Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Rosheen of Saelmere Castle

When Rosheen arrived home at Saelmere, the same sunny afternoon she had first met Lord Roland, trouble brewed. She had escaped her servant, yet again. 

Morag met Rosheen at the door to her rooms. Hands on hips, she scolded, “I know about your conduct. It’s for your safety to have a servant with you, Rosheen. Your independence is folly. I know by your face, something happened!”

The girl looked down her face hot. " Morag, don’t fuss. I rode to the hill and back.” 

“What hill? We don’t have a hill.”

“The hill . . . in the next Fief . . . I met someone.” She feigned innocence.

“Who? You certainly shouldn’t have been there.”

“Young Lord Roland . . . You warned me about him.”

“For good reason.”

“I think you’re wrong. He’s so boyish and most-ly polite. I wasn’t frightened.”

“He has never grown up. Swear to me, you’ll stay away.” Morag’s eyes glowered.

“You’ve warned me enough. I vexed him sorely. He must hate me.”

“Then what if he complains about your trespass to his father? We want no trouble between our families.”

“I promise, I won’t go there again . . . but he didn’t seem so bad.”

Morag’s brows furrowed sternly as she grabbed the maiden's shoulders. “Rosheen. Lack of proper upbringing has ruined him. He has no mother. Trust me, Lord Tytus is a cruel, heartless man. His son may be different, but do you think the young Lord’s shocking reputation bodes well for anyone? There are things you can never know.”

“I’m listening to you, dear. Don’t take on so. But what things? There can’t be more.”

“You must never go there because what you’ll find out will ruin your life.”

For a moment, a cloud of doom enveloped them. Rosheen shrugged Morag off.

“I won’t go there. Don’t fret. I promise it’s over.” 

Such a dire warning and Morag’s anguish genuine.

More information will ruin my life? she wondered. Whatever the problem, she had not intended to cause such grief. She scrutinized Morag’s tear-filled eyes, hugged her, left to remove her riding attire in her chamber, while praying there would be no repercussions. The door closed with a bang, before Morag's remonstrance could continue.

Roland of Wadeley – a year later

As per his decision to precipitate his re-acquaintance with Rosheen, Roland set out for Saelmere Castle. He prayed the past year had proven his change for the better.

On this beautiful spring morning, the sun shone confidently, he rode less recklessly, and breathed in the tingling freshness of the morning. Filled with self-assurance and anticipation, he rode on. His horse's trotting hooves beat the ground, taking him ever closer to Saelmere and the implementation of his plan

He arrived and initially gazed in awe at the magnificent stone castle before him; it's immensity, in comparison to Wadeley, a surprise. After riding his horse over the drawbridge servants led him to Lord Gerrard, who greeted him, and appeared impressed with such a good-looking, well-dressed young man. Roland's attire fitted with the opulent surroundings of the conference chamber and Gerrard's own ensemble. Gerrard sat at his desk and looked up as Roland entered.

He introduced himself, “Roland Tabor, son of Lord Tytus of Wadeley, at your service.” He bowed, clenching his hat, concerned about his reputation, yet rose again, with the poise of a lord. “Greetings, Lord Gerrard. I hope all in your family are in good health. There are some awful accounts, circulating about me. All idle gossip. Never fear, I’m grownup and no longer behave in such-a-way. However, I hear good things related about your family, especially your daughter, Lady Rosheen. I once saw her from a distance and wish to officially meet her. My intentions are honorable.”

Gerrard beamed and agreed she’d be sent in presently.

 “Also, I invite your entire family to join us for a feast next Sunday afternoon. You’re all welcome to stay and return home on the morro. My sister, Anna, an exceptional young lady, wishes to be acquainted with your daughter. Perchance, this will be the beginning of a friendship between them.”

Gerrard’s face glowed, a potentially useful invitation. He requested leave to discuss the arrangement with his wife, Lady Vivian, but frowned when requested not to announce his name to Lady Rosheen.

Roland feared her refusal to see him. He placed his hat on a chair, and paced, while wringing his hands.

Presently, Rosheen entered with a servant, who remained at a watchful distance.

Roland bowed low. “Greetings and good-day, Lady Rosheen. I, Lord Roland, hope you’re well. You may not recognize me, after all these months.” Roland looked into her vacant eyes, hoping she'd say something to put him at ease.

“Good-day, Lord Roland. It’s been a year. I’d forgotten all about you.” Her face lacked expression.

“Gramercy, for your scolding last year, I’ve taken everything to heart and I’m a changed man.”

“I’m amazed my profundity affected you.”

“I came to my senses.”

“I suppose I’m gratified but I can’t understand why you're here.” Rosheen’s nose in the air, her unsmiling mouth, made him cringe.

He clasped one of her hands with both of his. “I’m sorry. I've constantly thought of you. My whole life has changed. Prithee, please, give me a chance.”

She pulled her hand back, but he held fast. Suddenly, he noticed in her eyes, not coldness but . . . fear? Startled, he released her hand, while his eyes implored her.

She turned away. “Nay, I had no choice. My father is pleased and my mother, excited, but I don’t desire to be your friend or confidant, ever.”

“I beseech you, Lady Rosheen, let us be acquainted. Come to the feast with your family. You’re our closest neighbors. My lovely sister Anna has little female company. At least give her a chance.”

“Appears, I’ll have to attend. Can I leave now?” She turned and left without a backward glance. The servant scuttled after her.

“Until next we meet.” He felt rattled at her rudeness, though he believed she would either feel differently, in time, or be persuaded by her family.

Gerrard reentered the room; the invitation and time confirmed, their family to travel to Wadeley Keep the following Sunday. 

Roland left, crumpling his hat, a vision of her loveliness imprinted in his mind, her raven-black hair, held back with an emerald encrusted band, her pastel green gown, which intensified the green of her eyes and complimented her slenderness, cream complexion, and her look of fear. He shrugged. Surely, it’s just demure reluctance, he thought.

***

At Saelmere Castle, Rosheen left to return to her room as Lady Vivian came down the stairs. Vivian eagerly questioned her, after Lord Roland's visit.

Rosheen understated his intent. “He desires me to become friends with his sister, Lady Anna.”

“But, daughter, he’s a dashing young lord, his family so well-bred, and the fief is huge. He’s a worthy suitor. Such a fine young man.” Vivian remonstrated in vain.

Rosheen walked resolutely away, her nose in the air.

***

The next day, Morag attended Rosheen as she dressed after bathing. The delicate scent of lavender and roses surrounded them. When Rosheen casually mentioned the feast, Morag's face fell, and you could have heard a seed-pearl drop.

"You’re afraid, Morag. It’s that wretched meeting, long ago. He said he’s changed. He forgave me, even thanked me, but it's alright. I'll go but I’ll ignore him.”

"I heard about the invitation. Your mother mentioned your lack of interest with concern. Don’t be a fool. He’s surely contemplating betrothal. Both of your circumstances appear ideal. Trust me, a lady has no choice about such things.”

“You’ve never met him. You despise his father, but you may be wrong about Roland. I’ll tell him he’s not for me and he’ll not pursue me if I’m cold towards him.”

“I’m right about Roland. He never forgot you after your outstanding coldness last time!”

“My hatefulness had the opposite effect. Prithee, forgive me. This is all my fault.”

“Well, you can’t go. You’ll have to excuse yourself.”

“But why can’t I go? It’s a feast and I'll meet his sister. What’ll my parents say?”

Morag’s face bore disgust.

“My dear,” said Rosheen, “Attending one feast isn’t the end of the world.”

Her maid started to shake as tears rolled down her cheeks and she gently shut the door for their privacy. Rosheen opened her mouth, perplexed.

“I have to tell you a terrible secret. You must avoid Roland and his family. I once did an unforgivable thing.” Morag sobbed in despair.

“You’re worrying me. What is it?”

“On the day you were born I, the one who assisted your birth, was told to dispose of you. I saved your life but lied about it.”

“Lord Gerrard?” Rosheen's eyes opened wide. 

“No, Lord Gerrard is a good father.”

“So, who wanted me dead?”

“Your father . . . Lord Tytus, ordered it.”

Rosheen opened her mouth in shock. “But-but that means Roland is my brother . . . So that’s what you meant by ‘more information will ruin my life'?”

“It should never have come to this. You have to keep away from him. Lord Gerrard, your father, will likely listen if you emphasize dislike of Roland.”

Rosheen commenced crying and dropped heavily on a nearby chair. “Y-ye know I treated him badly but he really w-wants me to meet his sister. H-how could this happen? How c-c-can I avoid going? A feast will be such f-fun but . . . I-I suppose, I’ll have to be sick on the day.” She sobbed into her hands.

“You suppose? This needs resolution. It gets worse. Your cruel father, Lord Tytus, will recognize you if he knows I’m in your life. There is no way I can attend to watch over you. You resemble your mother. Roland can never be told. I lied to Lord Gerrard, told him you were our child. . . I wished it to be true."

Rosheen looked at Morag, stricken. “So, I’m not base-born but now I truly wish to be.”

“Rosheen! Take a grip of yourself. I did this for you. You deserved the life your brother and sister have. I asked kind Lord Gerrard for help for our child but didn't expect him to bring you here and lie, in turn. about how you came to be. He can never find out the truth. He’ll be heartbroken, throw us out. I can’t do this to him or Lady Vivian. Moreover, our lives will be ruined, and you could still die.”

“This is beyond terrible. I don’t care for Roland but if he wants me, we need the protection of my father . . . otherwise . . .” Rosheen bowed her head and wailed.

Her prior unknown life-crisis, threatened to ruin her present security. “How can such a terrible thing be true? How could you devise such a deception? Such a lie!” Her hands became fists.

Morag placed her hands on Rosheen's heaving shoulders, though not for consolation. “It’s imperative you don’t go, ever!”

 Rosheen shrugged Morag’s hands away, eyes flashing, her face in a stern pout. “I won’t, I promise.”

***

The day of the feast came closer, amidst much excitement, cleaning, and preparation undertaken at Wadeley Keep. Everyone hung out their finest clothes and commenced their cooking assignments; soups, gravies, a boar, chickens, venison, pheasants, a peacock, pies, dumplings, pandemain-bread, with many vegetable dishes, and sweet-meats; victuals aplenty for a sumptuous repast, with much tasting to make sure every dish had been seasoned or sweetened to perfection.

The kitchen, buttery, and bakehouse, resounded with chatter and activity, while aromas emanated from pots and ovens. The large hall was adorned for the occasion. Rich tapestries were shaken-out and then replaced on the walls, rugs aired, floors swept, items for the table taken out of storage and polished until they gleamed, while the main table was washed, adorned, and set.

Lady Anna practiced a musical piece and song for their guests’ entertainment, while her maid worked diligently on her gown.

***

Pre-activity also took place at Saelmere, prior to Lord Gerrard and his family’s ride to Wadeley. Vivian looked spectacular in her violet gown embellished with goldthread. She placed a peaked head-dress draped with a sheer, golden veil which fell over her nut-brown locks and the coiled plaits on either side of her head. Many jeweled accessories enhanced her regal ensemble. A look of decadence, in line with her station, rather than for delight.

Rosheen started the day by refusing to rise, as Morag anticipated.

“Where is Rosheen? I trust she’s prepared?” said her mother.

“My Lady, I believe so.”

“I’ll check,” said Lady Vivian, marching away.

Morag followed from a distance.

“Rosheen! Where are you?” Vivian flounced into the bedchamber to find her ensconced under her covers. “Young mistress, why haven’t you risen?”

Her face contorted into a grimace. “Mother, I’m ill.” Rosheen turned away as her mother patted her brow.

“You don’t have a fever. You were well yesterday.”

“Nay, the headache and I feel poorly.”

Vivian’s face became shrew-like. “It’s not your time for a headache! You’re never ill, moreover, you’ve been reluctant all week. The ride will be good for you. It’d be outrageous not to attend. By the saints, you will get up!” She tore back the covers and dragged her daughter by the arm.

“Ow, mother! Please don’t make me go.”

“You’re going, indeed. Get dressed this instant!”

Rosheen sobbed and her mother threw her arms up in despair. “You never behave this way! Morag must be involved. She’s the one who should’ve had you up and dressed. Morag! Get Rosheen ready. If she’s to return due to illness, so be it, but I don’t believe her dramatics, or you not knowing about it. She is attending!”

Morag reluctantly assisted Rosheen whose attempt to deceive had failed.

“They’ll be sorry they dragged me along sick. I'll tell them you had a baby to deliver, as you best not come, but don’t fear, dear Morag, You’ve warned me what is at stake.”

Roland of Wadeley

On arrival at Wadeley, their steeds were led away, and they entered an anteroom to greet Roland, Lord Tytus and Anna. Morag, though, had excused herself from attending. Their servants removed their mantles, and Lord Gerrard sat down with his wife Vivian, their son Peter, and Rosheen, who appeared piqued. Roland beamed and introduced his guests to his family. He noticed his father look with approval on Rosheen and her parents.

Peter, a teenager six years younger than Rosheen, had a lot to say. He and his father were close, and they often hunted, so the lad launched into recounting their experiences.

So, it happened, the ladies moved to one side of the room, conversing on gentler topics, while the men remained on the other. Not Roland’s preference, though he planned to be beside both his father and Rosheen, when they sat to dine.

On entering the hall, they stared in awe at the fabulous, mouth-watering sight of their awaited feast. Delicious aromas invited them, though the display looked too grand to touch. Roland glowed with pride. Fit for kings and queens, he thought. 

He knew he had dazzled Rosheen’s family, though he feared her disapproval. 

 Between the gaps of hung-tapestries, sconces cast light, and two large candleholders in wrought-iron stood on either side of the fire, their golden glow combining with the firelight.

Lord Tytus at the head, had Lord Gerrard on his left, next to his son Peter, with Lady Vivian next to him. Anna was to sit with Rosheen. Williams, who had also been invited, conveniently introduced as a relative, sat below the salt, opposite elderly Ida. 

Rosheen stated she felt unwell, and her parents wisely requested she sit between them. So, Roland, on his father’s right, landed with young Peter on the other side, who continued his excited babble, paying no heed to Anna on his right. Rosheen, on the other side, appeared to avoid Roland, partly concealed by a vase of peacock feathers and greenery. He focused on young Peter, to appear the charming host. He dared not alienate him, though he merely pretended to listen to his incessant chatter.

They ate, talked, and enjoyed themselves; all except Roland. He thought about the loveliness of Rosheen with her beautifully coifed hair, her jewels, and her fitted crimson gown. Yet, she looked unhappy, pale, and barely ate. How on earth can I speak with her? he thought, in despair.