The Gypsy's Bride: Second in the Kirkfield Series

By Jean Rattay

In the England of 1218, King John is dead and his young son is on the throne,
guided by the aging William, Marshall of England. All of the vast domains of
Johns father on the Continent have been lost and the rebellious barons are held
to a fragile truce. It is very much a mans world.
When Elise of Debouchet defi es the step-uncle who has laid claim to her
estates and refuses to marry any of the men he chooses, he gives her an ultimatum.
You do not need your eyes to speak the vows or get an heir. You will do as I say
or I will have your eyes put out. Elise says she would rather marry any man than
the one before her. Her uncle counters with, The next man through the gate will
be your husband, be he prince or serf. Elise agrees because she doesnt want to
be blinded. Her uncle has taken her mother and younger sister hostage and she
needs time to fi nd some clue as to where he holds them.
When Louis of Kirkfi eld, a Romani merchant, walks over the bridge and
through the gate of the closest castle, his only thought is to buy a horse to replace
his lame packhorse. He is overwhelmed by four brawny men and badly beaten,
then forced to say vows before a priest. He and his new bride are thrown into a
tower room. The door is barred against escape.
Louis does escape and comes back with an army. But Elises mother and
sister cannot be located and they follow the trail to France and her grandmother.
The more they know, the more they fi nd out, the bigger the scheme becomes
and they are now searching for a double agent, a money lender, a lawyer and an
assassin. The wealthy young bride and her gypsy must follow the trails and learn
to work together to make their marriage work and therein lies the tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483670218

Jean Rattay

Jean Rattay is the author of The Kirkfield Heiress and The Gypsy’s Bride and a former magazine editor. Her poetry has been published in Indiana Writes and she holds a BA in Mass Communication from Purdue University. Jean lives in Merrillville, Indiana, with her husband, Rich

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Debouchet Castle

The English-Welsh Border

April 1218

Louis of Kirkfield heard the heavy door slam and the lock turn with a solid thunk. He groaned as he levered himself off the stone floor, righted an overturned stool that seemed to be the only furniture in the room, and sat down gingerly. The biggest of the four men who grabbed him had boasted a fist like a blacksmith’s hammer and he’d connected too many times. He felt his right eye. It was puffy and he could barely see out of it. He ran his tongue over his split lip and tested to see that his teeth were still attached. He felt the back of his head where a lump the size of a hen’s egg was throbbing. There was no wetness, so he guessed they hadn’t hit him hard enough to break the skin, but it had surely rattled his brains.

They had left him a pallet to sleep on. Not as soft as a bed, just a thin straw mattress and a sheet and blanket, but better than the stone floor.

His right sleeve was hanging by a thread at the elbow and that probably meant his second best shirt was ready for the rag bag. He sighed and squinted at the wall in front of him. It was quarried stone, and rounded, so he was probably in a tower of some sort. There was the stool he sat on and little else, but it was probably dryer and cleaner than a dungeon. He tried to focus on his favorite premise. If there was a way in, then it followed that there was a way out. All he had to do was figure out what that was and get himself out of here. There was a slight movement to his right. He glanced at the one tall window.

The young woman was sitting on the stone bench inside the window embrasure, her back against the side wall. She had drawn her feet up and was resting her chin on her knees. She made a rather pleasant study even in her drab brown gown. It was the hair, he decided, a sleek onyx waterfall that fell almost to the floor.

He worked his mouth a little to assure himself it was flexible enough to speak. Lady, please tell me this was some silly jest or part of your spring revels and any minute they will come back and let us out while they howl with laughter. This can’t be the hospitality you show all your guests.

She turned her head to look at him, but did not speak. He could not see her eyes with the window behind her. He vaguely thought he remembered them as being a vibrant green, alive with malice or anger. So she was a prisoner, too? She didn’t appear to be weeping. He was glad of that because he did not deal well with weeping woman.

No? Then will you please explain to me what just happened here?

We were wed, she whispered huskily, as though she, too, had a sore jaw.

I understood that part, the priest, and the vows I was vigorously encouraged to speak. Why? We don’t even know one another. A thought struck him. In his younger days had he ever been careless in the women with whom he dallied? He didn’t like to think it might be so, but he had surely passed close to this keep in his travels. Do we?

No She looked back out the window. It’s a long story.

Oh, I see. He waved his arm to encompass the empty room and winced as his body protested. And you are too diverted by the many distractions to tell a long story? A good tale will pass the time.

She turned to look at him more fully and let her legs slide to the floor. He had a glimpse of trim ankles before her gown fell to cover them. I refused to marry the man my uncle chose for me. He vowed if I didn’t do as he asked he would marry me to the next man through the gate, be he king or serf, and there you were, and so he did.

So it all came down to his stride? A little faster or slower and the four thugs would have fallen on another man at the gate and this would have been some other poor lout’s fate. What was wrong with the man your uncle chose?

A smile flitted across her mouth, changing her face from merely interesting to real beauty. He smells like a piss pot and old sweat and he eats like a pig.

Louis smiled, too, and that made his lip hurt and brought him back to what he wanted to know. Why did you think I would be any different, lady? Such a random choice seems foolhardy.

I can’t smell you over here. Do you eat like a pig?

Not that I am aware of, but I may not be the best judge. What happens now?

She glanced over at a pallet in the corner with a look of disgust. We fornicate until your seed takes hold, he kills you, I bear a son and then I also die, and he keeps my son, and takes everything I inherited from my father. Or, if I have a daughter, I suppose we will play this comedy again.

Huh. What an unpleasant fellow your uncle is.

"I loathe him." She drew the word out like a curse.

I’m starting to dislike him a little myself. How do we get out of here?

The door is bolted and both the door and this window are barred. Even if you could somehow get the bars off the window, it’s a very long way to the ground. You’d break your legs or your neck.

You said if I did… I take it you are not going with me?

No. I must stay here. You don’t have to worry. I’ll prick myself and put blood on the sheets. In a few weeks I’ll feign some morning sickness. That should give me enough time to find out what I need to know and kill him.

Louis shook his head. She was certainly a bloodthirsty little wench. What is it you need to know?

It is not your concern. Let it go. She turned back to the window, bracing her hands against the wall on either side.

If my wife, that would be you, has a problem then it would seem to be the duty of her husband that would be me, to help her resolve it.

She turned back to him. Ah, you are a jester then, bent on entertaining me?

Why not tell me? I think all these bruises give me a vested interest in the matter.

She looked him over with what he would like to think was approval. Then she frowned and sighed as if she was pacifying a whiney child. Ah, well, he wasn’t at his best just now. He could not expect to dazzle her. Still, he was a bit disappointed that his vaulted charm seemed to have deserted him.

He has my mother and younger sister, Amalie, and won’t tell me where they are until I do what he wants. I cannot leave until I find out where he holds them. He won’t kill me, if that is what you are thinking. He needs an heir of my body to hold this place. I am safe enough until he gets one.

I wouldn’t count too much on that, lady. He sounds a loathsome brute and even if it is as you are telling it, you are in danger, child or no child. Tell me about this uncle. Who is he?

He’s my father’s stepbrother. His name is Hugh FitzGarbon and he is bound on having my father’s estates. Since I have no brother, the land goes to me as firstborn. He cannot marry me as we are too closely related, so he wants me wed and bedded. He will do away with me and apply for my son’s guardianship. Then he can spend until my son is a pauper.

"But he gets neither the title nor the land if you have a son. What gain is there in that? If he wants the estates, why doesn’t he just have himself proclaimed your guardian?"

I am too old and he knows he cannot control me. I would put a knife in his gullet while he slept and even if he posted guards around his person at all times, I would work all my days to undermine anything he tried to do. He knows he cannot send me to a convent and trust that I will not escape at the earliest moment. He also knows he will have to kill me to take the child. I’d never give it over.

You seem very confident of your fighting skills, lady. Have you ever killed a man?

She bristled and almost spat at him. No, but then he is no man, is he? I have killed rats and even a snake once. It would be much the same.

Louis was quiet for a time. He gave his little warrior wife—temporary wife, time to calm down while he thought on their plight. The window was probably his best way out and early morning would be the best time. But he would need tools to work on the bars and there was nothing in this room to use as a pry bar. He needed his bag.

Will they feed us? he asked.

She snorted, as if his question amused her. Yes, at some point. Why? Are you hungry? You would have trouble eating more than soup with that swollen mouth.

It’s not food I’m interested in. Who will bring the food?

Gwynn, I would guess. She is the only one of my people that my uncle trusts.

Tell me about her.

She warms my uncle’s bed. Gwynn always wiggles in where she can see some benefit to herself.

Greedy?

There was that little smile again. Gwynn defines greed. She’d lay down with a dead man if there was a coin in it for her trouble.

Louis was turning a plan over in his mind. He took in the room again, twisting his head to see behind him even though the pain of it made his eyes water. There was the pallet on the floor. He looked it over carefully, sighting from it to the door.

I have an idea. He turned to her and his eyes widened. She was on her feet with her hands up as if to ward him off.

Do not even think it, she said. I saw you looking at that pallet.

No, I wasn’t thinking that. Calm down. I have a plan to get out of here. Your uncle has no idea what kind of man I am. He put us in here together with a pallet. He gave you to me in marriage. I think he would accept that I used his gift. He gestured at the pallet. If you would be so kind as to place yourself on yon pallet, we could give Gwynn a little play."

She eyed him warily. Nay, I think you will first tell me what you are about.

All right, I will. If Gwynn were to enter that door and if I was barely dressed and if you were on that pallet weeping your eyes out, what do you think she would report to your dear uncle?

She shrugged. The deed is done?

And if I were to go to the pallet, cuff you out of the way, grab the bloody sheet, and toss it to her? She would take that proof to your uncle, right?

You’re not hitting me.

Louis just looked at her.

I mean what I say. If you hit me, I’m hitting back.

He thought about it. No, you slap at me and cry. You can tell me to stay away from you, but you have to be really afraid, or you can do pitiful, like you could say, ‘Please, no more.’ If you want to hit me when she’s gone, you may do so, but you have to wait until after she leaves. He frowned. It will be more believable if we are unclothed.

I think you should be. You’re the one who has to deal with her. Don’t worry about shocking our dear Gwynn. She’s probably had every man in this keep naked at one time or another.

Yes. She’s experienced. That means she knows how it’s done. If I go to the pallet and role you off the sheet and she doesn’t see your bare backside, she’s not going to buy this story.

She took two steps closer and searched his face. You swear to me that you will not bed me. Swear it on something you hold dear to you.

He put his hand over his heart. I swear not to bed you on the life of my sister, Kathryn, whom I hold dear, he paused, Unless you ask me to do so. He couldn’t help it. He had to smile and spoil the sober effect.

# # #

Elise smiled back. He looked like little Tom, the pot boy in the kitchen, when he was being mischievous. You had to like the rascal. That was a very clever oath.

I have my moments.

Elise didn’t doubt that for a moment. He was a charmer. She had no doubt he’d have Gwynn believing the sun rose in the west just because he said it was so. But she was not Gwynn and she had best make it clear. I have no intention of letting you touch me, and you’d best be remembering that vow at all times. What is your name?

Louis and I have no intention of forgetting my vow. We will come about and we will get this marriage annulled. I have no need of a wife, even though I don’t doubt you’d make a good one. What is your name and what is the name of this castle?

She gave him a dismissive look. You don’t need to know. Are you the judge of what makes a good wife? How can that be if you have never had one? Or are you speaking from experience?

No, I’ve never had a wife. My first quality for a wife would be one who can explain things without going on for hours. My second is that she not weep huge buckets of tears at the drop of a hat. You have done remarkably well on both counts.

Hum, she thought, not a word about blind obedience or silence. No needlework or alms. Thank you. All right, I will do it, but I swear you’d better not play me false. Now let’s go through everything again, and you’d best undo my gown so I can slip out of it at a moment’s notice.

No. First you should get on that pallet so I can get the blood right. I need to know where to place it. Put yourself on the far side, closest to the wall.

She gave him a narrow look. Could she trust him? He had a good plan. If her uncle thought she was well bedded, she would gain time. He seemed to know what he was talking about. She stepped over to the pallet and stretched out near the wall. He stood over her, looking from her to the wall.

Good, I have it. You can get up now. See that crack in the wall? That’s the place. He reached beneath his jerkin and pulled out a chain. At the end swung a large medallion. He flicked his fingernail over the top and popped out what looked like a heavy needle. He handed her the medallion and used the needle to make a long scratch on his inner arm. He looked at the wall and fisted the sheeting in his hand. Now we need to smear the sheet.

Elise was studying the medallion. What is this writing? It’s not Latin or Greek. I don’t think it’s Gaelic. It looks very old.

He was wrestling with the linen sheet, trying to flatten it with one hand while he held fast to the section he wanted. It’s Romani. My mother was Romani. He began to spit on the sheet.

What on earth are you doing? They must have hit him too hard. He had lost his wits.

Spit bears many of the same properties as a man’s seed. We need to wet a large spot before I put the blood on. You can help if you want.

So she did. He would spit and then she would. It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever done in her life and may have been the most fun. When he said it was enough, she didn’t want to stop.

He rubbed the sheet against his bloody arm then held it out to look it over. Just a bit more blood, I think.

"You’ve deflowered a lot of virgins? She asked dryly.

He shuddered. Not my thing.

Then how do you know what’s enough?

Virgins can’t bleed whole buckets or there’d soon be no marriages. It’s supposed to be a small barrier, so I’m thinking this is about right, more than pricking your finger and less than slitting a throat.

He was so obviously waiting for her to remark on how he knew how much blood you got when slitting a throat, she decided to deny him the pleasure. Fine, I was just curious.

He laughed at her anyway. If you want more blood, I can score the other arm. It’s supposed to be yours. How much do you want to bleed?

Don’t be absurd. I said it was fine. Listen, that’s the bell for the workers in the field. She could come at any time now. Elise took off her shoes and he started on his boots. She put the shoes down side by side at the edge of the bed. Then she took off her stockings and folded them neatly in her shoes.

Suddenly he was hovering over her. He grabbed the two stockings and threw one in one direction and the other the opposite way. He knocked one shoe over and tossed the other by the stool.

Elise wondered again how hard he had been hit on the head. What on earth are you doing now?

When the heat is on a man he is not going to take the time to fold clothes neatly and he’s not going to give you that time either. He tends to throw things around as he gets to it.

Huh. I may as well have married the pig then. Obviously you have done this before.

He grinned at her. I might have done, once or twice. He turned back to his own garments and she stuck her tongue out at him.

I saw that.

You did not, she said, but she couldn’t help smiling.

She heard the scrape of the bar at the door and wiggled under the blanket and yanked her chemise over her head, rolling it into a ball and stuffing it under the pallet. She started sobbing immediately mimicking her younger sister as well as she could.

The key turned and the door groaned open.

# # #

Louis strode to the door, as naked as the day he was born. Gwynn was much as the woman behind him had described. She had probably been very pretty once, but the bloom was now off the rose and she looked a little too well used. She had large breasts and ample hips, both of which she made sure jiggled on command. Here, let me take that tray. It’s too heavy for a pretty little thing like you.

Thank ye. She fluttered her hand over her breasts just in case he’d missed them on the first look. Lord, yon stairs would kill a girl.

She was looking around the room. Her eyes lit on the weeping mound beneath the blanket. Louis put the tray on the floor as there was no other place for it and gestured to the stool. You’d best sit a moment and get your breath.

She collapsed, waving her hand in front of her face. I see you got the job done. Don’t look as if herself is none too happy about it.

Louis walked over, rolled the weeping body to one side and snagged the sheet. He got a quick glimpse of a creamy pale heart-shaped backside and had to stop himself from getting distracted. He wadded the sheet up and tossed it to Gwynn. She’ll come around. First time’s a little hard and I guess I should have stopped at one time, but I couldn’t do it. He gave her a wink.

Don’t I know it, but that’s the way of it. Bet you’re hungry, big strapping man like you.

I am that. What did you bring us?

Roast suckling pig and mashed turnips with fresh bread.

And ale to wet my whistle?

I did.

You’re a good woman. What’s your name, lass?

It’s Gwynn. If you want anything at all, just tell them you want Gwynn. All the men know me.

He was sure she meant that in the biblical sense. I’ll be sure to remember. Maybe you could help me with another answer? It’s sort of embarrassing, but I know you’re not one to be telling tales.

She leaned forward eagerly. Oh, no, I would never. What is it you want to know?

I don’t know my wife’s name. She won’t tell me. I think she thinks she’s going to get out of this marriage some way. She says there’s no need for me to know as I won’t be staying long.

She does put on airs. Her name is Elise Debouchet. This is Debouchet Castle.

Thank you. I couldn’t very well go through life not knowing, now could I?

Gwynn nodded knowingly. You’re content with her then?

He motioned her closer and whispered. She’s a little bossy.

Gwynn giggled. Aint she just. I could tell you tales, I could, but best not just now. She glanced over at the pallet. ‘I should be getting back to the hall."

She sounded as if she was reluctant to go. Louis assumed if he asked her to stay for a tumble or a threesome, she would happily oblige. A true working girl was our Gwynn.

Oh, well, I thank you for the meal. It was good of you to bring it.

Gwynn was astute enough to know when she was being dismissed. She rose, grabbed the sheet, and jiggled to the door.

Oh, there is something else you could do for me. I had a bag with me when I came. Do you think you could locate it and have someone bring it up? My shirt is about ripped to shreds and I’ll need another. I don’t know why they did that, do you? They surely didn’t think I’d object to wedding the lass. She’s quite pretty.

She paused with her hand on the door. I’ll look for it. It probably just got tossed aside somewhere.

There’s a coin in the outside pocket. If you find my bag, it’s yours.

Her eyes lit up. I’ll go look right now. Thank ye. She made an attempt at a curtsy and strode out. Louis heard the lock snick home and then the scrape of the bar being lowered.

I think that went well. A shoe flew by his head.

He turned to his cell mate. What? You don’t think so?

Elise held the blanket tightly as she reached for her chemise. I’m over here sobbing in my virgin blood and you’re flirting with the castle slut. You make a terrible husband.

"I believe that is my blood, which you are nowhere close to as it is on its way to your uncle. How would you have handled her?"

She ignored his question. What’s in that bag you’re so anxious to get your hands on?

I believe I just told the woman, a decent shirt and a coin.

She shook her head. That may well be, but what else? You’re up to something.

He grinned. There might also be a few tools.

Her eyes widened. You’re going to try to get out. You’re going through the window? You’ll break your arrogant neck. I hope you do.

You should be grateful, my girl. You can be a happy widow.

# # #

Elise chewed her lower lip. He wasn’t so bad. He had taken her mind off her mother and sister. It had been rather pleasant working together. He could help her if he would, if he stayed. She certainly didn’t want him to die, which he surely would if he tried to go out the window.

Why was she even worrying about it? Even if he managed to get the bars off, he could see that it was too far to jump and they had no rope. Unless he had one in the bag he was so worried about.

Do you think Gwynn will find it?

I think she’ll give it a good try. She wants her coin. My worry is that she’ll pilfer the rest of my equipment. We need to work out a new plan in case she doesn’t bring it.

Good. She could have more fun. What are you thinking of doing?

If I was murdering you and you screamed, would anyone hear and come running?

Her eyes grew wide. "You want to murder me?"

He gave her a disgruntled look. Pretend.

Oh. I don’t think so. We’re too far removed from everyone up here.

Don’t just stand there. Use your brain. What could we do that would attract attention?

Here’s a man and he’s asking a woman to use her brain? This is a miracle and I have witnessed it. I must mark this day forever.

What are you blathering about? Are you saying you have no brain?

No, I’m saying no man except my father has ever assumed I did. It’s very unusual. Why do you assume, a humble woman such as I, might have a brain?

Blame it on my sister.

What has your sister to do with anything?

She has a brain and if I ever inferred she hadn’t, she’d bash me in the head and make me suffer.

She looked up from the shoe she was slipping on her foot. You’re afraid of your own sister?

Don’t be ridiculous. She’s sweet and loving and delightful. It’s just that she has this formidable temper. She’s usually so sweet that you forget about it and then something sets her off and heads roll. It’s always a pleasure to watch as long as her wrath is not turned your way. She manages a vast array of castles, towns, villages, ships, vineyards and people.

Is she older or younger than you?

Younger.

Then why is she managing all this alone? Why aren’t you helping her?

I turned it down. Our father wanted me to do it, but it isn’t my way. I have too much Romani blood. I like to see the world. I like to meet different people. Do you know there are people who have never even heard of England or seen an Englishman until they meet me?

What an odd man. So you fancy yourself an ambassador? Is that it?

I am many things. Sometimes I barter, other times I make my way with music and stories, and some of the times I’m a pilgrim. It keeps life interesting.

She thought about that for two beats of a heart. I think you are a spy. Are you a famous spy? They will probably hang you for it and I will say I used to know you.

He looked disconcerted, even a little guilty, maybe? Don’t ever say that aloud again. I don’t fancy having my neck stretched. Why would you even think it?

I have a man I use for certain delicate matters. He does much the same, only he is usually a beggar, although I have heard he also uses other disguises.

What’s his name?

Oh, that is very telling. Why would you care? If you aren’t a spy, that is?

No reason. I was just thinking of our current state of imprisonment. A man on the outside would be useful. In the meantime, think of ways to get out of here.

They sat in silence as time passed. Elise was again in the window and Louis occupied their one stool. She could think of nothing. Her brain seemed to be on hiatus. Louis seemed to be having the same problem. She felt his eyes on her.

What?

Nothing, he said with a growl.

The second time it happened she said, Now what?

Maybe we should think about after they let us out. Tell me about the castle. How is it laid out? How many men are inside? How many men patrol the walls? How many entrances are there? How many women and children are there within these walls?

So Elise talked and talked and he asked questions. She was hoarse from talking when there was noise at the door and the sound of the bar being raised. Gwynn slipped in and handed Louis his bag.

I had to check inside that there were no weapons so if your things are not as you packed them, it was me. I couldn’t take the chance of giving you a knife. The baron would kill me.

Louis regarded her pleasantly and said he hoped she’d found her reward.

She winked and patted her bodice then glanced at Elise. Are you well, my lady?

When have you ever known me to be unwell, Gwynn?

Never, mistress, but you did seem a little upset earlier. The pain eases and it never hurts again after the first time. You’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.

Elise was surprised at what seemed like genuine concern, but she couldn’t let her uncle’s leman see any weakness that might be repeated to him. I guess you would know.

Louis stepped in with a frown at Elise, turning so that he was between the two women. You’d best be getting back. I don’t want you to get in any trouble after your kindness in bringing my clothing.

When she had departed he turned to Elise. You might not want to show animosity to the one person who is assisting us.

And have her run to uncle and say I was beaten down and amiable? Anyway, I cannot like her.

You do not need to like her. You only need to be less ungracious, he said as he opened the bag and dumped the contents on the stone floor. He turned the empty bag inside out, pulled some strings and took out a flat packet.

A false bottom is one sure sign of a spy, she said as she slid off the window bench and came to stand beside him. He had unfolded the packet which she now saw was sheepskin and carried small tools fitted in pockets made expressly for each one. He pulled out one that looked like hammer on one side and a pick axe on the other. The second tool was a rod the length of her foot. One end had been beaten flat.

They look like children’s toys.

I used just that explanation once. They are tools for my young son to play with.

How old is your son?

Louis looked up at her. He looked like young Tom again, all brass and mischief. So, you lied. You have no son.

Yes and yes, but the bandits believed I did and the bandits, being fond of children, let me keep my toys. I used them to pick my locks and escape.

Where were these bandits?

They guard the passes in the Ural Mountains.

Why were you there?

I was on my way from here to there. The mountains were in my way.

You don’t want to tell me. That’s fine. I know you’re a spy. I just don’t know who it is you are spying for or against. Why do you like traveling around all the time? Are all Romani so carefree?

He was busy fitting handles to tools and placing them in a line on the floor. I’ve never known anything else. As I said, my mother was Romani. It’s in my blood. He pulled another string and pulled out a rope no bigger around than her smallest finger. As he uncoiled it, she could see that it was much longer than she had supposed.

That little rope is not strong enough to hold a man and is not long enough to reach the ground, so it will do you no good.

I do not need to reach the ground. I only need to get nearer the ground so I do not break my neck. The rope is very strong. I have used it often. He took the various tools to the window and placed them on the seat. I am going to work on these bars a while. Why don’t you try to sleep? The daylight is going and it’s been a long day.

What an excellent suggestion. Elise grabbed the blanket and took it to the pallet. The fool could play with his toys the rest of the night. If he wanted to kill himself, he could. What did