Jilliand Page 21

  “I think you are finished, lady.” Becca walked around Jilliand, admiring the group’s efforts.

  “This is beautiful.” Jilliand could hardly believe it was truly her standing before the looking glass.

  CHAPTER 23

  BECCA ESCORTED JILLIAND TO THE dining hall. It was alight with candles and several blazing fireplaces. Men and women were wandering about, laughing, talking, slowly moving toward immense tables set with opulent platters and goblets. Staff stood about, patiently waiting to serve. The king sat at the center of a long table on a slightly raised platform at one end of the hall. His men sat on either side of him overlooking the room.

  Jilliand and Becca stood quietly, listening. Slowly, Jilliand began to walk through the men and women gathered along the sides of the room. Her shoulders slumped. I do not belong here. Then she turned and spoke softly to Becca. “I cannot do this. We must go back now.” Without hesitation, Becca turned with her new mistress.

  “She’s leaving? Stop her,” the king commanded, leaning to the man next to him, his best friend and confidant, Sir Alexander. The king fixed his eyes on her. One by one, the occupants of the great hall noticed and followed his gaze.

  Before Jilliand could make it out the door, Alexander was at her elbow. “Lady, His Majesty requests your presence at his table.” Jilliand looked up into a scarred but handsome face of a man who looked to be about the age of the king. He smiled slightly.

  Jilliand felt like a cornered animal. She pursed her lips and, thinking aloud, said, “What if I choose to leave anyway?”

  “You will not,” Alexander softly assured her.

  “You would drag me to his table?!” Her brows shot up.

  He continued to look at her without replying. His eyes were kind, but his manner was of one who gives commands that are to be followed.

  “There would be little dignity in that,” Jilliand noted wryly.

  “None,” he agreed seriously, shaking his head.

  Defeated, she took his offered arm and was escorted to the king’s table. By now, the room had become silent, as all eyes followed this newest member of court being escorted to the waiting king. The men watched with interest. The ladies watched with a touch of jealousy. This new lady was beautiful. Whispering soon confirmed that no one knew the young lady’s name.

  As they wove their way to the front of the hall, Jilliand spied the young man who had recently captured her with the intent of taking his pleasure. He stood against the wall, aghast when it was apparent she was purposely walking toward him. She stopped, speaking discreetly, “Sir, you are one of the king’s men?”

  The young man was horrified. He could now see she had not just been some wench. For the second time in his brash young life, he felt fear. He had nearly raped an acquaintance of the king. He answered with trepidation, “Yes, m’ lady.”

  Jilliand noted, “You would do well to remember, things are often not what they first seem.” She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear her. She smiled and then nodded to him as she walked away. All eyes in the room followed her, wondering what she might have to say to a simple soldier.

  “Lady,” Alexander whispered, as they neared the king’s table, “By what name are you called?”

  “Jilliand,” she whispered back, “and you?”

  He grinned, “Sir Alexander, at your service, lady.”

  When they reached the king’s table, Sir Alexander announced, “Your Majesty, may I present Lady Jilliand.”

  “Lady Jilliand, welcome to my court. How kind of you to join us. I know you have had a trying day.” The king nodded to her.

  “You have no idea,” Jilliand murmured, as she curtsied. She heard Sir Alexander chuckle and saw the king smile.

  “Please, come sit with us,” the king continued. “We have need of a lady’s influence, I fear.”

  This time, she clearly heard snickering from the room. It promised to be a long night. “Thank you for escorting me.” She smiled at Alexander, ignoring the laughter.

  “My pleasure, Lady,” he replied softly.

  A place was quickly set for her at the king’s left. The kitchen staff set wine, utensils, and a platter with bits of roasted duck, venison, cheeses, and bread and fruit before her. When she was seated, the crowd resumed its chatter, but she could not eat. Fearful of drawing more attention, though, she tried to pick at the meat, pushing the food around her dish.

  The king leaned toward her. “Tell me if it works, Lady.”

  Jilliand looked at him, questioningly. “Your Majesty?”

  “When you mix it.” He pointed at her platter with his fork. “Does that make it taste any better?”

  Jilliand blushed, but smiled. “I find your hearing and sight are both excellent, Sire.”

  He smiled back. The conversation around the table was lively. Jilliand was intentionally drawn into the discussion, no matter how she tried to avoid it. The king turned to her. Although his face was serious, his eyes twinkled, “Tell me, Lady, do you prefer a short or long blade?” His tablemates again went silent. When that happened, the room became silent, and all eyes were on her.

  Looking directly at him, Jilliand responded, “A short blade, certainly. I am neither strong enough nor tall enough for a long blade. However, in truth, I prefer the bow, Your Highness.” When she finished speaking, she took a sip of wine and turned back to him. He was still looking at her, his brows raised in surprise.

  “A bow, Lady?” he repeated, frowning slightly.

  “Yes,” she repeated, “a bow. Of course, mine was much shorter than any man’s bow. Still, I am quite accurate.” She watched him for a second and then added, “It is well known that the English bowman is by far the most feared of all opponents.”

  He looked out to those in the room. “Lady Jilliand says the English bowmen are the best. We agree!” He raised his cup to her, as the men called out and cheered.

  Talk drifted to other topics. Jilliand glanced around the room. In a while, she leaned toward the king, “Sire, if I stay any longer, I will be your entertainment. Please allow me …”

  “You sing, Lady?” His eyes twinkled again.

  “Never more than once,” she quickly shot back, “but I may snore.”

  The others at the table laughed with the king. He smiled at her, thinking, She is who I believe her to be. There is no doubt. He nodded to Jilliand, drained his goblet, and then informed her, “Of course, Lady. I would speak with you in your chamber shortly.” Before she could protest, a man behind her spoke into the king’s ear.

  The king reached for Jilliand’s arm. “Wait, I wish to introduce you to someone.”

  Jilliand followed his gaze to see another well-dressed, refined gentleman approaching the table.

  An announcement was made. “His Majesty, Prince Philippe of France.”

  “Welcome back to court, Prince,” the king greeted him. Standing, he took Jilliand’s hand. “May I present Lady Jilliand.”

  The prince’s eyes were afire. He took a second longer to look into Jilliand’s eyes and then bowed low to her. “Lady Jilliand, how pleasant to see a beautiful, fresh face at court.”

  Grateful for the practice she had gotten with the captive Frenchwomen living in Rurik’s village, Jilliand took a deep breath before responding in clear French, “You would be wise to not say that again, sir. Your implication could be most unpleasant for the rest of the ladies of this court.”

  Taken aback, the prince continued. “Your point is well taken. You speak my language?”

  Smoothly, Jilliand responded, “And you speak English. Very important in these times, would you not agree?”

  He bowed deeply, but before he could respond further, Jilliand added, “I am so pleased to meet you, Your Majesty, though I was just leaving. Please enjoy yourself, Prince Philippe. The king is in a wonderful mood tonight.”

  Not waiting for anyone to respond, she rose and joined Becca, who was standing nearby. “Get me out of here—quickly,” Jilliand whispered to her. “I am not comf
ortable here.”

  Back in the queen’s chambers, Jilliand was pleasantly surprised to find the room had changed. The study was clean and warm. The sleeping quarters were also warm with a fire splashing light onto the now polished floors. The few candles lit near a freshly made bed cast a soft glow. The chambers felt lived in. Jilliand slowly walked around the room. She brushed her hands over the carving on the bed, felt the wall tapestries, and stopped before the fireplace. The wood crackled, and small cinders floated up the chimney. Suddenly, Jilliand shivered. “I still smell the burning and see the bodies,” Jilliand murmured, watching the flames from the fire dance. Becca, standing nearby, heard.

  “Then you should bathe again, Lady.” She immediately gave orders to the rest of her staff. Becca remembered the blood in the water from Jilliand’s first bath. She had seen the scars that covered Jilliand’s back. This lady must have led a hard life. She seems kindly turned, not like the last lady to occupy this room. We must do all we can to keep this lady here with us. She is the king’s favorite. No other has been in these rooms since his queen left.

  “Do you think I have time?” Jilliand was already undressing. “The king will be here shortly.” Now, more than ever before, Jilliand wished she had proper clothing to wear in this strange court. Clothing that would tell the tale of her station. Clothing she wore as Rurik’s queen. Pray I know how I am to behave for this court. I need the rest a stay here would offer.

  “We’ll make time, Lady.” Becca poured lavender oil into the water, then cupped it over Jilliand. Becca worked Jilliand’s hair into great lathers, with scented soap. “Even the king will wait for a beautiful woman, Lady Jilliand,” Becca whispered into Jilliand’s ear. Jilliand felt a dart of fear. She had no intention of being the king’s lady. Rinsing her lady off, Becca wrapped her in a towel warmed in front of the fireplace. With her wet hair combed into cascading ringlets dancing down her back, Jilliand slipped into a soft green robe. There was no gown.

  “It is much too forward to see the king in only a robe, Becca. I would feel better armed, if I were dressed. What do you think is proper? In truth I have never been in a court such as this.” Jilliand glanced at Becca. No matter how I dress, I call attention to myself. Perhaps the ladies and I can sew simple gowns from what is available. I do not wish to be the object of gossip.

  “I believe the king knows you are preparing for night, Lady. He also knows you have brought nothing with you. The robe will be very modest, I assure you.” Becca was already looking through the hanging bed gowns. “But we’ll find a bed gown for you.”

  The search proved none of the gowns could be utilized. Jilliand stood thinking aloud. “Would that I had a soft shirt. Maybe tomorrow we can look over what I might do with what we can find.” She tried to smile at the ring of young women surrounding her. “My heart is sore. Perhaps, I can begin to heal with your help.”

  A younger girl suddenly darted out of the room and returned shortly with a long, soft shirt. “Lady, I have this. It is soft. Perhaps it would make a good nightshirt for tonight.” She proudly held it out for Jilliand. “It is not one a lady would wear, and it too is large, but not as large as the gowns you have seen thus far. Feel, Lady, it is very soft.”

  Jilliand felt the material. It was indeed soft and not as voluminous as the rest. “Yes, this is perfect. Thank you so much.” She slipped it over her head just as a knock at her door announced the king. “Quickly, take him to the study. I care not to entertain visitors in my sleeping quarters.” She hesitantly wrapped the robe over the nightshirt.

  I cannot meet with the king dressed in a bed gown. Panicked, Jilliand looked around the room. The dress she had worn was already downstairs, to be washed. There was nothing else to do. Her eyes closed, Jilliand shook her head. “It keeps getting worse,” she moaned.

  The ladies ushered Jilliand into her study and opened the door for the king.

  The king stepped into a room he had not been in for over seven years. He stood motionless, surveying the area. Strange how it now seemed warm and inviting. He had to look away to keep from laughing at Jilliand. She looked like a child trying to dress up in her mother’s clothing. Walking to the window, he looked below. “Jilliand, did you know you can see the gardens from this window?” He motioned her to his side. Jilliand walked over and peered out the window.

  “The moon reflects on the water, like the flame of a candle,” she noted softly.

  The king looked at her, put his arm around her, ignoring the stiffening he detected, and walked with her back to the seating area near the fire. Sitting down, he indicated Jilliand should do the same, then he began, “Jilliand, remove the ring on your right hand.”

  Slowly, with alarm, Jilliand closed her fingers around her ring, watching the king intently. “If you look at the underside of the ring, you will find …” he began.

  “A lion and a dove,” completed Jilliand. She watched the king with a strange sense in her heart. What is this I feel?

  The king continued softly, “The lion stands for …”

  Jilliand quietly interrupted him again, “Strength, power, leadership, a king.”

  “And the dove, Jilliand?”

  “Everything he saw in the woman he loved,” she whispered. “Kindness, honesty, peace, gentleness …” she finished. Jilliand remembered well the stories Silas and his wife had shared with her.

  “Do you know what this woman looked like, Jilliand?” the king asked.

  Jilliand was no longer aware of anyone in the room. Becca, Sir Alexander, and the king’s page stood by silently. They listened to their king and this lady—a lady who had shown up in the king’s council chamber, ragged and dirty, now transformed to a thing of beauty.

  “I do.” Jilliand stood and walked to the fireplace. Her hand slowly moved to the locket around her neck.

  “Jilliand,” the king’s voice was low and gentle, “she had hair that rivaled the sunset and emerald eyes with flecks of gold. Eyes that flashed with passion and anger. She was petite, thin, and graceful. She moved regally. Her husband loved her deeply. She returned that love.”

  Jilliand stood spellbound. Does he speak of my mother? It must be my grandmother. I do not believe my father loved my mother. In a voice, as hushed as the room itself, she asked, “Did you know this woman?”

  “I did,” he replied. “This woman had a son, who became a king when the woman’s father died. That son was the only heir to a particular throne in England, even though the woman was no longer living in England. When her husband, the crown prince of Spain, died unexpectedly, the woman returned to England to be with her son. I am that son. I was eighteen when she and her guard were overrun by a rival trying for my crown. She—”

  Jilliand finished telling the story she had heard so many times from Myla and Silas “—agreed to marry that rival, a lord, in exchange for the safe passage of her men. The captain of her guard offered his service for ten years, without fees, to this same lord.” She could now add the reason he would do such a thing, “That captain loved the woman. The woman had one child with the lord before she died in childbirth.” Finished, Jilliand looked at the king.

  “No,” he gently corrected her. “The woman was with child when she married the lord. She was with child when she left Spain, Jilliand.” He paused, watching her. “I know this because she told me herself. Her wish was to come to me and raise her child with a brother—a king. Mother feared for her life and yours if I tried to claim her or the child, until she could get to me.”

  Closing her eyes, Jilliand turned away from the king. It was many long moments before she could speak. So many things were rushing into her mind, like leaves in a whirlwind. So many things were beginning to make sense, yet still circled at the edge of reason. “I was raised as a boy in all things, including defense with weapons and education. I can use a blade, sword, and bow. I can ride. I speak English, French, Italian, Spanish.” She paused for a heartbeat. She could hear her own voice echo in the room.

  “I knew nothing about
being a woman. When it was no longer possible to disguise my womanhood, his cruelty was heightened. I still bear the scars.” Jilliand opened her eyes, looking into the fireplace. “Perhaps all this explains his anger at me.” Turning she looked at the king. “Could he have known I was not his child?”

  “I do not believe so. I was the only one other than our mother that knew who your real father was. The lord she married did not know, though he found out she was related to me, the king. I do not believe he knew she was my mother. You are the daughter of a Spanish prince and English princess. You are the sister of a king, Jilliand. Make no mistake, there was nothing noble about that lord’s anger.” Only the sounds of logs spitting in the fire could be heard in the room. The king’s voice softly broke in, “He may have hoped the child would be male, to therefore lay claim to the crown by way of the mother’s station, knowing only that she was on her way to my court. He was in fact so certain the child would be a boy that he planned an attempt on my life. His men failed. I chose to let the lord go unpunished, for fear he would kill the child—you—if it was a female and survived. A rumor was carefully circulated by me, that I had a bastard son; a male child to claim the crown. When you were born, it was a well-kept secret by that lord, that you were indeed a female. His people were threatened if word should get out.” The king walked around the room. The memories were painful for him, this much was certain.

  “When it was certain you were to be married, our plan was to take you before you reached the wedding site. Then we received word you had disappeared. With the captain gone also, I prayed that you and he were together.” The king sank back down, and years of a dark secret were ended.