A Bit of Heaven on Earth Read online

  He poured wine for them both, and Elizabeth let him talk on a bit as she sipped the sweetened liquid. Aldred explained that he’d been married twice before. She’d met his two children earlier at the marriage feast, a son who was his mirror image and a shy wisp of a daughter with raven hair. The long day was such a blur she couldn’t even recall their names now. As he spoke, she gradually began to relax a little. He seemed a decent sort. Maybe this act of love could happen quickly and be done with.

  Aldred reached over and took her hand in his gnarled one. “I made both my wives happy, Elizabeth. I hope I can make you so.”

  Her stomach knotted as Aldred stood and gently pulled her to her feet. He kissed her forehead with surprising tenderness and led her to the curtained bed.

  “I know this is awkward, my dear. I shall leave you to prepare. I will return in—”

  “No,” Elizabeth interjected. If he left, her fears would grow. She might even try to slip out of the castle. She wouldn’t cause him the embarrassment of having to track down a runaway bride in front of all his guests, not when he’d already tried so hard to be kind to her.

  “I am ready to do my duty now, Husband. Simply tell me what ‘tis expected. I had no mother. I fear I am ill-prepared in this venture.”

  He studied her. The flickering shadows from the candles played across his lined face. She locked her knees together and stood her ground. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

  “I see. Loosen your hair, then pull the curtains back and climb upon the bed. I will do my best in initiating you into the mysteries of marriage." He touched her cheek and stroked it. “Do not fear me, Elizabeth. You have great spirit. I would not see that change.”

  His words brought her some comfort. She did as he instructed, pulling the caul from her head and unbinding her mass of curls. She pushed the curtains away and thought she should at least remove her surcoat and cote-hardie. Without turning, she wordlessly slipped out of them and tossed the garments aside, though she wouldn’t part with her kirtle. The thought of his old, weathered hands touching her bare skin caused her to tremble. She eased upon the raised bed and settled onto her back. Her heart raced. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy.

  Despite the amount of wine she’d drunk, she found her mouth had gone dry. She bit her lip again as Aldred went about the room, extinguishing candles, leaving the fire as the only light in the room. As he began to disrobe, she closed her eyes. She swallowed hard as he joined her upon the bed, drawing the curtains.

  Aldred talked to her softly, murmuring words of comfort as he explained what they both would do. Elizabeth nodded, her voice failing her. She could do this. She would do this.

  It didn’t go as he said it would. Oh, he touched her face and kissed her gently, caressed his hands up and down her body, cupped her breasts as she lay there, wishing herself far away. Yet when it came time for him to enter her, something was wrong.

  Fearing his wrath, she said meekly, “I am sorry, my lord. Perhaps I did not quite understand what I am to do. This doesn’t seem to be going according to your plan.”

  Her husband sighed and rolled from atop her, coming to rest beside her. He stared blankly up at the ceiling. Elizabeth lay motionless. Then her natural curiosity could stand no more. She turned to her side, propping her head upon her elbow.

  “What am I doing wrong, my lord? If you will but explain things again, ‘tis certain I will get it right this time. I have always been a quick learner.”

  Aldred’s head turned. His eyes took her in. Elizabeth saw a trace of a smile play about his thin lips.

  He reached out and touched her hair, smoothing it. The gesture comforted her. “’Tis nothing you’ve done wrong, child. I cannot make love to you.”

  She was puzzled. “Why not? You are the one that knows how. You have done this many times in the past. If we are to accomplish this deed, then I must follow your lead. Of course, once I have mastered the task, I’d be happy to take the lead upon occasion.”

  Aldred’s laugh was rich and deep. He reached out a hand, and his thumb brushed against her cheek tenderly. “Ah, my sweet wife. My very own Elizabeth.” He sighed. “‘Tis an apology I must make to you.”

  He cupped her face in one hand. “I am old, my dear. And when men reach my age, many times they cannot perform the marital act. It becomes physically impossible. I thought a young, beautiful girl would make a difference. Now, in my folly, I see that it does not.”

  Elizabeth tried to hide her growing excitement. She wouldn’t have to couple, after all. She sought to reassure Aldred, for whom she already felt a strong fondness. “’Tis all right, my husband. If we cannot do this thing, then so be it. My loyalty remains with you.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, ‘twould not be fair to you, child. You are young and have a lifetime ahead of you. ‘Twill be babes you’ll soon want. ‘Twill be a man’s love that you’ll need.”

  He sat up. “I shall see that our marriage is annulled. ‘Twill free you for another, one closer to your own age.”

  “No,” she said firmly. She pushed up till she was in a sitting position and took his rough hand in hers, holding it tightly. “I refuse to see you humiliated in such a way, my lord. I swore before God and guests to this marriage, and ‘twill be so.”

  Aldred squeezed her fingers. “No. I cannot ask this of you. I have already been fool enough.”

  She smiled shyly. This new husband of hers was considerate and not quite the monster she’d conjured up in her mind. He seemed most reasonable. Mayhap she could strike a bargain with him.

  “Actually, my lord, ‘twould be you doing me the favor. You already have children, and I can be mother to them. As you said, we seem to suit. I would stay and learn from you.”

  A look of puzzlement crossed his face. “Learn from me?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth looked at him in earnest. This would be her chance to escape her father’s constant nagging. She could not return to Aldwyn, especially since she knew better than to trust him. She would not be forced to marry against her will, especially a man that might not be as reasonable as Aldred.

  “I can read and write a little. Would you be willing to teach me more, about all manner of things? Help me learn all about Kentwood and how to run a household? Allow me to be independent? I would answer to no man but you alone?”

  Aldred eyed her and then shook his head. “It would not be fair to you.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. Often, her smile convinced her father when nothing else could. “In exchange, I will show you the utmost respect and affection, both in private and before the world. I shall never share what has passed between us here.”

  He sized her up. “You drive a hard bargain, my lady. So you would stay with an old man till my time is up?”

  She took both his hands in hers, eager for him to agree to her proposal. “’Tis my fondest wish, my lord. I promise to be with you always, caring for you, even until the end.”

  He laughed aloud, the sound of his mirth like sweet music to her ears. “I suppose ‘tis not every day a man of my age gets such a magnanimous offer.” He kissed her cheek. “You have your bargain, my lady. I will hold you to it. I will be your teacher and your closest friend. I will cherish you till my dying day and do whatever I can to please you in every way.”

  He lay back upon the pillow, pulling her down to rest next to him. “Let’s get some rest, Wife,” he whispered softly.

  Elizabeth lay next to him, awake for some hours, while Aldred snored softly. It made her slightly uncomfortable being so close to him, but he was clean, had most of his teeth, and she knew he would never mistreat her. She finally fell asleep, dreaming about all the things she would do—the books she would read in his library, helping him run his estate, maybe even learning swordplay. Excitement filled her at such prospects.

  And if sh
e had to mother his children, so be it. How difficult could that be?

  CHAPTER 1

  Ashgrove, the north of England, 1355

  Gillian groaned as pain racked her body yet again. Cold sweat drenched her hair and the very bedclothes. She wanted it to be over. Twinges and tingles had turned from dull aches over the past months to this jarring pain, something far worse than childbirth all those years ago.

  She smiled, thinking of Gavin, and wished he could be here at the end to hold her hand. The thought of her brave, handsome son brought the only comfort she’d known in days. With his image, though, guilt flooded her, as strong as any of the suffering that flowed through her now.

  “What might I do to comfort you, my lady?”

  She despaired as Father Michael, the doddering priest who barely knew his own name nowadays, leaned over her solicitously.

  “You cannot give me physical solace, Father, but you can let me go to God with a clear conscience.”

  The priest looked confused. “My lady has always been most pious in her devotions. I have often thought a cloistered life would have suited you well.”

  Gillian sucked in her breath as another shot of agony, hot as liquid fire, poured through her withered body. God punished her now for the sins of her youth. She had spent a lifetime trying to make it up to Him. Apparently, her devotion hadn’t been enough to please Him. Mayhap her final words would.

  “’Tis time, Father, for my last confession,” she managed to say. “Then the last rites.”

  Suddenly, her husband stormed in. Berwyn was the last person she cared to see at her dying moment. She closed her eyes, willing him to go away. What if her wasted body expired before she could make her peace with God?

  “Out, man!” Berwyn proclaimed.

  She opened her eyes to see him pushing their priest out the door. If she were destined to rot in Hell, she was certain Berwyn would be there to keep her company.

  “Can you not get this over with, Wife?” he demanded, not bothering to chastise her in quiet tones. “How long does it take a devout woman to die? Surely God is anxious for you to come to Him.”

  He narrowed his eyes and studied her, his thick lips curling in contempt. “You spent more time in conversation with God than you ever did in our marriage bed or even caring for this household. You already have one foot in the next world. If not for Gavin, your time on earth would be worthless. Hurry up and die. I wish to marry again, a woman who shall be a true wife to me.”

  Gillian tried to wet her cracked lips in order to issue a quick retort but failed. Berwyn sneered at her weak effort. He left the room, brushing against the old priest who stood just outside the door.

  Berwyn continued down the dimly lit passageway, barely restraining his fury. He did what his father commanded years ago and married Gillian. The old man hadn’t lived a twelvemonth afterward. At least Berwyn had enjoyed the wealth Gillian’s dowry brought to Ashgrove. It had allowed him to expand the estate and make numerous improvements over the years.

  The worst was that Berwyn found himself saddled with what might as well have been a nun for a spouse all these years. She’d produced the required heir within the first year of their union and then promptly lost all interest in carnal things.

  And he was a very carnal man.

  “God’s teeth!” he roared. He’d gone into the chamber that smelled like death in order to fetch a bauble for Clarine. He’d promised her a jewel after their lovemaking last night and knew he could not go to her again unless he presented the trinket. Berwyn angrily paced down the hall again to retrieve a gem from his wife’s casket. She never wore them and would probably be dead by the time he placed a necklace about Clarine’s luscious throat.

  Father Michael no longer stood guard outside. Undoubtedly, he had gone in again to offer solace to Gillian. Berwyn pushed open the door, grimacing at the stench of stale vomit that greeted him again.

  Before he could take more than a few steps in, however, he halted. Gillian’s faltering words forced him to a stop.

  “. . . and so Gavin is not Berwyn’s son. In truth, Father, ‘tis Lord Aldred’s blood that runs through his veins.”

  Shock caused a physical reaction. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed quickly and took two steps back so as to remain out of sight. He’d fostered with Aldred of Kentwood when but a youth, worshipping the man far more than his own father, who was Aldred’s closest friend. Lord Aldred taught him how to ride and use a sword. How to wench and drink. Now, Berwyn learned a score and four later that the famed nobleman had cuckolded him?

  When had it transpired?

  He thought back to the earliest time in his marriage. Gillian delivered a son to him eight months after their vows. She told him many times first children came early, and he hadn’t any reason to question her. Gavin had been perfect in every way.

  Now, he saw in an instant how much Gavin resembled his true father. Berwyn had wondered where Gavin’s height had come from and his unusual eyes. Why had he been blind to the truth all these years? Rage rushed through his veins.

  “He might have been a score more than I, yet he was the kindest man, despite his war-like attitude. Gavin is just like him, Father. He has Aldred’s eyes and smile and his gentle disposition.”

  Gillian moaned softly and panted like a dog would before she continued. “I have seen Gavin nurse a mare in labor with tenderness, yet ‘tis fierce and unhesitating he is with his sword. A son any mother would be proud of. I have kept my secret all these years, Father. ‘Twas my sin to bear. I have suffered in silence so that my son would become lord of Ashgrove.”

  The priest murmured soft words of absolution, but Berwyn blocked them out. He forced his clenched fists to open and took a calming breath. His face now a blank mask, he strode through the room and placed a hand on the clergyman’s back.

  “Forgive my earlier outburst, Father. I regret the harsh words I spoke to my wife. I have come to beg her forgiveness, as she is so near to death.”

  He gave Gillian a soft smile before looking again at the cleric. “Would you allow us some privacy?”

  Father Michael turned and shuffled from the room, shaking his head as he mumbled to himself. Berwyn waited till he heard the door close before he looked at his traitorous wife.

  Her beauty had faded long ago. Only her eyes burned brightly in her shriveled face. They held his, questioning, unsure why he would offer her an apology.

  “You’re right, my dear,” he said almost tenderly. “I won’t beg your pardon.” Berwyn moved closer to the bed, breathing from his mouth so as to keep the scent of death from him.

  He placed his hands upon her bony shoulders and gripped her tightly as he brought his face close to hers. The fear in her eyes brought a smile to his face.

  “I am here to tell you one thing, Wife. Your bastard child will never be master of Ashgrove. Never.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as he watched the realization seep through her.

  “Yes, I heard your confession.” Berwyn lifted a hand from her shoulder and wound his fingers around a lock of her graying hair. “I may have been fooled for years, but no more. Gavin is as good as dead to me.”

  He smiled at her. “As are you.”

  With a swift movement, Berwyn pulled a pillow from behind Gillian’s back and pressed it to her face. She struggled briefly, but the disease that ravaged her body had robbed her strength. When she ceased moving, he lifted the pillow and returned it from where it came.

  She lay with eyes open, full of fright. Berwyn steeled himself and brushed his palm across her face, closing her lids. He straightened the bedclothes and then went across the room. Opening the casket that contained all of her jewels, he pawed through the contents, choosing a circlet to place inside his tunic. Clarine’s golden tresses would look lovelier than usual now.

  He retur
ned to the bed and knelt next to it. He took one of her hands in his. Already it was cool to his touch. He bit his tongue hard to give him a pained look, one that he hoped would pass for sorrow, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  “Sweet Jesu! Come quickly! My wife is dead.”

  CHAPTER 2

  France, 1356

  Gavin of Ashgrove awakened quickly, as always, his body instantly tense, hand upon his sword. Well before daylight, he would once again follow the Black Prince into battle against the French.

  At five and ten years, he had stood as large as any grown man a decade ago when he acted as squire to Lord Aldred, who gave him permission to ride into the skirmish that lay ahead.