella s.n.a.t.c.hed her undergown off the floor and yanked it onto her shoulders, seething with so much fury her fingers fumbled with the ties at her waist. "You want me to tell you now that I've taken four years of Karate and I've earned a brown belt?"

Sir John bent to gather his own belongings off the floor, making Bella realized the stupidity of her words and the futility of starting a fight with a warrior! With her back to him, Bella counted to ten then took a deep breath to calm down.

"Look, I'm sor..." Bella began an apology as she turned around, then her words died in her throat. It wasn't his shirt he'd retrieved, it was his sword and belt. As he straightened, his hands were separating leather from steel.

"Hot d.a.m.n," Bella gulped. The man had reached for his weapon--to do what? Kill her? She bolted, thanking the providence that had cautioned her to leave that door partially open earlier. Halfway across the next room, she began praying she could find her way out of his mausoleum.

Thinking she was heading for the stairs, Bella ran through an archway on the opposite side of the lounge. It was a dead end hallway, exiting into bedrooms. Behind the last closed door, a small oil lamp suspended from a beam on the ceiling provided minimal light, but enough that she could make out the cherubic faces of Sir John's youngest sons asleep in their bed.

Their innocent faces brought to mind her earlier thought that these children had been put through enough. Hadn't she vowed not to add to their distress? Carefully, without waking either boy, Bella backed out of the room and shut the door.

"G.o.d d.a.m.nit all," she swore in defeat. So much for screaming for help. She turned toward the arch, knowing that Chandos had her only possible exit blocked. Bella leaned on the closed door, folded her arms tightly across her chest, and stared at him.

"Your move, Monseigneur," she said with heavy sarcasm.

"Nay, 'tis you who will move. Come to me, Bella."

"So you can chop my head off? I'm not stupid, mister. Come and get me." Bella thrust out her chin in defiance. She needed his advancing momentum to effect any kind of disabling toss. Otherwise, with his size, weight and strength against her, she was a goner. She might be a goner anyway. Her skill at self-defense had never been seriously tested or challenged.

He chose not to extend his hand to her as he'd done this morning at the well. Nor did his waste his breath on soft, coaxing words seeking to convince her to his purpose. His eyes never left hers as he wound his supple leather belt around his right hand.

Sweet Jesus, Bella gulped. He wasn't going to kill her, he was going to beat her.

"Do you obey my command, I will call your punishment well met at an even twenty strokes. Defy me more, Bella, and I will not cease the beating until I can no longer raise my arm."

Oh G.o.d, he meant to do it, no matter what. Bella swallowed, terrified. Angry tears welled in her eyes at the injustice being dealt her. She hadn't been the wife who'd defied him, insulted his king or threatened his sons. When she tried to speak her voice failed, because her mouth had gone as dry as dust.

She managed to cast a meaningful look to the door at her back and said hoa.r.s.ely. "Not here. Not where the children can hear us."

At those pleading words, he granted the smallest incline of his head in agreement. Only then did he lift his hand and gesture to her to come to him.

How she managed to cross the hallway to him, she didn't know. Maybe he met her halfway, she didn't know that either. She did know the moment his fingers tightened on her upper arm. She did resist being hauled across the solar and into the tower room, so the beating commenced at a midway point, a short bench set before a clerestory overlooking the inner ward.

He used the bench to prop his foot and tipped her over his upraised knee. Bella swore on her own soul that she'd not give in to his brutality. He wouldn't make her scream or beg for mercy. The first stroke took her wind away, but by the time the fourth had been delivered, all consideration she bore his sons had flown out the window. She screamed and cursed and protested and fought being beaten to the bitter end. Not that it did her any good whatsoever.

One thing was certain, she hated Isabella Chandos with every fiber in her being. All her empathy for that witch was gone.

Once they got inside her chamber, Chandos' eyes glinted hard in the candlelight. If she had thought him sinister at first glance this morning, he was now heartless, the epitome of cold-blooded, righteous, unyielding authority. He faced her squarely--six feet and three inches of ruthless alpha male.

His voice dropped decibels to tell her, "Never raise your hand against me again, Bella. I am your master, your husband, your lord. 'Tis by my hand you are fed and protected. By the grace of G.o.d and my hand alone, you have been spared to live another day."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she, personally, had done nothing to warrant a death sentence. This time, she wisely held her peace.

"Defy me again at your own cost, Isabel. Never again will I stay my hand from delivering the punishment you so richly deserve. Do you ever dare to cross me again, there will be no leniency. Il est finis."

Gone was the gentle, tender lover who had so sweetly coaxed words from her earlier. In his place stood a savage, ruthless conqueror, determined to dominate the wife that had defied him one too many times.

As John de Chandos stalked out of the king's bedroom, Bella wondered if she had set a new record for the Guinness Book. He was the second husband in one day to tell her it's over.

A HOUSE DIVIDED AND OTHER DIRTY TRICKS.

-8.

The next morning, Bella came to an abrupt and stunned stop on the last step out of the bartizan into the great hall. Before her were scores of trestle tables, dozens of servants hustling to and fro laden with heavy trays and platters, serving an even greater mult.i.tude of diners.

The hall itself was ma.s.sive, forty feet wide and twice that in length. Every inch seemed alive and crawling with humankind clothed in pre-Renaissance finery. Louvers in the hipped roof let sunlight slant down on the long interior wall. That was draped with glorious pennons of fantastic design; alternating in bold colors of red, black, white and blue.

Opposite was the clerestory she'd admired briefly while seated on the back of a horse, yesterday. Each archway was filled with the morning sun, giving the stained gla.s.s panes vibrant life and color. The deeply slanted sunbeams brought every hue in the rainbow indoors.

At the distant end of the hall from the bartizan steps where Bella stood, Sir John held center court at the high table on a dais. At his back was a ribbonfold carved panel wall. It was a splendid, courtlike chamber.

The play of light and colors took her breath away, dazzling and blinding her momentarily. Once her eyes adjusted, she made her way briskly down the side aisle next to the windows, welcoming the warmth of the sun on her skin. She would have preferred to have breakfast upstairs, but Clarise had rushed her through a morning toilette with the admonition that Lord Chandos commanded Bella to attend table in the hall.

Bella fumed over that because he could have said so before he left her last night, rather than giving her instruction second hand via a servant.

She would have told Sir John exactly what he could do with his hall and his d.a.m.ned breakfast. She could hardly excuse taking out her temper on a poor servant.

Fortunately, lots of noise filled the crowded hall, enabling Bella to pa.s.s from one end of it to the other unmolested. Some men stood and saluted her as she pa.s.sed.

At the high table the only vacant seat was to the left of Sir John. The dratted man stood as she approached. His eyes simmered heatedly over her from head to toe.

Bella knew what that particularly carnal look meant. Though he had all the s.e.x he was ever going to get from her. But her body gave an answering response to his searing look that negated her thoughts. Traitors, she fumed at the nipples ruching beneath her gown.

This morning she had cavalierly taken full measure of Lady Isabel's wardrobe and chosen a royal blue silk cotte that was so exquisitely sheer, the sheen of freckles on her skin could be seen through it. Over that scandalous bit of frippery she wore a white baudikin surcoat embroidered with thread of gold roses.

Since she had been ordered to hall, she had gone all out, selecting from the jewel casket a necklace of garnet beads and pearls as well as a thin golden chaplet encircling her brow.

Her hair she had demanded be left alone to flow around her body the way she was used to wearing it. Clarise had asked her if she'd gone mad. That was the wrong remark to make to Bella in the mood she was in this morning.

She d.a.m.n sure wouldn't have servants questioning whether she was mad as the proverbial hatter and informed Clarise of that in blunt and precise words. The poor woman had stuttered and stammered for a good three minutes before recovering her wits, during which Bella had learned that Lady Isabel had not worn her hair down since the day she'd married.

That was fine for Lady Chandos! It would be a cold d.a.m.n day in July before anyone convinced Bella to wear hers twisted up in a knot. She'd shave her head first!

So when the high points of Sir John's cheeks flushed as red as a rose, Bella knew that she'd scored a bullseye hit. He deserved to spend the balance of the meal in a painful state of arousal. He'd see eternity before he ever got any relief from her! To be crude she checked. He functioned more than adequately, d.a.m.n him!

It was too much to be hoped that that hulking ma.s.s of overweening testosterone would be limp with fatigue. He drew back the low chair beside his own and waited for her to sit. Bella set her teeth together and eased onto the ta.s.seled cushion padding on the seat.

There were pewter trenchers on the high board and wooden ones on the trestles filling the rest of the room.

"Good morning, Bella," said Sir John. He moved his trencher toward her and began filling it with wedges of smoked meat of unknown origin, peppered eggs and crusty rolls. "You slept well, I see."

"I didn't sleep a wink and you know it." Bella looked for a fork and saw none as she spread a linen napkin across her lap.

"Do you complain of a guilty conscience, lady?"

He stabbed a small roasted bird from a platter a page held before him and broke that in two, placing a mini-leg and breast on her side of the platter.

"I'm stating fact." Bella refused to look at him.

She reached for the crusty roll and looked to her left down the table. The man next to her energetically chewed on the meat he had in his mouth. He made no effort to speak just then, merely bobbed his big blond head in her general direction.

Further down the board were several ladies who chirped good morning and three very hungry stair-step boys devouring all the food in sight at their end of the table. Robin cast Bella a benign look that he then pa.s.sed over to his father.

That made Bella simmer, wondering if the impudent little whelp was contemplating the peace he'd mentioned the night before. Too bad she couldn't tell that c.o.c.ksure son that there would never be an armistice signed in this household so long as she lived and breathed. Her prior vow not to cause any scenes between the children's mother and their father got in the way of her intense taste for revenge. The war between her and John Chandos had to remain a private war.

From Sir John's oldest son, Bella looked down at the crowded hall. She twirled a hard roll between her fingers as another troop of men came in through the open doors, seeking places to squeeze onto a bench and eat their fill. They were hailed by friends and somehow everyone managed to find a place. She noticed that the men who had acknowledged her when she'd entered were far outnumbered by those in black and tan livery.

This was a workday and all wore simple tunics, cotte hardie and trunk hose. Those who had acknowledged her were dressed uniformly in beige hose and scarlet tunics with that beautiful rose over their hearts. It was the same large, opened rose that decorated this surcoat of Lady Isabel's and most of her clothes.

The men and soldiers of Sir John's company were in black linen or brown wools with his crescent and cross device on the chest. She wondered if the device meant he'd been on a crusade, and if he hadn't, what were the odds she could convince him to take a ten year sabbatical to the Holy Land, beginning today.

She studied the long interior wall, its monumental hearth and the array of pennons in alternating colors and designs that dominated the ma.s.sive chamber. The first was a black field bearing a crescent moon and white cross and a barre sinister. Next came the same design, reversed on a blue field. Third was a red banner with a white rose, then a white banner with a red rose and so on to the end.

As her minute inspection of the hall and its people progressed, Bella began to distinguish men by rank. Knights wore swords buckled at their sides. Squires had short swords and a chaperon, a short cape, added to their tunics. Pages had no arms and their tunics sported a heraldic devise binding their service to Lord Chandos.

Bella broke the roll in two, laid half on the trencher and started to bite into the other. Sir John's hand caught her wrist, staying her hand.

"You will say grace before you eat at my board, Bella."

Grace? She looked at him directly for the first time since sitting down and saw that a tonsured cleric flanked his immediate right. That man leaned forward over his trencher, staring at her, obviously waiting to hear her response to Chandos'. Embarra.s.sed, the bread dropped from Bella's hand back to the platter. High color flooded her face and she made the only excuse she could think of. "Surely grace was spoken before everyone sat down to eat?"

"So it was, but you were not at your place to hear it."

Sir John gave her that cryptic remark in answer.

"Oh." There wasn't any other response to make to cover an obvious faux pas. Bella folded her hands, bowed her head and whispered the only grace before meals prayer she knew, then made the sign of the cross and looked back at Sir John for a cue. He nodded that her prayer, learned at catechism cla.s.ses as a child, was acceptable and brought a crock of b.u.t.ter from the front of the table and the salt cellar closer to her.

Her cheeks stung for a long time over that set down.

Manners and customs were obviously formal and strictly adhered to in this age. Prayer was a habit held in high esteem in her parents' home, but one that had gone by the wayside since her marriage. Ari wasn't particularly religious or fond of thanking G.o.d for the food they ate. Bella vowed not to let her lax habits of the twentieth century trap her in the future.

To be scolded so effectively, and publicly because of an error committed by tardiness and ignorance made Bella swear she'd not be late to table a second time. She was at no point comfortable during the meal being constantly on her guard against the critic seated on her right. She did think it to her credit that she was sitting at all. Chandos had certainly followed through on his threat to make certain she would stand for a week. Only her pride wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing he'd succeeded.

A sea of ongoing talk surrounded her while she ate sparingly of the unusually meaty breakfast. The giant on her left went by the name James Graham. He offered no pleasantries whatsoever. The few looks he granted her when she faced him as he spoke to Sir John convinced her that Sir James Graham didn't care for Lady Chandos one little bit.

The priest hailed from Ireland, Father Kerwin and the ladies at the table were Eunice and Odilia, both wives of household knights sworn to Sir John.

The crowd thinned rapidly. Breakfast wasn't a meal to linger over when a day's work awaited. Servants and serfs who ate inside the manor, as well as the scores of pages and squires who augmented the servants at the tables, took up the slack, sitting down to eat, last.