Chapter One
Wulversmeade Castle, Northumberland
Summer 1318
Giselle de Villers, of an old and revered house, took a deep breath as her servant, Agnes, put the finishing touches to her hair.
‘Don’t worry yourself over it, Lady, he’ll be a fine young man I am sure, and I know for certain that he is a lucky one, to be getting such a fair bride as you.’
Agnes’ voice swelled with pride, and Giselle squeezed her eyes shut with the effort of not saying what she was thinking. Speaking it aloud would make it real, and then everything about her situation would be that bit more awful.
She had already endured two uncomfortable weeks, trundling north in a wagon, heading for her future. Two long weeks of contemplating marriage to someone she had never met. Two long weeks to dread it, more and more, with each turn of the wheels.
‘I pray you haven’t taken a chill from the journey. Shame it was in such haste and in such foul weather,’ fussed Agnes.
Swallowing her fear, Giselle turned to her servant. ‘I think the weather is always foul this far north. We were at the mercy of some summer storms, but I’m hale and hearty, so stop fretting Agnes. It’s just a little cold in here, that’s all. And you know full well why there was such haste. There was nothing to be done about it, so this is where we find ourselves. We must bear it with dignity and make the best of it.’
The woman forced her plump face into a smile. They were both of them pretending good cheer for the sake of the other.
Giselle tried to keep the homesickness out of her voice and hide her worry. Wet weather had slowed their progress with the wagon getting stuck many times in ruts in the road. They’d often had to whip the horses hard to get it moving. The land in England’s south was already in summer’s grip, with fields of barley ripening to gold, but as they drew further north, the weather had turned. They had scarcely travelled more than a few miles, for two days, due to high winds and gusting rain turning the roads to rivers of mud. Giselle had been forced to sit in the dank wagon in mute misery. Any delay could have spelt disaster. She must be married, and soon.
It was a daughter’s duty to marry where a father commanded, and fate had dealt the de Villers family a blow which meant Giselle could not afford to be choosy. She was lucky to find someone to take her, though she had yet to meet her husband to be.
Edric de Mawpas. She said the name over and over again in her mind, trying to accustom herself to it. He was the youngest son of her father’s oldest friend, Sir Hugh de Mawpas, who had been a knight of some renown in his day and a veteran of the crusades.
Giselle’s path north had ended at Wulversmeade Castle, though on first glance it barely merited the word, more a fortified manor house than a castle. It was small and ugly, and backed by dark woodland and scrubby, wind-scoured moorland, with a low and crumbling curtain wall, no moat to speak of, more a muddy ditch. The muck outside it was ankle-deep, and a rank smell wafted across from the midden.
‘Lady, does it not vex you that your betrothed did not greet you at the gates yesterday eve at the end of our long journey?’ Agnes’ voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
It had indeed been strange. But they had arrived in the middle of torrential rain, turning everything to a grey misery. Giselle wished Agnes would be more cheery in her conversation as she was nervous enough already.
‘Perhaps Edric preferred not to keep me standing out in the foul weather, and he wants to greet me formally instead. His father was all courtesy, was he not?’
Indeed Sir Hugh de Mawpas had been welcoming in a gruff, hurried kind of way, ushering them quickly inside and barking at his men to secure the gates well behind them. Did he think she would run away? Had she not hidden her trepidation well enough from his steady gaze?
‘T’was the least he could do to honour your father, his oldest friend, but his son could have shown some chivalry and attended us,’ said Agnes tersely. ‘I know it is not my place to say it…’
‘Then don’t, Agnes. You must show respect. Within days, Edric de Mawpas will be my husband, and I must be loyal to him.’
Giselle took the woman’s hands in hers. ‘Don’t fret for me. I was thankful he was not there, for I was dirty from the road, and it was good to have had a bath and to look my best on meeting the man I will share my life with.’
Agnes frowned and looked chastened.
‘I know we are a long way from home, Agnes, but I have one chance to fulfil my father’s wish and escape poverty, and I must take it. Edric is probably feeling just as nervous about meeting me as I am, him, and I am sure all will be well. I promised Father I would do this, and so I will.’
Tears pricked Giselle’s eyes at the thought of her beloved father before a brisk knock on the door had them both turning. Agnes shouted, ‘Enter.’
A servant strode in and gave a low bow. ‘Lady de Villers, my Lord requests you attend him in the hall to dine. I am to escort you.’
‘Very well, wait outside, and we shall come presently,’ replied Agnes, before Giselle had a chance to say anything.
The man cast them a sneering look and withdrew.
Agnes grabbed Giselle’s hands tight in hers. ‘I know it is not my place, but you have no mother here to guide you, and as your father is not with us…I just wanted to say…’ She took a deep breath. ‘Be proud of who you are Lady, you are from a fine house with a fine lineage.’
‘And no money, land which has been snatched from under us, Agnes, and I’ve scarce enough dowry to tempt a man to have me.’
‘Do not speak so. Wealth is not all in this world. You are lovely Lady, with a good heart and so much love to give. Any man with eyes in his head would want you, and many have looked, I have seen it. They stare at your pretty face, and the fire in your hair and they swoon like fools. Money or no, you will show your worth, and if Edric doesn’t immediately fall to his knees with love at the sight of you, I will have something to say about it.’