Chapter 4

Crèvecoeur-en-Auge, France

It had been a hard day of riding, but Jean de Carrouges was still far from his destination. He had hoped to reach his family estate at Campomesnil, but a late start, heavy morning rains and a brief and unexpected encounter with a pair of brigands had delayed the squire, leaving him in a foul mood. The weather this time of year was unpredictable, and he did not wish to chance the road in a storm. He was ill-disposed to stop for the night along the trails and hedges of Normandy. Fortunately, he was friends with a minor lord who commanded a nearby estate and decided to seek shelter.

The portcullis to the castle was down already, and the guards were preparing to shut the massive wooden gate as Jean arrived requesting hospitality. It took a few minutes to convince them to send word to their master, but once they did, Jean was allowed inside. As he dismounted, he saw the door to the main keep open, and a small boy darted out, being chased by the most beautiful young woman Jean had ever seen.

She looked to be around twenty years of age, with long, blonde hair and a figure perfect for producing heirs, wide hips and an ample bosom. It was her face that staggered the older squire. She was an angel with grey-blue eyes, a small, upturned nose and lips made to be kissed. Her voice sounded like delicate bells as she giggled and laughed, before catching the boy and dragging him back toward the keep.

For a split second, the beauty caught Jean’s eye and smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat before she ran back inside with her charge securely tucked under her arm.

“Who was that girl?” Jean asked the stable boy as he handed over the reins to his palfrey.

“That was Annette, my lord,” he replied, “the master’s daughter and her cousin.”

“Is that so?” Jean asked, mostly to himself. “I didn’t realize Guillaume had a daughter that old.”

After ensuring his horses and gear were secured, Jean shook off as much road dirt as he could then entered the main hall. The rectangular room was arranged with two long tables running from the entrance to the far end and a third table, placed across the gap between the other two, on a slightly raised dais. Torches hung on the walls, casting flickering light into the rather gloomy chamber. An enormous hearth on the far wall was ablaze, the fire adding an orange glow to the room, as well as a thin haze of smoke.

The lord of the castle, Guillaume de Thibouville, the nephew of Jean’s friend Sir Robert, came walking across the hall, with right hand outstretched.

“By God, it is you!” He shouted. “How long has it been?”

The two men shook hands then embraced. “Ahh, far too long!” Jean replied, clapping his friend on the back. “Last time I saw you, you had an Englishman’s dagger in your side, and his decapitated head hanging from your fist by the yellow hair of his beard.”

“He took offense to my trying to cut off his head and decided to attempt to geld me,” Guillaume laughed heartily. “Thank Saint Michael he missed my jewels.”

“I apologize for coming unannounced,” Jean began as the two men walked to the table at the far end and sat down. “I had intended to make it to Campomesnil, but it is late, and I already had to deal with two routiers this morning.”

“Trouble on the road then?” Guillaume asked as he poured a goblet of red wine for his friend.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, but with the way things are now, it’s never wise to travel at night.”

“We heard good news from the campaign, how did it go?”

“It was like any campaign in this unholy war,” Jean explained. “We take a village back from the English only to lose it to them again in a fortnight. It seems that I’ve been going back and forth and back and forth over the same bits of land for the past six years.”

“Sorry I can’t be out there with you, but since my wife died,” Guillaume stopped himself, remembering that Jean’s wife had only recently passed away as well. “How rude of me, my friend, I am sorry for your loss as well as mine.”

Jean nodded, appearing deep in thought. “We’re two widowers, but at least you have a son and heir.”

Guillaume smiled. “Yes, at least she did leave me with that before she departed from me. I’m not cut out for child-rearing, I can tell you that.”

“You should wed again, Guillaume, you’re still young,” Jean suggested.

“And what about you, old man? You have a stronger need for a wife than I do. You need an heir. Don’t you think it’s high time you found a bride and started making babies?”

Jean scratched his chin, “I thought I would never again marry, but recently, I started considering it. I just need to find someone who would accept me for their daughter.”

“You’re a wealthy man, Jean,” Guillaume countered, “You should have no problem acquiring a bride with a suitable dowry.”

“How would you feel about the de Thibouville and de Carrouges families joining together?”

His host sipped his wine and leaned back in his chair, thinking, “That would make for a strong marriage and beautiful babies. You should talk to my uncle, Sir Robert. His daughter is of marrying age, and I’m sure he would consent.”

Jean finished his wine, then grabbed the jug and poured more for the two of them. He raised his cup to his friend, then said, “I’m not certain how my marrying the daughter of a man who twice betrayed his King would do me any service at court. You know how Pierre feels about your uncle.”

“I know all too well. The English held Count Pierre and I in the same dark prison cell for many months,” Guillaume explained. “Being prisoners together creates bond few others have. He may not bear my uncle any love, but he has always been a friend to me.”

“That is true,” Jean replied. “I’m sure if you and I joined our houses, it would help with my relationship with the good Count. How would you feel about me marrying your daughter?”

Guillaume stared at the older squire with a blank look on his face, which slowly turned into a grin, then became rolling laughter. “You are a funny man, Jean,” He said between guffaws. “I never knew that about you.”

Jean was not sure if he should be offended or humored. “I don’t see what’s so funny about the idea. You have a daughter. I need a wife who can bear me heirs. It would be mutually beneficial to both our houses.”

“You’re serious?” stammered Guillaume. “Jean, my friend, you’re not getting any younger. You need to be fathering sons now, not twelve years from now. You honor me that you would consider my Annette, but you should find a daughter who can start having children right away.”

“What are you talking about? There is no reason to wait,” Jean countered. “We would begin as soon as we wed. I have to tell you, Guillaume. I saw your daughter playing in the courtyard with her cousin when I arrived, and I was smitten. She is incredibly adorable.”

Guillaume’s face gradually turned from pale to deep the deep redness of rage. “How dare you say such a thing. You are my guest, and for the friendship we have had over the years, I will not take further offense by your disgusting insinuation. However, do not test my goodwill by mentioning such a vile idea again, or I will kill you where you sit!”

Jean was at a loss to understand the reason for his friend’s anger. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Just then, a side door opened, and the boy and girl from earlier came into the room. The boy ran to Guillaume and climbed into his lap.

“Hello father,” the boy said, “I’m sorry I was bad. Can I have some of the apple tart now?”

Guillaume held onto his child protectively while giving Jean a dirty look. “Of course, Annette, go with your cousin to Cookie and tell her I said it was alright.”

The child jumped down, smiled at Jean and curtsied. “Pardon me,” the waif said then turned and ran to join the beautiful blonde waiting by the doorway. Jean was confused, and it showed on his face.

“Come, Annette, let us get you that tart,” said the blue-eyed angel.

“Wait,” Jean said, turning back to his friend, “Annette was the little one?”

“Of course,” Guillaume replied, “what did you think?”

“I thought the older girl was your daughter, and the younger child was your son!” Jean declared.

“My son is but an infant, still with a wet nurse,” Guillaume answered. “The older girl is my cousin, the daughter of Sir Robert, whom I mentioned before.”

“That is Sir Robert’s daughter?” Jean asked, sounded surprised.

“Indeed, she is the lady Marguerite de Thibouville,” Guillaume fired back. Suddenly, the realization of Jean’s confusion became apparent, and the man began to laugh again.

“So, by the mother of God, I get it!” he chuckled. “You were not talking about wedding my five-year-old daughter! You were talking about the beautiful Marguerite!”

Jean stared at the man in shock, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. “Is that what you thought?”

“Yes, I must apologize, but it was. I should have known a man of your character would never have such indecent thoughts. So, you’re smitten with my cousin! You are not the only man in France to feel that way, I can assure you. The only reason she hasn’t been married off to a great house by now is her father’s infamy. As you said, few are willing to marry a traitor’s daughter.”

Jean was lost in contemplation, hardly hearing his friend’s words. “Sir Robert suggested I marry his daughter when I saw him three months ago. At the time, I assumed his daughter was a hag, like her mother. Had I known she was so lovely, I would have been more interested.”

“Would you like an introduction,” Guillaume asked with a wink. “An introduction only. You touch her, and Sir Robert will have your hand cut off and your balls mounted on spikes.”

“I would very much like an introduction,” Jean replied. “And you have nothing to fear from me. I, unlike some other squire’s in my Count’s court, have a deep admiration and respect for women.”

“Yes, the den of debauchery,” Guillaume said, shaking his head. “We’ve heard stories about the parties that take place at Argentan. It seems the Count d’Alençon has nearly as strong sexual desires as his pet le Gris.”