Winter Song by Roberta Gellis

worry about things months or
years in the future. Raymond would take possession of the uncontested lands
first and, if he had to fight for Ibos, would spend some time gathering
strength. By then, perhaps God would smite Garnier dead. At least she was not
to be a painted image, she would have tasks and duties.
    “Have you seen any of these places?” Alys asked.
    “Only Benquel. It is a shell keep, like Hurley. The country
is fine and rich, but Benquel has suffered much from Marsan’s looking the other
way when his men raid.”
    “But you said—”
    “That there would be no trouble and there will be none,”
Raymond assured her. “As soon as I offer to do fealty, or rather that you will
do fealty, to Marsan for the lands.” He then explained about the history of
Benquel. “Once Marsan feels his honor is satisfied,” Raymond concluded, “he will
see that no more damage or insult is given. He likes me. I have always paid my
dues on my farms on time and have been a visitor in Mont de Marsan. Still, the
sooner we come to terms, the better.”
    “Yes, indeed,” Alys agreed. “You are right. We had better
marry in haste, so that we can begin to take the lands in hand before winter
makes traveling too hard. I will speak to Papa, but I do not see any reason to
invite many besides Uncle Richard.”
    Raymond sputtered. “Alys, you are the most unromantic woman.
Do you not desire that all the maidens in the kingdom should envy your good
fortune?”
    “What good fortune?” Alys teased. “Marrying you? Or the
possibility of becoming a widow before the next year is out?”
    “Marrying me, of course! I am strong, rich, handsome, polished
in manners—”
    “So you are,” Alys agreed tenderly, throwing her arms around
him and kissing him soundly. “And I do not wish to be a widow, ever.”
    Raymond had only been joking, of course, expecting Alys to
call him a blackamoor popinjay or to say something else equally sharp. The
sudden softness of her voice, the clinging of her lips, nearly overset him. He
held her close, prolonging the kiss, and then bent his head to rest his cheek
against her headdress.
    “It is not true that I am so great a prize,” Raymond said
huskily, “or if it is, it is less than nothing compared with your worth,
beloved. You are like the sun, Alys. When you are in sight, all other
luminaries pale into insignificance. Let us marry soon, heart of my heart, not
to travel before winter or for the lands, but only so that I may the sooner
call you my own.”

Chapter Five
     
    Alys’s proposal for a modest affair did not meet with the
enthusiastic agreement she had expected from her father. When she suggested a
one-day feast with only Richard and Sancia and their immediate neighbors as
guests, her father sighed and smiled and told her not to be a fool. The
nephew-by-marriage of the king of England could not marry in privacy. There was
to be a state affair at Wallingford, and the king and queen would attend.
    Despite the fact that Alys was frightened by the huge three-week-long
affair that was planned, the wedding was truly joyful. This was more true than
for most marriages because both bride and groom were so happy. Then also, there
was no mother to sigh over the loss of her baby girl. Elizabeth loved Alys, but
Elizabeth never thought of Alys as an infant. Even at five, Alys had been a
strong-willed, adult-seeming child. And, although Elizabeth knew she would miss
Alys, she also understood that the marriage would save both of them hurt.
    Thus far so much had happened so fast that there had been no
time for Alys and Elizabeth to come into conflict over the role of lady of the
manor. Had Alys remained in Marlowe, such a conflict was inevitable. Since her
mother’s death Alys had run her father’s estates and life. At that time Alys
was only ten years old. To some extent, she had assumed the responsibilities
even before that, because her mother had been a limp, ineffective woman.
Elizabeth, too, was