The Blossom of Arundel--Historical Romance-ish

(NOTE: If I ever catch anyone lifting any part of this from this blog to be bastardized and used in some other manuscript, I will hunt you down like the slug that you are and do unimaginably bad things to you--stuff I learned with the Plutonian Guard Torture Squad. I mean it. Plagarism makes me dangerous. I'm putting this here solely for the entertainment of anybody surfing by and NOT to be picked at and regurgitated by some other author. Are we clear on this? Good. Enjoy!)

Cloridan de Bayeux? Impossible.
"Tis a good jest, my father," Fayre ventured. She let a nervous giggle slip from her pink lips. "You do give me the belly laughs."
Ethelred Cyewulf gave his daughter a wry smile as his hands met behind his back. "I do not jest, Fayre. The Baron of Arundel has asked for your hand in marriage."
Her emotions too frenzied to permit any other reaction, Fayre simply gaped. Then, she snapped to attention and collected herself with great dignity. "So what if he has? That means naught."
"Were it any other man, I would necessarily agree with you," Ethelred said. "But Cloridan is an incredibly important man, and to him I cannot say no."
Fayre could not breathe. The dim chamber seemed devoid of air. She fell back from her father in clumsy steps, shaking her head. "Nay," she cried. She turned her head and looked at the open window. "I would never defy you, my father, but I will throw myself to the ground before I will wed that fiend!"
Ethelred cried her name in tender despair. "No, daughter, say not such things. My heart would break, and I would die with you. Fayre, my beloved, I have no choice. If I could, I would let you choose your own husband, and you know that. But the king has ordered that you marry de Bayeux, and I can do nothing of it."
"The king? What interest can he have in my matrimony? He barely even spared a look for me when we went to London."
"His interest is for the Baron of Arundel, my dearest."
Her father had not needed to tell her this. Fayre knew well that King William cared only for his Norman vassals. She also realized William could not be entirely responsible for this ludicrous pairing. An arrogant Norman and a Saxon woman who despised him? No, if Fayre knew anything about Cloridan de Bayeux, she knew that he got what he wanted and no less.
"Tell me," she said, "to what degree was the arranging of this marriage de Bayeux's cunning?"
Ethelred narrowed his eyes. "I do not understand."
"Did Arundel ask the king to command this marriage?" Fayre snapped.
"I will not lie to you. He did so." Ethelred raised his shoulders in a slow shrug. "Cloridan is William's favorite, and he wanted you for his bride."
"What of Godwyn?"
"Fayre, here is truth. We are not living in optimal times, my little one. Any one of these Norman barons could have sought your hand. You are desirable, as you know, and as my daughter, you are a promise of an excellent alliance."
"I am naught but a pawn," Fayre wailed.
Ethelred took a deep, hesitant breath. "Tis not so. You are fortunate that Cloridan cast his eyes on you. He is by far the kindest and most gentle of the Norman barons I have encountered, and he will be good to you."
"Cloridan de Bayeux is not Godwyn!"
Ethelred swallowed his sympathy. "I hope you can see that I am concerned for your welfare, but my concern must fall within the king's orders. 'Tis better that you wed Cloridan than that you be claimed by a baron not quite so amiable, my Fayre. Have no doubts that were you to not marry Cloridan, another baron would be quite eager to take you for himself."
The very thought of submitting to Cloridan de Bayeux and fulfilling her proper wifely duties twisted Fayre's stomach. To think that arrogant, haughty man would lay his covetous hands on her flesh, that he would enjoy the gift of her virtue! Fayre clenched her fists and her teeth, fighting back the scream of frustration which threatened to burst from her lips.
She ducked her head, as if acknowledging a punch. The lies she told herself. Cloridan de Bayeux was the choicest bit of man she had ever seen. Her frustration came from her own pride wrestling with her more primal self, the part that wanted Cloridan. After all of her protestations, she could never admit to wanting him. 'Twould be admitting defeat.


"My darling, please try to make the best of this."
Rowyna Cynewulf twisted her thin hands as she looked at her daughter. She did not like the wedding plans any better than Fayre did. "'Tis a favor to your father, for the support he showed William."
Even now, two years after King Harold's fall at Senlac, Fayre did not know what to make of the man who called himself King of England. Her father had been one of several Saxon noblemen to agree that the Duke of Normandy was the rightful English king. All through the countryside, rumor spread that Edward the Confessor had, on his deathbed, named William to be the next king. To Fayre, it made no sense for anyone to oppose Edward's choice, as The Confessor had been a loved and pious king. In fact, William had not his own wile to acknowledge for his success, but more Harold's lack of support and conviction.
Still, a part of Fayre could not deny that England slipped away from her people, as William turned more land over to his Norman vassals
Fayre stroked the arm of the chair, mulling over her mother's words. "'Tis the king's wish that all of his barons take Saxon noblewomen as wives. He seems to think that will make his rule more secure."
"Even among our own people, kings and barons wed and made unions where it would do them the most good. Marriage has ever been a way of sealing alliances."
"Father explained all of that to me. But the fighting is over and the Normans have won. Why must the king continue to strengthen his throne?"
"One battle does not make a war. William may have won his crown, but he has had to fight to keep it. And he will need to continue fighting so long as any man has enough spirit to oppose him. Do you hate the Baron of Arundel so much, Fayre?"
Meeting her mother's clear eyes, Fayre knew she could not hide her true feelings. "Nay, I don't hate him. But I am irritated that he had meddled with my life. Because of him, I cannot marry Godwyn."
"But you loved not Godwyn, either," Rowyna said.
"At least I wanted to marry him," Fayre answered with force.


Fayre sauntered into the great hall, her radiance disguising the sickly turmoil within her.
How it aggravated her to see Cloridan meander about the great hall, mingling with the feast guests as if he were home in his own castle. She wished everyone in the hall could share just a little of her hostility, that Cloridan might not look so arrogant and comfortable.
Fayre moped about the hall, barely acknowledging any greetings offered her. She knew her face was turned in a most unpleasant scowl, but she could not help herself. This silly revelry, this celebration, bore away at her very nerves. Where was the cause for celebration in this accursed betrothal?
Her eyes glanced up towards the high table, where her own seat remained vacant. Ethelred's big blue eyes followed her around the room, full of sympathy and compassion, and Fayre was almost inclined to return to the table for his sake. But then, she saw the true cause of her unrest and abandoned that notion.
Fayre examined her future husband as she might examine a work of art. An inherent strength and sensuality kindled Cloridan's excellent features. His smooth skin was pulled taut over his elegant cheekbones, and his thin, firm lips frequently spread into the devilish smile which made his amusement with everything completely evident. Two merry spheres of dark green sparkled from under the fringe of his thick, dark eyelashes. Cloridan wore his silky black hair down to below his strong shoulders in the Saxon fashion, yet he was clean shaven like the Normans. He cut an unmistakeable figure in the gathering, towering over all other men and dwarfing the ladies.
As always, Cloridan had dressed himself in scarlet for the feast. Never had Fayre seen him wear any other color. She figured he fancied scarlet for the way it complemented his fair complexion and raven hair.
Fayre had admitted to herself long ago that the Count of Sussex was a handsome man. But beauty counted for naught, she knew. He was a Norman, and in her own mind, he therefore could not be trusted.
Cloridan raised his eyes to look across the hall, to gaze at Fayre, and she experienced a small victory as she watched his milky cheeks flush crimson. He sought her eyes, he sought to make that contact with her, but Fayre would not allow it.
"Fayre," spoke a furtive male voice from behind her. Fayre spun around and greeted Alfred, her father's most competent courtier. He did not look content. "Your father and the Baron of Arundel have asked that you take your place with them at the high table."
"My father is familiar with my discontent, and I therefore believe he will understand why I do not comply." Fayre's laugh was icy. "As for the Norman fiend, I do not follow his commands. I am not his subject."
"Please, Fayre. Tis most awkward for Ethelred to preside over his daughter's betrothal feast without your presence. Your father made his volition very clear to me, and I do not doubt I will fall under his great displeasure should I fail him."
"Now that is wisdom--holding you responsible for my actions," Fayre muttered. "Yet I would not see you get into trouble for my sake." With that, Fayre followed Alfred to the head table.
Ethelred leaned forward and looked past his wife, to his daughter. "I am pleased that you would join us," he said in his gentle manner. "I would not have that my beloved daughter be apart from me on this day."
Fayre did not respond, for she was too well aware of the hungry eyes of the Baron of Arundel upon her.
"Fie on you, Arundel!" Baron Godwyn of Penenden stormed into the great hall, his angry voice booming up to the eaves. Cloridan cocked his eyebrow at the fur-clad intruder, but said nothing as Godwyn boldly approached Baron Cynewulf. "Your daughter is pledged to me, Ethelred, and you know it well. What travesty is this--that I hear you would hand your daughter to this dog de Bayeux?"
Fayre clenched her fists, fuming silently as the people about her collectively sucked in their breaths. She met Godwyn's agonized eyes for a moment, clearly communicating her distaste for her situation to him.
Ethelred breathed deeply. "My dear Baron, I, like all of us, must act according to the express wishes of our king William. 'Twas he who ordered me to betrothe my daughter to the Baron of Arundel. If you dispute the arrangement, I bid you travel to London and take up the matter with our king himself."
But Godwyn was no longer listening. He had turned his attention to Cloridan de Bayeux, and now stepped towards the towering man, attempting an air of menace. "How dare you make claim to what is mine," Godwyn hissed. "You Norman dogs may claim our lands, but you have no business taking our fair Saxon maidens!"
Cloridan dismissed Godwyn's ire with a quick shrug. "Tis not so, quite simply. The lady Fayre was an unclaimed maiden, whatever private designs you may have had on her hand. She is free to wed, and her father, the king, and myself have reached a concord that she will marry me. There is no more, Penenden."
"Perhaps not to you." Godwin turned again to look on Fayre, his eyes brimming with a desperate tenderness. "I courted Fayre for my love of her, not for what alliances she could bring me. We had agreed, she and I, to wed. If Fayre gave me her hand by her own will, there is no claim greater."
The Baron of Arundel coolly contemplated the young Saxon man, obviously thinking over Godwyn's words. Yet he also was clearly of no mind to pay Godwyn heed on this matter. "Even were I of a mind to relinquish Fayre, I could not," he finally spoke. "The king has ordered this marriage."



Fayre longed to flee the great hall, to retreat into the private haven of her chamber upstairs in the donjon. She did not eagerly anticipate her inevitable encounters with either Arundel or Penenden. Neither man was likely to let her slip away from this feasting without speaking to her, however much she wished to be left alone.
But Cloridan de Bayeux had quickly taken leave from her father after the meal to come find her. Hide as she tried, slipping her small, lithe form behind columns or guests, Cloridan followed her relentlessly. Finally, she spun around to face him, placing her hands on her hips. "Need I make my lack of interest any more evident to you, Count de Bayeux?" she asked flippantly, speaking in broken French.
Cloridan burst into deep laughter, clearly delighted by her spirited outburst. "Ah, Fayre, you are as fond of me as you have ever been. It soothes my heart to see you have not grown docile."
"Nor shall I ever, so if you are hoping to tame me in our accursed marriage, I invite you to part with such follies this instant. Twould take a better man than you to curb my ire."
"On the contrary, I would weep piteously should you ever be tamed, my little Fayre," he replied coyly. "But have you no kinder words for your future husband? It is our engagement feast, after all."
"No kinder words for one so arrogant as to remind me of my ill fortune!"
Cloridan tisked, cocking his head cynically. "Such wrath from my betrothed. A lesser man than I would beat that wrath straight out of you."
"He would need catch me first," she replied proudly.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Cloridan stood firm. "I can catch you, Fayre."
"Your conceit is tremendous."
"It is truth. I have already caught you, you see."
"You have taken me from my proper betrothed," she hissed, her eyes aflame.
"Penenden is a mere boy," he retorted calmly. "You of all women need more than a boy for your husband."
"He is more a man than you! At least he had the courage to court me openly, not cower and go to the king behind my back."
Cloridan raised his eyebrows as he gave a quick shrug. "Then he hasn't my wit, has he? If he had gotten to William before I did and requested to marry you, his claim would have been assured. We leave for our home two days hence, Fayre. He grabbed her hand and pressed something cold into her palm. "Though you scorn me, Fayre, I will treasure you," Cloridan uttered.
Fayre looked into her palm. There lay a breathtaking jewel, a brooch intricately worked of silver, cradling a luminescent stone. "Tis a moonstone," she said in surprise.
Cloridan nodded, lowering his eyes to gaze down at the alluring stone. "I was very fortunate, actually. On my way to Canterbury did I encounter a peddler of exotic wares. I saw this brooch, and thought of you immediately. Nothing of the ordinary would suit a lady such as you, I believed."
In spite of herself, Fayre was warmed by the precious gift and by his words. "Then I thank you for the brooch," she said in a civil voice. "Tis a sweet gesture. I have always wanted a moonstone."
"I understand that the wearer of a moonstone will have clear sight into the future." Cloridan met her slightly softened eyes. "It is my wish that you might look into your future with me and find joy there."

Cloridan bowed and offered a courteous comment. Giggling, Sibley spoke under her hand. "What did he say, Fayre?"
"I said I am honored, my lady. The fair maidens of Cynewulf are lovely enough to bring a blush to any man's cheeks," Cloridan said.
Fayre's pink lips parted in her surprise. "You speak English!"
Cloridan gave her a soft smile, thrilling in her approval. "A little. I am learning, anyway. How else can I communicate with my people?"
"Perhaps Fayre can help you, my lord," Sibley said. "She has taught me many things."
Fayre could not help but be impressed. That Cloridan would bother to learn her tongue indeed warmed her heart to him, just a bit.


"I think the feast went well, don't you?" Ethelred stood at his study window, his hands joined behind his back.
"With the exception of Penenden making a scene and Fayre despising me, I would agree with you." Cloridan sat back in his chair and sipped from his tankard of ale. "Neither situation bodes well for my marriage, Ethelred."
Turning from the window, Ethelred said, "Godwyn is just an angry boy. He will come to see reason, I know it."
Cloridan arched an eyebrow. "And your daughter?"
Cloridan studied the older man, trying to find the lies in Ethelred's face. He had expected Fayre to be tart with him, as she always was. Under the circumstances, Cloridan could understand why Fayre would hate him, and he prayed he could earn a sweeter consideration from her. But Godwyn of Penenden had taken him by complete surprise.
"Why didn't you tell me Fayre was betrothed?"
Ethelred shifted in his seat under Cloridan's angry stare. His lips open and shut several times before he managed to speak. "I didn't think 'twas important. I knew the king would acknowledge your claim to my daughter over Penenden's."
Cyenewulf had meant no harm. That much was obvious. "But it is important. How can I expect Fayre to be a good wife to me when she preferred to marry another?"
"Fayre will adjust, I know it." Ethelred laced his fingers. "She understands what is for the good of this land."
Cloridan clenched his fists in frustration. Cynewulf could not see the problem. "I care about her, Ethelred."
"As do I. She is my daughter, after all."
"She has every right to hate me," Cloridan said, leaning his palms down on the table. "I didn't know she was to be married. You asked me to take her to wife, and so I asked the king, and I never knew she had a love already. Now I've taken her from the man she loves. Do you think she will ever forgive me?"
"Let me tell you my story. My Rowyna was a present to me from her father, a great thane. She detested me as much as Fayre claims to detest you, at least. But my heart was soft, and I fell in love with Rowyna. I determined that I would woo her with tenderness and affection after our wedding, for I had no time to be her suitor before. My Rowyna's every desire I saw fulfilled. For all her loathing of me, she was obedient and dutiful. I rewarded her with anything she wished, and with all of my love. And finally, one eve as she tended a wound of mine, her sweet eyes met mine and she whispered the words I had been longing to hear. Rowyna told me she loved me, too."
The Count of Bayeux widened his eyes. "And what then, Ethelred?"
Ethelred giggled as he looked into his ale. "About nine moons later, our Fayre was born to us."
"What romance! I see how happy you are with your wife."
"Yes, and you can find the same happiness if you follow my example." Ethelred swished his ale around in the tankard. "Be patient with Fayre. Brook her disobedience and her high spirits."
"It is her spirit which has captured my imagination," Cloridan said.
Cloridan had already decided to woo Fayre Cynewulf in their marriage. Ethelred's enthusiasm and confidence strengthened Cloridan's resolve to give Fayre all of his best. Cloridan could not deny he wanted Fayre. For three long years she had haunted his thoughts, and he wanted nothing more than to be her husband. But he was wiser than to think replacing Godwyn of Penenden in her heart would be easy to do.
Not for the first time, Cloridan doubted his marriage arrangements. 'Twas what he wanted, but that meant nothing if Fayre would be miserable. He would be taking her away from her family and her love to live with him in a castle at the end of the world, away from the safe haven of Canterbury to the wild danger of Arundel.