Bliss(3)
Author: Lynsay Sands

The question was rhetorical, Helen was sure. At least, the man didn’t appear to intend to stick around for the answer. He was sidling eagerly toward the main door now, moving fast, and talking faster still.

She wished he’d choked on the food she had served him.

"I have been informed that Lord Holden is presently on his way home from performing a task for the king," he continued as Helen’s aunt began to follow him slowly across the floor, eyes narrowed and furious. "So you will have plenty of time to prepare the celebratory feast. I would guess you should plan it for next week’s end. That should be about right. I will send a messenger ahead, of course, so that you can see to any last-minute details." The last was said as he slid through the door.

"The little rat!" Nell said harshly once the keep door had slammed closed behind him.

Helen heartily agreed with the pronouncement, but had other concerns more pressing. "Why would he suggest to the king that Holden and I marry?"

"Why, indeed?" Aunt Nell muttered, then moved back to place her hands on Helen’s shoulders to comfort her.

"Surely you are not going to actually marry him?" Ducky gasped, moving forward to join them. "Not the Hammer?"

"I hope not, Ducky. Truly I do." Helen’s shoulders slumped miserably.

"Bur what will you do?"

Frowning, Helen began to twist her hands together as her mind flew over the possibilities. Flee? To where? Beg the king? How? He was away and the wedding was to take place at week’s end. Kill the prospective groom? A nice thought, but not very practical, she admitted with a grimace.

"My lady?" Ducky prompted anxiously.

Helen sighed. "I am not sure what I can do," she admitted unhappily.

Ducky’s eyes widened in horror. "Can you not refuse him? Just refuse and – "

"And have the king send me off to an abbey? I would rather marry the man and kill him than do that!

Who would look after my people if that happened? The Hammer, that is who. Tiernay would be forfeit to him as my dower should I refuse the king’s orders."

Ducky bit her lip at that, then leaned closer to whisper. "Maggie knows this and that about herbs. Or Old Joan the Healer. She might know of something we could give him to – "

"Bite your tongue," Helen hissed, covering the maid’s mouth with her hand and glancing nervously about the empty great hall. "I never want to hear such a suggestion from you again, Ducky. It could get you strung up in the bailey."

"But then what will you do?" The servant looked miserable as Helen removed the hand covering her mouth. "You cannot marry the Hammer."

Helen sighed again. "It appears I will have to. I cannot refuse a direct order from the king."

"Why not?" Ducky asked frantically. "The Hammer does it often enough. Why, he – "

"That’s it!" Aunt Nell, who had stood silent and thoughtful throughout the last few moments, suddenly grabbed Helen’s arms excitedly, unconsciously giving her a shake.

"What?" Helen asked with a glimmer of hope.

"You cannot refuse. But the Hammer can . He is too powerful a lord for the king to force him, should he really wish to refuse."

Ducky snorted. "And do you really think for one minute that the Hammer will refuse to marry her?

Look! She’s as pretty as her mother ever was. And sweet as honeyed mead as well. Then there is her land. Who would refuse a dower like Tiernay?"

Helen sagged slightly, some of her hope leaving her, but Aunt Nell merely straightened her shoulders and spoke staunchly. "Then we shall have to make you and Tiernay less attractive."

Ducky looked doubtful. "Templetun has already seen her for the pretty lass she is. You can’t suddenly blacken her teeth and shave her head."

"Nay," Helen agreed slowly, a small smile teasing the corners of her lips as an idea flared in her mind.

"But there are other things we can do."

Chapter Two

Hethe, Lord Holden, sat at the head of his table and gaped at the man before him. Hethe had just returned from several weeks of battle, fighting for his king. It was something he spent more time doing than anything else of late. Actually, it was almost all he had been doing since his wife’s death ten years ago. Before that even. Henry II was forever extending his power, and Hethe had utilized his sovereign’s ambition to provide an excuse to avoid the home he had shared first with his hypercritical parents, then with the sweet young Nerissa.

He rubbed the weariness from his eyes, wishing he could take the memories away as easily. Thoughts of his poor dead wife always made him contrite. They had been too young. She had been too young.

Turning away from the thoughts as he always did, he scowled at Lord Templetun. "Explain to me your presence here again to if you please, my lord," he ordered carefully.

"The king sent me with this message," The man pushed the scroll at him again, no doubt hoping that this time it would be taken. "And ordered me to collect you and take you to Tiernay to marry Lady Helen."

"You cannot marry that hag!" William exclaimed as Hethe reluctantly took the proffered scroll and broke its seal.

"Lady Tiernay is not a hag," Templetun said with a reproving glance at Hethe’s first – the man who, above all others, was supposed to look after his lord’s best interests. "I just came from there, and she is quite lovely."

"Oh, aye. Well… you would say that, wouldn’t you?" William muttered.

"Have you ever seen the lady in question?" Templetun asked irritably, then nodded in satisfaction when the man reluctantly shook his head. "Well, I have, and she is quite lovely. Quite." His mouth turned down then, and he added almost under his breath, "Though her aunt is something of a termagant."

"What was that about her aunt?" Hethe asked abruptly, handing the king’s missive over so that William could do the actual reading. He himself was interested only in the signature, and had recognized it at once as the king’s. He had received enough missives from the man to know Henry’s hand by now. That was enough to tell him that Templetun’s claims were probably true. Not that he had really doubted it. Why would the man lie about something like this?

Templetun’s expression promptly turned testy at the question, but he merely shook his head and asked,

"Well, what say you? Will you marry the lady or not?"

"Do I have a choice?" Hethe asked with a bark of laughter, but he glanced at William rather than Templetun for the answer. His first glanced up from the scroll he was reading and shook his head with disgust.

"I thought not." Shifting, Hethe pushed a hand wearily through his hair. The last thing he needed right now was another wife to worry about. Even if he had been looking for one, Tiernay’s tyrant was the last he would have chosen. Dear God! The woman was an abominable busybody, forever sending messages berating him for the way he dealt with his people. At least, so he had heard. He never read the messages himself, but William reported to him on the matter. His first received the news from Stephen, his second, whom Hethe left in command while he was off fighting. The younger man was horribly harassed by the woman.

Now it seemed that he himself would be the one harassed – and not by impersonal messages. He would have to deal with the woman personally. Most personally, indeed. The thought was enough to make him shove himself from his seat and hurry toward the stairs. Templetun was immediately on his feet and following.

"My lord? What are you doing?"

"I am going to take a bath," Hethe announced without slowing his steps. "I trust I will be allowed to bathe the stench of death off me and enjoy a night’s rest ere I must rush off to wed the wench? It is not as if she is going anywhere."

"Oh. Nay." Templetun stopped at the foot of the stairs and allowed Lord Holden to continue alone. "I mean, aye – a bath and rest are fine. I will send a messenger to warn Lady Tiernay that we will be leaving on the morrow. After we break fast?" he added hopefully.

"After the nooning meal," Hethe corrected. "I would hear how things go on my land ere I rush off to a new holding."

"Aye. After the nooning," Templetun agreed reluctantly.

Grunting in response, Hethe continued up the stairs and to his room. He was standing staring out the window several minutes later when a tap came at the door. Calling out for whomever it was to enter, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the door open to reveal servants bearing a tub and numerous pails of hot water. He hadn’t ordered the bath, but had spoken his desire to bathe aloud to Templetun. That was enough to see the deed done here. Holden’s servants were well trained and swift about their duties. That was good; his men had chosen and trained these workers well.

Hethe watched silently as his bath was prepared; then he dismissed the servants. One of the maids stayed behind, prepared to assist him in the bath, but, buxom and pretty though she was, he waved her out, too. He wished to be alone. He had to consider this matter of his marriage. To be married again. To have another wife for whom he was responsible.

Feeling his muscles tense at the very thought, he quickly stripped off his clothes and stepped into the tub.

The water closed around him as warm and inviting as a mistress, and he leaned his head back, his eyes closing as he felt his body slowly relax and his mind drift.

He had been a mere twelve years old and Nerissa seven when their marriage had been contracted. He was seventeen and she not quite twelve when their parents had grown weary of waiting and decided to hold the ceremony. Both sides had been greedy for the merger between the families – Holden offering his family name and title and Nerissa her father’s wealth. Young though he had been, he had been old enough to suggest – rather sensibly, it turned out – that they delay the wedding until the girl was older.

But neither side had wanted that.

Unfortunately, Nerissa was the one who had paid the price for their parents’ ambitions. She had grown heavy with child right away, then been sacrificed on the birthing bed. She had not yet seen her thirteenth year.

Hethe would never forgive himself for failing to persuade his father to wait. Or perhaps he could have refused to consummate the marriage. He might have allowed them all to think it was consummated, then secretly waited until she was a year or two older. But he had not. Seventeen he had been, and as randy as any young man. And she had been a lovely girl – even at that age. A combination of drink and his father’s firm instruction had ensured the deed was done. Nine months later he had listened to her screams as their child fought to make its way out of her. The child had failed, and Nerissa had bled to death with their babe still inside her.

And so Hethe had been fighting his demons and the king’s enemies ever since. He spent weeks and even months covering battlefield after battlefield with blood. He would fight until he wearied of the stench and sight of death, then return home, always hoping that this time he would be able to rest. That this time, home would be the haven he sought. But he’d never found that haven. For him, Nerissa’s screams still echoed through the castle halls as they had for nearly three days those many years ago. Quickly, sometimes even within hours he was eager to leave again. He could find no peace.

Today was no different, he thought grimly. Though this time it was not the screams of Nerissa that made him wish to flee Holden’s cold stone walls. Nay. This time, the thing that would send him running back to the battlefields was the message which the king’s man had just delivered. Marry again – and to the tyrant of Tiernay.

It was ironic, really. This time he would be the sacrifice, and to the king’s whims. He couldn’t say he was amused.

A tap at the door drew him from his unpleasant thoughts and he sat up slightly, calling "enter" as he began to splash water over his skin. He was no more surprised when William entered than he had been to see the servants appear with his bath. By now his first would have had a report from Stephen, and he would pass the news on to him. It was the usual routine.

"What news while we were gone?" Hethe asked, cupping his hands together to scoop water up and splash it over his head, dampening his hair.

"Nothing really. At least, nothing we had not heard from Stephen’s missives." William shrugged, then sat on the end of the bed to consider Hethe unhappily. "You are not really going to marry her, are you?"

Hethe was silent for a moment, then asked, "Did the letter sound like a request or an order?"

"An order," the man admitted reluctantly.

Hethe made a face, then shrugged at his thoughts. "I suppose I have to. I had to marry again sometime,"

he added, trying to resolve himself to the matter.

"Aye, but… to Tiernay’s tyrant…" William looked pained, and Hethe laughed slightly at his expression.

"Aye, well. I’ll marry her, bed her; then we shall see if the king can’t use our services in subduing that son of his. If we leave my wife at Tiernay and I make infrequent visits, things should not change so much."

William’s relief was palpable, and Hethe understood it. The other man had been a smallish boy, often picked on by others. But in his late teens, he had a growth spurt that had started him toward the tall, strong man he now was. That, plus his training at Hethe’s side, had turned him into a skilled knight. Hethe knew that his friend hoped to gain glory, the king’s attention, and perhaps a grant of land and his own demesne, by his sword. It was the reason the other man had never hesitated to ride into battle with him, why he even encouraged Hethe in volunteering himself and his men to Henry. Hethe suddenly settling down with a wife and avoiding warfare could hamper such ambitions. But William needed not fear; Hethe had no desire to settle.

"Bedding the tyrant of Tiernay," William said, the man’s words drawing Hethe’s attention to his feigned shudder. "Ugh. You have my utmost sympathies."

"And I appreciate those sympathies, William. Truly, I do." He spoke in arid tones, but his mind tried to recollect a picture of the woman. She had been a mere child the last time he saw her, perhaps ten. He had gone to Tiernay after his father’s death to discuss and ensure the continuation of the treaties between Holden and Tiernay with this woman’s father. It had been the year after Nerissa’s death. Aye, she would have been about ten – only a year or so younger than his own bride had been when he had married her, but Tiernay’s daughter had shown none of the curves or beauty of his Nerissa. She had been a scrawny little thing. All teeth and elbows, as he recalled. She had probably not improved with the passage of time, either. Helen of Tiernay probably resembled nothing more than a naggy old buck-toothed horse.