Bliss
Author: Lynsay Sands

Prologue

England, 1173

"Damn!" King Henry crumpled the scroll he had been reading into a ball and threw it to the floor in disgust. He spent a moment muttering about the soft hearts and interfering ways of women, then sighed with resignation and held his hand out to Templetun. "You may as well give me Lord Holden’s message, too."

The other man’s eyebrows flew up in amazement at the request, a touch of fear mingling with suspicion in his eyes. "How did you know?"

"It is not conjuring or anything, Templetun, simply experience. I never receive a complaint from Lady Tiernay that I do not receive one from Lord Holden as well. Besides, I saw his man ride in earlier and assumed he bore a message. There have been a few small uprisings inNormandy, and I asked Hethe to tend them for me. No doubt he is waiting to tell me he has done so."

"Ah." Relaxing, the older fellow handed over the document in question.

Henry opened the scroll a bit irritably, displeased at having to explain himself. Templetun had only worked in the capacity of his chaplain for the past couple of days – his usual chaplain was ill – but already Henry was wishing for the latter’s speedy recovery. His replacement was entirely too nervous, superstitious, and seemed to be far too eager to lend credence to Henry’s reputation of being the

"Spawn of the Devil." Shaking his head, Henry focused his attention on the parchment he now held. A moment later, it was a crumpled mass on the floor not far from the first, and Henry had leapt up to pace before his throne.

As he had expected, Lord Holden had cleaned up the little revolts inNormandyand was on his way home. But he had also added a complaint or two about his neighbor. It seemed his chatelain was harassed mightily by the Lady of Tiernay and was beleaguering Hethe with letters regarding the woman.

In his turn, the Hammer of Holden had respectfully requested that his king do something about the woman… or he, himself, would.

It sounded very much like a threat, and it displeased Henry greatly to be threatened by one of his vassals. In fact, if Hethe weren’t such a valued warrior and had not aided him so often in the past ten years, he would have seen him punished. But, unlike his father before him, Hethe had been a great asset.

He grimaced at the thought of the previous Lord Holden, Hethe’s father. Born the second son, Gerhard had expected to be allowed to join a monastery and live out his life amongst the musty old papal scribblings he so adored. Unfortunately, his eldest brother had died, forcing him to abandon those plans in favor of marriage and producing an heir. The man had taken out that displeasure on his son.

To be honest, in Henry’s opinion, Gerhard had been a touch mad. Fortunately, Hethe had not yet shown the same tendency. Unfortunately – for Hethe, at least – he had not even shown the same love of learning his father had, and the two had not gotten along. Gerhard’s hatred had driven the boy from his home and straight into Henry’s service as soon as he earned his spurs.

Ah, well. Gerhard’s loss had been his own gain, Henry decided. But that didn’t relieve Hethe of his responsibility to show his king respect. "What the Devil am I to do with these two?" he asked in frustration.

"I am not sure, my liege. What appears to be the problem, exactly?" Templetun asked tentatively. "I do realize they are both complaining – and from your reaction, I would say quite frequently – but about what, exactly?"

Henry turned to scowl down at him, opening his mouth to explain rather acerbically that his question had been rhetorical, when he changed his mind. Instead, he said, "Each other. Lady Tiernay writes to ‘warn me’ of her neighbor’s cruel and abusive behavior to his serfs and villeins, because she ‘ knows I would not wish to see any of my subjects so sorely mistreated. ‘"

"Ah," Templetun said again, biting back a smile at his king’s sarcastic imitation of a woman’s high-pitched voice. "And Lord Holden?"

Henry gave a short laugh. "He writes to say that Lady Tiernay is a nosy, harping busybody who makes his life hell."

"Hmmm." The new chaplain was silent for a moment, then murmured, "Did not Lord Holden’s wife die several years back?"

"Aye. Ten years ago. In childbirth. And Hethe has been my best warrior since. Always ready for a fight, always away on campaign for me. I don’t know what I’d do without him."

"Did Lady Tiernay’s husband not die four or five years ago as well?"

"What?" Henry scowled briefly, then his expression cleared. "Oh, nay. That was her father. Lady Tiernay is not married and has not been. Her father neglected to see to that ere his passing."

"She is of marriageable age, then?"

"Oh, aye. She is beyond old enough to marry, I should think. Why, she must be…" Henry paused, doing the math in his head. "I think she may be twenty or thereabouts." Groaning, he walked over and wearily rested his hand on his throne. "And there is another problem. I shall have to marry her off soon.

How the Devil am I expected to find a husband for a harping wench like her?" Again, he began to pace.

"Perhaps you already have one, my liege," Templetun offered with some trepidation. When the king turned on him sharply, he shrugged. "Mayhap the solution is to have Lord Holden marry her. It will solve both problems at once. She will be married, and they will be forced to work out their difficulties between themselves."

"They will kill each other within the week!" Henry predicted with disgust.

"Mayhap." Templetun paused innocently. "But still – both problems would then be solved, would they not?"

Henry considered him with frank admiration. "Damn, Templetun," he finally breathed. "You have an evil mind." He rushed back to his throne and threw himself excitedly upon it. "You shall write two messages in my name… and take them forth yourself!" Then he turned to the chaplain with a dangerous look in his eye. "And, Templetun," he added. "Don’t fail me.

Chapter One

No one was more surprised than Helen when she kicked the ball. She had only paused on her way across the bailey to watch the children play for a moment when the ball suddenly rolled toward her, and she impulsively kicked it. It was a mistake.

Goliath, who’d stayed dutifully by her side as always until then, took it as a sign that they were going to play. He was off after the ball in a heartbeat, barking gaily and running like the wind. Helen tried to call him back, but her voice was easily drowned out by the squeals of the children who raced after the huge wolfhound. The dog reached the ball first, of course. Unfortunately, he didn’t understand the rules of the game and, as a hunting animal, he did not fetch it back right away. Instead, he picked it up in his massive jaws and shook it viciously side to side.

Helen couldn’t hear the material tear, but she knew it had happened when feathers suddenly filled the air around the beast. Satisfied that he had killed his prey, Goliath strode cheerfully back through the dismayed children to drop the ruined ball at his mistress’s feet. He then sank to the ground and rested his head happily on his front paws in what Helen considered the very picture of male satisfaction. Shaking her head, she bent to pick up and examine the damaged toy.

"My lady?"

Helen turned her attention from the slightly damp-with-dog-drool ball and glanced at the two women who appeared beside her. "Aye?"

"This is Maggie," Ducky said quietly. Ducky was Helen’s lady’s maid, but also a friend. If she had brought this other woman to her, there had to be something the two needed. Surveying the slightly warty but kindly looking crone, Helen decided she liked what she saw.

"Hello, Maggie." she greeted the woman, then tipped her head slightly. "You are not from Tiernay." It wasn’t a question. Helen knew every one of her people; she made it her business to know them. This woman wasn’t one.

"Nay, my lady. I come from Holden."

Helen’s lips tightened at the news. It could only mean trouble of some sort. Her thoughts were distracted by a murmur of discontent as the children arrived to cluster around her. Their accusing little eyes moved unhappily from Goliath to their now mangled toy.

"I shall repair it at once," she assured them guiltily, relieved when the promise seemed to appease them.

"Come."

The order was for Goliath, who immediately got to his feet to keep pace at Helen’s side as she headed for the keep, but the humans obeyed as well. Ducky and Maggie promptly fell into step behind her while the children trailed at the back. The group made a small parade as it crossed the bailey, mounted the steps and entered Tiernay keep.

"I shall need some fresh feathers, Ducky," Helen announced as they crossed the great hall.

"Aye, my lady." The woman was off at once, heading for the kitchens where Cook had been plucking chickens all morning for that evening’s meal.

"You children go wait at the table. I shall have Ducky bring you drinks and pasties while you wait." So saying, Helen led Maggie and Goliath over to two chairs by the fire. Seating herself in her usual spot, she gestured for the older woman to take the other, then began to search through the small chest nearby for her sewing needle and thread. Goliath settled on the floor by her feet.

Helen was aware of the way the woman hesitated, then perched uncomfortably on the edge of her chair, nervous and stiff as could be, but she ignored it as she sought what was needed. She had just gotten ahold of the necessary items when Ducky appeared at her side with a wooden bowl containing the requested feathers.

"Thankyou." Helen accepted the bowl and smiled at the woman with appreciation. "Perhaps you could have someone fetch the children some refreshments and sweets while they wait?"

"Aye, my lady."

Helen began to thread her needle, her attention focused on the task as she asked Maggie, "So, you are from Holden?"

"Aye." The old woman cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably on her perch. "I used to be in charge of the chambermaids there."

"Used to?" Helen inquired gently. She drew the thread through the needle’s eye, then glanced up in time to note the bitterness that flashed across the servant’s face.

"Aye. I was released last Christmastide," the woman admitted reluctantly. A moment later she blurted,

"The lord wanted only young and pretty maids to serve in the chambers."

Helen’s mouth thinned. Such news didn’t surprise her. Very little could surprise her regarding the Hammer of Holden’s behavior. Hard work and service were not often repaid kindly by the man. Cruel bastard, she thought with irritation, then forced herself to start mending the large jagged tear in the children’s ball. After several stitches she felt calm enough to ask, "And what have you been doing for these last six months?"

The woman cleared her throat again. "Farmer White had been courting me up until then. He was a widower," she explained, blushing like a lass fresh out of a schoolroom. "When I was released, we married. I tended his home and helped on the farm." Her smile and blush faded, leaving her pale and weary looking. "He died these two weeks past."

"I am sorry," Helen said gently. Glimpsing the tears that sprang to the woman’s eyes before Maggie lowered her head, she turned her attention back to her task. Deciding she had left just enough unsewn, she turned the ball back inside out and began to stuff it with feathers. She was nearly done with the chore when Maggie recovered enough to continue.

"I knew there would be trouble. I couldn’t manage the farm on my own, of course…"

"He evicted you and gave the farm to another couple," Helen guessed quietly. Such wasn’t unheard of, but to her mind it was cruel to treat someone so shabbily when they had worked so hard and faithfully for so long.

Maggie nodded. "He sent poor young Stephen down as usual to do his dirty work."

Helen nodded. Stephen was Lord Holden’s second, the man left in charge of Holden while the Hammer was away. Which appeared to be quite often. Lord Holden seemed forever off doing battle somewhere.

But while Stephen wasHoldenCastle’s chatelain, none of the decisions were his. Surely the Hammer kept up a steady discourse with the man, ordering him to do this or that – none of it very pleasant or kind – and from all accounts, young Stephen suffered horribly from being forced to carry out such wicked deeds.

"He had Stephen claim everything in the cottage for heriot," Maggie continued, drawing Helen’s attention back to her. "Then he was ordered to burn it all before me and send me on my way."

Helen’s eyes widened incredulously. Heriot was the equivalent of a death tax, a legal part of the feudal system. But claiming every last possession, then burning it all… well, that was just cruel. And deliberately so. "Did Stephen do it?"

Maggie grimaced. "Aye. He is a faithful servant. He apologized the whole while, but he did it."

Helen nodded solemnly as she stuffed the last of the feathers firmly into the ball and prepared to sew it closed. Of course young Stephen had done it. He would follow his lord’s orders.

"His mother would have wept to see him forced to act so."

Helen glanced up questioningly at the woman’s words and Maggie explained. "We were friends when she lived in the village. This would have broken her heart."

"She is dead?" she asked politely, knowing the old servant needed the change of topic to help her maintain composure. If talking about Stephen’s mother would help her distance herself from her recent losses, Helen saw no reason not to indulge her.

"Oh, nay. She is not dead. But when Stephen became chatelain and was forced to dole out such harsh punishments… Well, she could not bear to stand by and watch. She left the village. Most people think she is dead, but I think she is living on the border of Tiernay and Holden. Stephen often rides out this way for the afternoon. I think he is visiting her." She fell silent for a moment, then added, "He rode out here after seeing to burning my things. Probably went to visit her then as well."

Helen took in the lost expression on the old woman’s face and the way she was slumping in her seat and said gently, "And so you came to Tiernay."