The Minstrel

The MinstrelPatricia Potter -Prologue England1485 Duncan, the Marquis of Worthington, rode like all the hounds in hell pursued him.Hed thought that this trip to northern England would be a triumphant one. He had won back the estates taken by Edward during his Yorkist reign. Duncans father had died defending the castle, and his mother and all her servants had been driven out.Now the estates had been returned by Henry Tudor. Duncan had sent his men ahead to see that the castle was vacated by the Yorkist supporters. He didnt really care how the eviction took place, although he had told Gilbert to treat the womenfolk gently. His mother, once more the Dowager Countess of Worthington, would disapprove if he did otherwise, and his mother was the one person on the earth he did not want to disappoint. She was a great and gentle woman.Then there were the vows hed taken to protect and defend women.Not that there was much honor left in England after such a long civil war.Hed then planned to ride to the side of his mother, who was living at St. Annes Convent, and take her in comfort to their restored holdings. But before he could leave the kings side, a messenger had arrived. His mother was dying of consumption. If he wished to see her, he could no longer tarry at the court of Henry VI. He had, after all, received what he wanted: the Worthington title and estates.Hed left the next day with only Rhys, the captain of his guard and trusted friend, and each had exhausted three horses to arrive in two daysHe looked ahead. Not far now. By the saints, he would arrive by moonset. He tightened his legs around his mount, urging it to greater speed. Hed bought the gelding in a village along the way, when his second horse started to slow.The animal increased its stride and Duncan saw the outlines of the stark stone building of the convent. But though the building itself was bleak, the gardens around were lovingly tended by the nuns.His mother had been happy enough there. She was deeply devout and had always loved gardens. She had, in fact, been at her happiest kneeling in Gods earth. He had sent her what he could during the years, though he himself had been unable to return.Duncan had not seen her in seven years, and it pained him that he had not provided better for her. Nay, more than pained. Agony sliced through him. He had seen so much blood and hardship in the past decade. He thought he had steeled himself against emotion! But now it thundered through him. I must not be too late.They arrived at the entrance and Duncan rang the bell at the gate. He paced impatiently until a small window in the gate opened.Ive come to see the Dowager Countess of Worthington.The habit-clad woman hesitated. You are her son?Aye.The stone gate opened. She has been waiting for you.He breathed easier. She still lives then?Come with me, the woman said without directly answering his question. She bowed her head and led him through gardens of herbs and flowers to the stone edifice. She opened it without anymore words, then led him to a small room.He saw a small slight woman lying on little more than a cot. There was little else: a small table, a stool and a cross that hung above the bed. The entire space was cold and bare, and the ache in his heart deepened. He should not have left her here. He should have found some wayA Sister sitting on a stool beside his mother rose silently and disappeared out the door. He went over to the cot and knelt by its side. Mother, he said.His mothers once blond hair was now white. Her face was pale, but her blue eyes burned fiercely. She held out her hand. My son, she murmured. I prayedWe have our lands back, he said, wanting to comfort in some small way.Judith, once said to be the loveliest woman in northern England, smiled, then lapsed into a fit of coughing. He touched her cheek and felt its heat. He took a cup of water on the table and held it to her mouth. She swallowed slowly, with obvious pain, but her eyes never left him.Ill take you home, he said.She shook her head. This is home. The Sisters have been kind, and I have peace now. I am ready to go to our Father.Nay, he said, as if he could, indeed, hold death at bay.He granted my wish by bringing you here to me, she whispered, her voice dropping. I wanted to see you. She hesitated. Have you wed, Duncan?Nay, he said softly. I have been busy.You are the last, Duncan. And, God help me, my favorite. Your brothers gone. Your father Her fingers dug into his. I wanted to tell you, to ask you She started to cough again and he felt helpless. His suddenly clumsy fingers offered the cup again, and he saw blood on its edges.She looked fragile, as if she would drift away from him any moment. He didnt know if he could bear that. He wanted to give her so much. Shed never had much at Worthington. His father had been a brutal man who had gotten her with child year after year. Two died in her womb. Another three died before their first birthdays. Only two had lived past fifteen, and one of thosehis older brotherdied for the Lancaster cause.What can I do, Mother?Swear to me, she said. Swear to me you will marry for love. Protect her. Take care of her. She smiled weakly. Love her, for there is no greater joy in life.He was stunned to silence. He had never seen a tender word exchanged between his mother and father. His mother had been obedient and had busied herself with her gardens, particularly after Duncan and his brother had been sent away to be trained in arms.Had theyhis mother and fatherever been in love? He didnt think so. It had been an arranged marriage. She had brought land to his father, and he had given protection to her family. A sudden thought hit him. Had she loved someone else?Duncan. Her voice was weaker, as if her words were pulling her lifeblood from her. Your oath?He didnt believe in love. It was naught but a myth. A whimsey.His hands tightened around her almost lifeless one. He wanted to give her his strength. Her gaze, bright with fever, bore into his. Your vow.Duncan nodded. I vow, he said, watching as she closed her eyes and one last soft breath escaped her lips.-one Making a vow was bloody well easier than keeping it. Duncan looked about the great hall, already a disaster from the last occupants indifference, and saw only greed.They had been coming nonstop, these neighboring families, all with marriageable daughters. They had knocked on his door, expecting hospitality ever since hed made the mistake of letting it be known that he was looking for a bride.The hopefuls came in every size and weight, of cheerful and fearful countenance, of sensible and foolish temperaments, of plain and beauteous visages, of great dowries, and not-so-great dowries but aspirations nonetheless.Mostly he saw greed.There was one shy but fetching lass who had attracted him, but she trembled every time he neared. He overheard her telling her father that his scarred face and reputation terrified her. He didnt want a terrified bride and had no idea how to calm her fears.None made his heart sing. If, indeed, hearts did sing. He doubted it, but he had made a vow to his mother, and he was bloody well going to try to fulfill it. He had never broken a knightly vow in his life; and he didnt intend to start with one he made to the only person who had ever loved him.He sat at the table and fought the loneliness and the futility of his vow. Twould be far better to just take a bride as others did: to gain land, men at arms, wealth. There was, he thought no such thing as true love. It was an invention of the minstrels and troubadours, of storytellers and ballad writers.But still he had made that blasted vowA young woman leaned over, offering a cup while exposing some of her endowments. He had a whiff of perfume that nearly knocked him off the chair. Her father, a neighboring earl, grinned foolishly. A little earlier he had stopped Duncan in the hall and said he would exceed any other dowry.He was, Duncan knew, a former supporter of the Yorkist cause and probably feared retribution from the new Lancaster king. He was only interested in selling his daughter to save himself and his estates. But, then, so were the other hopeful fathers who accompanied wives with anxious expressions.A minstrel entered the hall and stood, awaiting Duncans nod. Duncan had hired the wandering gypsy as his hall filled. It wasnt hospitality. It was for his own sake. A distraction from the mayhem his hall had become.He should never have told the priest about his mothers request. Duncan was sure that was the source of all his uninvited company.The minstrel, a gypsy who had appeared just days ago, started to play, the sound of his lute drowned by the increasingly loud voices. But in fleeting moments, the sound drifted over to him and Duncan knew the voice was good. Not as fine as Rhyss, though. For a moment he thought back to those lulls between battles both in England and on the continent. Rhys had the Welsh love of music, and hed taught Duncan how to play. Theyd done so privately, Duncan not wanting to be thought soft by his men. But his soul had grabbed at it, like a drowning man reached for a branch to save himself. With the exception of his mother, who had been a gentle but distant figure, hed known little but training and war for more years than he wanted to remember.He wished he were playing that lute, rather than feeling the fool sitting amidst a ruinous manor beset by the oddest assortment of prospective brides hed ever seen.Lucifers horns, but hed rather face a hostile army. At least he knew the proper responses there.His attention ran back down the table to his current guests. They included three barons, two earls and one marquis, all of whom wanted to improve their lot. Among them were seven marriageable daughters. And this was the second lot.Blasted rules of hospitality. He would like to toss all of them out, but then in this political atmosphere, one needed all the allies one could find. Insulting daughters was not the way to win them.A flash of brilliance suddenly struck him. A messenger from the king. A summons to the court. Of course, the court would be every bit as bad as this situation. The word most likely had traveled far and wide, and he would be deluged there, too, by prospective in-laws who would see little but his purse. And his status as a favorite of the new king. God knew he had fought for him long enough.He wondered whether any woman would want him for himself, and not his wealth. Whether he could find a gentle soul who would not tremble at his reputation.The earl on his left asked him to tell the company of the Battle of Bosworth, the one that saw the death of one king and placed a crown on another. It was a transparent attempt to give Duncan a chance to boast. Boasting was the last thing he wanted to do. He was sick of battle, of the noise and the smoke and the smells. He wanted to forgetnot remember梩he dead men who would never go home and the maimed ones whod lost any chance of a decent life.Shades of Lucifer, he wanted peace. Peace with a woman who didnt fear him or desire his wealth.His eyes went to the minstrel again and a thought tickled his mind. He could play a passable song on the lute and the viele. He could even sing. He only knew songs of war and battle, but surely they would be in demand.Dayseven weeksof being invisible was an irresistible thought. He could take measure of the young ladies without fearing they wanted him for all the wrong reasons.He had been gone more than ten years. Only those in the immediate area would recognize him. If he traveled northThe more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea. He even smiled. Twenty faces smiled back at him. Not one, he judged, with sincerity.Only Rhys was to be trusted. He and the men who had fought for the Tudor cause for so many years. Rhys could stay and take care of the estates, particularly the cleaning of the castle He wanted them in good condition when he brought home a bride. One that wanted him for himself. If, indeed, such a person existed. Lady Lynet Hampton of Clenden stared at her father. You cannot mean it.George, the Earl of Clenden, drew himself up to his full height, the one indication of his determination. He usually slouched, stammered, and shambled his way across a room. He was lovably incompetent at almost everything. Well-meaning but ineffectual. Lynet had always wrapped him around her finger.But not this time. You have two sisters, gel, who want husbands. None of them can wed until you do. It is time for you to make a decision.They can marry I can stay and take care of you.He looked at her glassily, and she knew he had taken courage from brandy. Your mother says they cannot wed until you do. You are ruining their chances, my girl.There is no oneThat is why I am inviting three men who have asked to call upon you. By the end of the fortnight, you will choose one. He blinked rapidly. And you will be charming and spend time with each of them. You will not steal away.She wanted to defy him. She probably would have, had she not known how much it would hurt him. As resentful as she was at his edict, she knew he wanted only the best for her, and hed been ill lately. She knew he was determined because he believed it the best for her.Who did you invite? she asked.The Viscount Wickham, Lord Manfield and the Earl of Kellum, he said, obviously encouraged by her question. They are all young, he added hopefully.She knew Wickham and Kellum. Wickham was in his early twenties, an attractive but callow fellow who thought of nothing other than hunting, unfortunately more for the sport than for the food. Kellum, on the other hand, liked little but himself. He was always preening in the steel mirror.She didnt even want to think of the third.Why couldnt everyone just let her alone with her music and books? She would be entirely happy that way. She didnt want a marriage built on necessity, like that of her parents. Her mother was a scold, and her father ignored his wife as much as possible. They suffered each other and nothing more.She did not want to go through her life like that. But neither did she want to wound her father.Papa, what if I dont find someone I can abide? She didnt even think of love as a possibility.He looked profoundly unhappy. Then your mother says you should be sent to a convent. He took her hand. I must have an heir, my daughter. I have not been feeling well, andAnd she was the oldest daughter of three. There were no sons.I will try, she agreed, not knowing what else to do.He beamed. I knew you would. They are fine men. All of them.A lump formed in her throat. She knew she and her sisters were a disappointment. Hed tried not to show it, but the odd wistful observation about this young man or another gave him away. And Lynet knew she was her fathers favorite. She loved her two younger sisters, but neither of them had ever had a moments serious thought.I really will try, she said again. And she would. She would put away her lute and her dreams and do her duty. Rhys regarded Duncan with horror. You are daft, my lord.Rhys was the only person who would so address him. He had the right, since hed saved Duncans life more than once. It mattered naught that Duncan had done the same for Rhys.You yourself told me I would make a good troubadour.I was flattering you.Then you believe I could fail?Aye.And that I cannot play the viele?Aye, Rhys insisted determinedly. You know naught but battle songs. You know nothing of the songs young ladies desire.You can teach me.This is madness, my lord. You cannot ride alone. You have too many enemies.No one will recognize a simple gypsy minstrel.They may not recognize who you are, but they certainly will know what you are. You wear arrogance like a cloak.You forget the time I was a spy.And I had to rescue you when you insulted a general.Duncan drew up to his formidable height. He deserved to be insulted, he said defensively. In fact, he was too stupid to even know he was being insulted.You do not make a good servant.Duncan decided to ignore the observation. I want to borrow your lute and viele.Nay.You are my liege man. What is yours is mine.Really, my lord? Rhys said with unimpressed boredom.Saints be saved, Rhys, do you not want me to fulfill my vow?Rhys regarded him solemnly for a moment. I think it would be a very fine thing if you find a bride. But I dont think you will find an honest one with dishonest tactics.Do you think I can find one here? Is there one here that you would see as my wife?Rhys grinned. In truth, I do not. So I will loan you my lute. You can find your own viele. I need mine to lure my own maid. His smile faded. But if you do not return in a fortnight, I will come after you.I need no nursemaid, Duncan said gruffly, though in truth he appreciated the mans loyalty.We will see about that. When do you plan to leave?In the morning. I can no longer stand this company.If you wed, you will be expected to host not only this company but the king.Ah Rhys, you always remind me of such unpleasant truths.The price of wealth and prestige, my lord. You had best get used to it. Tis worse than battle, I think, Duncan said. I have no talent for politics.You regained your land. I think you have a fine talent for politics.The thought did not please Duncan. The idea of freedom did.I see your mind is decided, Rhys said. I know you well enough not to argue further. But mayhap you should learn a few more songs.Nay, I know enough, Duncan said, and if I do not leave in the morn, I will go mad and toss out everyone.The gleam in Rhyss eyes disconcerted Duncan. He dismissed it. Hed seldom failed at anything, and surely he could be as good as the man who had performed tonight. No one listened anyway.His new profession would begin tomorrow.-two To his chagrin, Duncan discovered he was not a very competent minstrel. For one who had always excelled at whatever task hed undertaken, it was bitter medicine to swallow.He didnt know what had gone wrong. He had planned so carefully. He had borrowed worn clothes from Rhys and others. He had prepared a repertoire. He had even practiced. He had set forth with high expectations of success if not acclaim.But how did one entertain when no one would listen? When they drank and laughed and exchanged lies?Oh, for sure, his playing was competent enough, said his temporary employers. But he had a tendency to glower at the audience and his repertoire consisted mostly of mayhem and battles.He was depressing, he was told. Did he have no love songs? No amusing riddles? No one could dance to his somber music. No one wanted to look longingly into anothers eyes when minstrels sang of death and destruction.Well, merde, that was what he knew.Hed not lasted long enough anywhere to measure the worth of the ladies of the household. Hed already been dismissed from three households. And with unseemly haste, especially from the last one.He should have listened to Rhys. He could always go back and admit defeat, but such admissions did not come easily to him. How could he learn a more pleasing countenance with a scar running over part of his face? Hed tried to explain that it came from a displeased lord.The lord of the manor