The Baron's Bride. Joanna Makepeace
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will be looking soon for a suitable husband and protector for her. In these difficult times that can be a worrying business.”
Sir Walter shook his head. “The truth is, my lord, I cannot face the prospect of life at Brinkhurst without her.”
“I can understand that.” De Treville sat thoughtfully silent for a moment, then he leaned forward in his seat slightly towards his guest. “Demoiselle Gisela has Saxon blood, I understand.”
“Her great-grandmother was Saxon. Her husband was killed at Senlac and she married a Norman knight. My wife, Hildegarde, also had Saxon blood.” His lips twitched. “Many men in the shire are proud of their Saxon inheritance, my lord.”
“Of course. I am equally proud to know my Norman ancestors came from Viking stock.” De Treville twirled the wine round in his goblet, watching the firelight behind them glimmer in its red depths.
“You will see, Sir Walter—” he looked up and gestured towards the stark bare stone walls of the hall “—that my castle lacks a chatelaine.” He gave a short laugh. “My friend Rainald de Tourel, who visited some days ago and has now left to return to the King’s court, took me to task over this matter and brought a message from the King himself that I should be thinking soon of taking a wife.
“I am twenty-six years old and my hectic life on campaign at the King’s side left me little time to consider that possibility, nor had I sufficient means to do so. Now that I have obtained the castle and desmesne of Allestone, my bachelor state begins to gall me.”
He saw his guest’s body become rigid in his chair and his eyes wary. De Treville looked pointedly at Gisela, who was talking excitedly to Aldith. Her lovely eyes were flashing and she moved her hands expressively as she was obviously engaged in attempting to comfort her maid for the loss of Sigurd’s company.
“Your daughter tells me she is nearly seventeen, Sir Walter, an age when she is ripe for the marriage bed. In our short acquaintance, I have come to have a healthy regard for her unequivocal honesty. She is not only beautiful but brave, and kind to both people and animals. I find both qualities admirable. I take it there is no prior arrangement for her betrothal or you would have mentioned it. I could keep her safe at Allestone. I ask you now, formally, for the honour of her hand in marriage.”
Sir Walter blinked rapidly and, in order to give himself time to think, he helped himself to more wine and drained his cup.
He said deliberately, “I have said Gisela can be headstrong, my lord. Naturally I believe she has every quality finest in womanhood—she is my beloved daughter—but I have to face the fact that she could prove—difficult.”
De Treville laughed. “That is the way she described Sigurd to me, just now. I assured her I would manage the lad.”
Sir Walter’s eyebrows flew upwards and de Treville shook his head very gently.
“Have no fears, Sir Walter, it is not my way to be cruel to women nor unduly so with my servants. I would deal well with the Demoiselle Gisela and I believe she would make me an excellent wife. Her Saxon blood and standing in the shire makes her eminently suitable. With her at my side, I am confident I could achieve the ready co-operation of my neighbours that, perhaps, my Norman heritage may render open to reserve.
“I am the third son of Sir Gilles de Treville. Our manor is close to Caen. I came to serve in the Earl of Leicester’s household as squire when I was but fourteen and have lived in England serving the King since then.”
His dark eyes brightened somewhat. “I have no mistress established here at Allestone and, since my mother is some distance away, there would be no other woman here to challenge the Demoiselle’s rule. My seneschal’s wife, the Lady Rohese, is a very gentle lady and would prove helpful and friendly. She would be delighted to have the company of another female within the bower.
“Gisela would have a totally free hand, which I believe would be important to her. I recognise in her a nature as formidable as that of the Empress Matilda, and I have, on occasion, met that lady.” His dark eyes twinkled and Sir Walter could not hold back an answering smile.
“On the matter of dower…”
“I am sure we could come to some sensible arrangement, Sir Walter. My needs are not great on that score.”
Walter of Brinkhurst gave a little sigh. “My lord, will you allow me time to consider?”
“Of course. Naturally you will wish to speak with the Demoiselle Gisela.” He put one hand gently upon the older man’s arm. “I know you are reluctant to give her in marriage, but Allestone is very close. You will see her often and—in these hard times, you will need a man who can hold her safe. Think well on what I have said and send me word soon.”
Sir Walter said doubtfully, “Though Gisela lacks a mother, Aldith taught her well all the housewifely skills but,” he hesitated, “she is so very young…”
“Not so young that she will not learn quickly.”
“No.”
He turned in his chair as Gisela also turned and caught his eye. Both she and Aldith were looking happier but, as if she read in his expression the gravity of the matter in discussion, her vivid blue eyes clouded over somewhat and one fair brow arched upwards as if in interrogation.
He said heavily, “If you will excuse us, my lord, we should be riding back to Brinkhurst. I promise I will think very hard on what you have said.”
“I know you will.” De Treville rose and held out his hand to the other, who grasped it.
“Thank you again for your forbearance in the matter of the boy.”
De Treville bowed his head.
Gisela came hesitantly to her father’s side and curtsied as he took his leave of his host.
As they rode home together she was aware of his absorption in his own thoughts. She ceased her chatter about Allestone and rode silently beside him.
Over supper he seemed just as quiet and, at last, she ventured to challenge him.
“Father, what is it? I saw you were talking intently to the Baron. Had he some information about the course of the war which has troubled you or are you still worried about Sigurd?”
“No, Sigurd will be safe enough at Allestone. Sooner or later the lad would have come to grief without discipline and I had no real authority over him.” Sir Walter tackled a chicken leg bone with unusual ferocity and Gisela watched him doubtfully.
“Then did he take you to task over my behaviour? I know you think I was unwise to challenge him there in open court.”
He put down the leg and looked at her deliberately. “On the contrary. He appears to have admired your spirit in outfacing him. He asked for your hand in marriage.”
Colour drained from her face and she sat unmoving, her eyes growing larger and larger before his gaze. He waited for her to speak but she continued to sit rigidly still. Then, at last, she said very quietly, “And what did you say to him?”
“I told him I needed time to consider.”
She drew in her breath in a little hiss.
“But you cannot be thinking of saying yes!”
Again he regarded her directly. “Why not? It is a fair match. You would be mistress of Allestone. Many maidens in the shire would give their eyeteeth for such a future.”
“I am not one of them,” she said, again speaking so calmly and softly that he leaned towards her to both hear and catch her expression. Still she appeared deadly pale.
He said almost jovially, but in a tone patently false, “You have never considered such an honour I know, but…”
“Honour?” The single word was suddenly shrill with outrage. “You cannot believe I would welcome such a match?”
He turned from her, embarrassed,