His voice was harsher than he’d intended. “You are a woman, Chandra. You will do what you must do, and that is bear an heir for your husband.”
“How can you give him control over what I am to do and how I am to act?”
He eyed her, seeing her urgency, her fear. By the saints, he hadn’t realized she was so very afraid of mating. He would speak to Jerval, caution him, tell him to go easy. He said, “Listen to me. There are few choices for any of us. Do you believe I wed your mother because I loved her? I wed her because it brought me a huge dowry, brought me even more land. That is what marriage is all about, alliances between great families. There was no choice at all for me. But I have given you to a man you like, to a man who admires you and likes you. You are a very lucky woman. At least Jerval de Vernon is besotted with you, and if you aren’t utterly without sense, if you don’t push him to the wall, he will treat you just as you wish.”
“But a woman must obey her husband—it is her vow before God. You wish me to forget who I am and become a soft, devious creature and manipulate my husband to get what I want? When I want something, Father, I want to get it for myself, not plead and act weak and helpless to make a man do what I want. Do you hear me? I won’t become his chattel, I—”
He jerked her against him, cutting off her furious words, and buried his face in her dirty hair. He felt her holding herself stiff and unyielding, and he stroked her until she eased and nuzzled her cheek against his neck. He remembered the pain he had suffered the year before when he had been gored by a rampaging boar. Chandra had been distraught with fear for him, and had nursed him herself, ministering to his every need as if he had been her beloved child. He felt the pain again, gnawing at him, but there simply was no choice. He said, “I have taught you to be strong, Chandra. You will do what you must, just as I have done. Do you not wish to have children, be mistress of a great holding, set your own mark upon the world, see your children grow into strong men who will carry your blood into the years ahead?”
He felt her shaking her head against his shoulder, and he continued, more quickly. “You cannot remain at Croyland. You weren’t fated to spend your life as a woman who does not know womanhood, a woman who does not experience all that a woman is meant to be. Perhaps I should not have encouraged you to ignore what God intends. You must trust me, Chandra, trust me that I do what is best for you.”
“I want nothing more than to remain at Croyland,” she whispered, raising her face from his neck. “My life is here, not far away with a stranger, a man whom I must obey, a man I do not even know.”
“You know Jerval. I have given you ample time with him. You know him much better than most girls know their future husbands. I have watched you with him, watched you smile and laugh, watched you enjoy his company. Look at the beautiful necklace he bought for you.”
She just shook her head against his neck.
So stubborn she was, so utterly unbending. There was so much of him in her that it was frightening.
It was time now for obedience, time to show her that he really meant his words. “It is what you will do. You will wed Jerval de Vernon. Your loyalty to me will become his. You will trust him as you now trust me, and obey him as you obey me.”
“You’re forcing me to leave because I was not born your son.”
“No, that isn’t true. I am forcing you to face what you are—a woman who must make her life as a woman should. You have a destiny to fulfill, Chandra. You will not hide from it. You will not refuse to face it.”
Words lay dead in her throat. She felt hollow, empty, like a reed flute crushed underfoot when a minstrel tossed it heedlessly away.
She started to turn away from him, but he grabbed her arm and held her still. “Accept what must be done.” Then, because he knew she would probably take a knife and gullet the man who wanted to marry her, he dropped his voice until it sounded mean and low and vicious—a tone he had never before used with her—and said, “Listen to me. You will behave with the greatest respect toward Jerval, Chandra. You will not scream curses on him, you will not demand that he leave, you will not insult him to make him despise you. You will endeavor to remember that before an hour ago, you held him as a good friend. You will obey me in this or I will send you to a convent and you will spend your remaining years on your knees in endless prayers.”
He saw from the utterly frozen look in her eyes that she believed him. Good.
Jerval was coming out of the Great Hall, speaking to Mark. The afternoon sun was bright overhead. It was a warm day, the smell of the jakes not particularly noxious since the breeze was from the west. He saw Chandra and felt something very warm fill him. She was wearing a gown. Her hair was braided, thick and golden beneath the sunlight, and he saw that it was clean. He knew she’d spoken to her father, for Lord Richard had told him that she had. Lord Richard also said that she would wed him, no more than that. What had he said to her? Was he forcing her? Jerval prayed it was not necessary. What was in her mind now? Why was she walking away from him?
Chandra cursed her woman’s long, narrow-skirted gown and walked faster. She wasn’t ready to see him, not yet. Not ever.
A strong hand closed over her arm, steadying her, as she stumbled on a sharp-edged cobblestone.
“Slow down,” Jerval said. “You can’t race me across the cobblestones in a gown.”
He turned her slowly about to face him. Chandra kept her head down, staring at her toes. He was big, damn him. He was too big, blocking the sun.
“Chandra.” He wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful. He wanted to pull that braid of hers apart and rub his face in her hair. He cleared his throat. “Chandra,” he said again, no amusement in his voice, “we must talk, you and I.”
A raindrop fell on the tip of her nose, and she dashed it away and looked heavenward. “How can it rain? The sky was blue just a moment ago. Oh dear, was it a bird?”
He laughed; he couldn’t help himself. She was wonderful, this woman he would marry, no matter what she thought of him right no
w. “No, no bird. Come along to the stables. We can find some privacy there and not get rained on.”
The stable was dim and smelled of sweet hay and manure and horse. He led her to an empty stall and watched her seat herself on a hay bale.
He said, all calm and sure of himself, “You know what your father wants. You have spoken to him, have you not? Right after you left me earlier?”
“Aye.” She jumped up, shook out her skirts, and looked as if she wanted to run.
He started to grab her arm, then stopped himself. He said easily, knowing he had to be calm, go slowly, “You want to leave? We have just begun. Sit down.”
Slowly, he let his hand slide down her arm until his fingers laced through hers. He pulled her down beside him on a thick bale of hay and released her hand.