The Gauntlet Pt. 02

Crèvecoeur-en-Auge, France

1380

It had been a hard day of riding, but Jean de Carrouges was still far from his destination. He had hoped to reach his family estate at Campomesnil, but a late start, heavy morning rains and a brief and unexpected encounter with a pair of brigands had delayed the squire, leaving him in a foul mood. The weather this time of year was unpredictable, and he did not wish to chance the road in a storm. He was ill-disposed to stop for the night along the trails and hedges of Normandy. Fortunately, he was friends with a minor lord who commanded a nearby estate and decided to seek shelter.

The portcullis to the castle was down already, and the guards were preparing to shut the massive wooden gate as Jean arrived requesting hospitality. It took a few minutes to convince them to send word to their master, but once they did, Jean was allowed inside. As he dismounted, he saw the door to the main keep open, and a small boy darted out, being chased by the most beautiful young woman Jean had ever seen.

She looked to be around twenty years of age, with long, blonde hair and a figure perfect for producing heirs, wide hips and an ample bosom. It was her face that staggered the older squire. She was an angel with grey-blue eyes, a small, upturned nose and lips made to be kissed. Her voice sounded like delicate bells as she giggled and laughed, before catching the boy and dragging him back toward the keep.

For a split second, the beauty caught Jean's eye and smiled, causing his heart to skip a beat before she ran back inside with her charge securely tucked under her arm.

"Who was that girl?" Jean asked the stable boy as he handed over the reins to his palfrey.

"That was Annette, my lord," he replied, "the master's daughter and her cousin."

"Is that so?" Jean asked, mostly to himself. "I didn't realize Guillaume had a daughter that old."

After ensuring his horses and gear were secured, Jean shook off as much road dirt as he could then entered the main hall. The rectangular room was arranged with two long tables running from the entrance to the far end and a third table, placed across the gap between the other two, on a slightly raised dais. Torches hung on the walls, casting flickering light into the rather gloomy chamber. An enormous hearth on the far wall was ablaze, the fire adding an orange glow to the room, as well as a thin haze of smoke.

The lord of the castle, Guillaume de Thibouville, the nephew of Jean's friend Sir Robert, came walking across the hall, with right hand outstretched.

"By God, it is you!" He shouted. "How long has it been?"

The two men shook hands then embraced. "Ahh, far too long!" Jean replied, clapping his friend on the back. "Last time I saw you, you had an Englishman's dagger in your side, and his decapitated head hanging from your fist by the yellow hair of his beard."

"He took offense to my trying to cut off his head and decided to attempt to geld me," Guillaume laughed heartily. "Thank Saint Michael he missed my jewels."

"I apologize for coming unannounced," Jean began as the two men walked to the table at the far end and sat down. "I had intended to make it to Campomesnil, but it is late, and I already had to deal with two routiers this morning."

"Trouble on the road then?" Guillaume asked as he poured a goblet of red wine for his friend.

"Nothing I couldn't handle, but with the way things are now, it's never wise to travel at night."

"We heard good news from the campaign, how did it go?"

"It was like any campaign in this unholy war," Jean explained. "We take a village back from the English only to lose it to them again in a fortnight. It seems that I've been going back and forth and back and forth over the same bits of land for the past six years."

"Sorry I can't be out there with you, but since my wife died," Guillaume stopped himself, remembering that Jean's wife had only recently passed away as well. "How rude of me, my friend, I am sorry for your loss as well as mine."

Jean nodded, appearing deep in thought. "We're two widowers, but at least you have a son and heir."

Guillaume smiled. "Yes, at least she did leave me with that before she departed from me. I'm not cut out for child-rearing, I can tell you that."

"You should wed again, Guillaume, you're still young," Jean suggested.

"And what about you, old man? You have a stronger need for a wife than I do. You need an heir. Don't you think it's high time you found a bride and started making babies?"

Jean scratched his chin, "I thought I would never again marry, but recently, I started considering it. I just need to find someone who would accept me for their daughter."

"You're a wealthy man, Jean," Guillaume countered, "You should have no problem acquiring a bride with a suitable dowry."

"How would you feel about the de Thibouville and de Carrouges families joining together?"

His host sipped his wine and leaned back in his chair, thinking, "That would make for a strong marriage and beautiful babies. You should talk to my uncle, Sir Robert. His daughter is of marrying age, and I'm sure he would consent."

Jean finished his wine, then grabbed the jug and poured more for the two of them. He raised his cup to his friend, then said, "I'm not certain how my marrying the daughter of a man who twice betrayed his King would do me any service at court. You know how Pierre feels about your uncle."

"I know all too well. The English held Count Pierre and I in the same dark prison cell for many months," Guillaume explained. "Being prisoners together creates bond few others have. He may not bear my uncle any love, but he has always been a friend to me."

"That is true," Jean replied. "I'm sure if you and I joined our houses, it would help with my relationship with the good Count. How would you feel about me marrying your daughter?"

Guillaume stared at the older squire with a blank look on his face, which slowly turned into a grin, then became rolling laughter. "You are a funny man, Jean," He said between guffaws. "I never knew that about you."

Jean was not sure if he should be offended or humored. "I don't see what's so funny about the idea. You have a daughter. I need a wife who can bear me heirs. It would be mutually beneficial to both our houses."

"You're serious?" stammered Guillaume. "Jean, my friend, you're not getting any younger. You need to be fathering sons now, not twelve years from now. You honor me that you would consider my Annette, but you should find a daughter who can start having children right away."

"What are you talking about? There is no reason to wait," Jean countered. "We would begin as soon as we wed. I have to tell you, Guillaume. I saw your daughter playing in the courtyard with her cousin when I arrived, and I was smitten. She is incredibly adorable."

Guillaume's face gradually turned from pale to deep the deep redness of rage. "How dare you say such a thing. You are my guest, and for the friendship we have had over the years, I will not take further offense by your disgusting insinuation. However, do not test my goodwill by mentioning such a vile idea again, or I will kill you where you sit!"

Jean was at a loss to understand the reason for his friend's anger. He tried to speak, but no words came out. Just then, a side door opened, and the boy and girl from earlier came into the room. The boy ran to Guillaume and climbed into his lap.

"Hello father," the boy said, "I'm sorry I was bad. Can I have some of the apple tart now?"

Guillaume held onto his child protectively while giving Jean a dirty look. "Of course, Annette, go with your cousin to Cookie and tell her I said it was alright."

The child jumped down, smiled at Jean and curtsied. "Pardon me," the waif said then turned and ran to join the beautiful blonde waiting by the doorway. Jean was confused, and it showed on his face.

"Come, Annette, let us get you that tart," said the blue-eyed angel.

"Wait," Jean said, turning back to his friend, "Annette was the little one?"

"Of course," Guillaume replied, "what did you think?"

"I thought the older girl was your daughter, and the younger child was your son!" Jean declared.

"My son is but an infant, still with a wet nurse," Guillaume answered. "The older girl is my cousin, the daughter of Sir Robert, whom I mentioned before."

"That is Sir Robert's daughter?" Jean asked, sounded surprised.

"Indeed, she is the lady Marguerite de Thibouville," Guillaume fired back. Suddenly, the realization of Jean's confusion became apparent, and the man began to laugh again.

"So, by the mother of God, I get it!" he chuckled. "You were not talking about wedding my five-year-old daughter! You were talking about the beautiful Marguerite!"

Jean stared at the man in shock, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. "Is that what you thought?"

"Yes, I must apologize, but it was. I should have known a man of your character would never have such indecent thoughts. So, you're smitten with my cousin! You are not the only man in France to feel that way, I can assure you. The only reason she hasn't been married off to a great house by now is her father's infamy. As you said, few are willing to marry a traitor's daughter."

Jean was lost in contemplation, hardly hearing his friend's words. "Sir Robert suggested I marry his daughter when I saw him three months ago. At the time, I assumed his daughter was a hag, like her mother. Had I known she was so lovely, I would have been more interested."

"Would you like an introduction," Guillaume asked with a wink. "An introduction only. You touch her, and Sir Robert will have your hand cut off and your balls mounted on spikes."

"I would very much like an introduction," Jean replied. "And you have nothing to fear from me. I, unlike some other squire's in my Count's court, have a deep admiration and respect for women."

"Yes, the den of debauchery," Guillaume said, shaking his head. "We've heard stories about the parties that take place at Argentan. It seems the Count d'Alençon has nearly as strong sexual desires as his pet le Gris."

Jean was about to share his opinion of Jacque le Gris when the door opened again, and Marguerite entered, this time without the little Annette in tow.

"Ahhh, Marguerite!" blustered Guillaume, "Come and say hello to my dear friend Squire Jean de Carrouges. He is a good friend to your father as well. Sir Robert and Squire Jean had many adventures fighting the English before you were born."

Marguerite approached the two men, then smiled demurely at Jean and curtsied. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lord. My father has spoken of you many times and is quite fond of you."

Jean nodded to the young woman. "I am enchanted, my dear. I had no idea you were Sir Robert's daughter when I saw you earlier. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner."

"Come and join us, Marguerite!" Guillaume commanded, in an overly friendly manner. He poured her a glass of wine. "Drink with us! Squire Jean has had a long and trying trip back from the war. He's a hero, you know. Ferocious fighter! Scourge of the English!"

"I know," she replied as she accepted the wine, "Father has told me much about him." She turned her gaze to Jean. "I am sorry to hear of your great loss, my lord. It is a tragedy beyond belief to lose a loved one, but to have two taken from you in such a manner is unbearable. I admire your strength of will."

Jean was unable to reply and lowered his gaze.

"Yes, that's right," continued Guillaume. "Jean is a widower. He's in need of a new wife, Marguerite. He needs a good, loyal wife, a woman who knows her duty as a nobleman's wife."

"To be his true companion, and to bear him many sons?" Marguerite asked, her eyes locked on Jean's. "I am well aware of the expectations of a wife of nobility. My mother raised me well, and after her death, my stepmother continued my education in what it is to be the wife of a great man."

"See Jean!" Guillaume thundered. "She's a perfect match for you! Don't you think?"

Jean flustered briefly, and Marguerite blushed, but she held Jean's gaze. Before Jean could answer, Guillaume spoke up again.

"Though, if I were in your shoes, I might be afraid to marry a lady as beautiful as my cousin. You know what they say. 'The wife of a nobleman should be homely and his mistresses comely.' It is a safer wager. Nobody wants to seduce your wife if she's hideous to the eye. Trust me; I didn't marry my wife for her looks."

"My husband will have nothing to worry about in that regard, cousin," Marguerite explained. "I know well the duty of a wife to produce legitimate heirs for her lord. I would never betray my husband or succumb to the seductions of a scoundrel."

The conversation continued in that way for some time until Guillaume excused himself, retiring to bed and leaving Jean and Marguerite to talk. He reminded the squire about what Sir Robert would do to him if he were to touch Marguerite.

Jean and Marguerite talked for a couple of hours, opening up and sharing their innermost thoughts. He had been impressed by her looks, but her gentle demeanor and kind heart won him over ultimately.

"Do you know your father suggested we marry?" Jean asked, trying to assess her reaction. She smiled.

"Yes, I know," she said. "He told me that day."

"He even offered Aunou-le Faucon as a part of your dowry were I to accept. That's one of the richest estates in the region. It would make me one of the wealthiest men in Count Pierre's court."

"Then, why didn't you accept his offer? Do you not find me attractive?"

It was Jean's turn to blush. "In all honesty, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I would be a fool not to marry you, but at the time I had never met you and..."

"And, my father's past is too hard to overcome?" Marguerite finished for him.

Jean didn't need to respond; his expression was answer enough. Though Robert had always been a friend to Jean, treason was a hard charge to get beyond. That alone would stop most men of noble ambition from marrying Marguerite, but Sir Robert de Thibouville was twice a traitor, once when he rebelled against King Philip VI in the 1340s and again a decade later when he fought against King Jean.

"My father knows how difficult it is to find a husband for me who will be good and kind," Marguerite said, her voice nearly a whisper. "Most men who would have me only want my dowry and are of such poor repute that marrying a traitor's daughter would raise their social standing. Such men are prone to inflict mistreatment on their wives, which my father would prefer to avoid, as would I."

Suddenly, Jean remembered the look on his first wife's face as she glared up at him from the floor, clutching her cheek where his handprint glowed hotly. Her words seemed to echo in the hall, "He is kind and gentle and loving. He is everything you are not and is ten times the man you will ever be!"

'That is why father picked you," Marguerite continued. "You are a kind man, Jean, and gentle of heart."

"If she only knew the truth," Jean thought, "she would run crying to her bedchambers."

Jean stared into the girl's eyes, trying to see into her soul. Looking at her brought him such joy that his heart soared. The voice of Guillaume played back in his head, "The wife of a nobleman should be homely and his mistresses comely."

His thought went back to Jeanne and their son. He had loved them. Jeanne had been pretty enough, but nothing close to Marguerite and look at how things had turned out. A woman's love and her lust are fickle things and cannot be chained.

"I could not stand that another man touched you," Jean said softly. He was speaking to his dead wife, but the girl mistook that he meant his words for her.

She smiled and took Jean's hand. "Then, fear not, Jean de Carrouges," she exclaimed. "I will save myself for you. Will you come soon to talk to father? We need to marry quickly so that we can begin right away, filling your home with the sounds of children."

Jean shook his head, hardly believing this angelic maiden wished to marry him. "I would like that very much. I will attend to it once I return home and put my affairs in order."

With that, Marguerite excused herself, retiring for the night, singing a happy song as she left the great hall. He listened to the sound of her voice fading into the distance. He was startled a moment later at the sound of another voice. He had assumed he was alone.

"Would my lord have need of me this evening?" came the soft sound from behind him. Jean spun around to see one of the household maidservants smiling at him. "My master has bid me serve at your pleasure and warm your bed. He was afraid you might try to push yourself on his cousin, the lady Marguerite, so he sent me to ensure your needs are satisfied and the maiden remains a virgin."

The entire time she had been speaking, the girl, hardly older than Marguerite, had been inching her way closer to Jean. He watched her approach, admiring the width of her hips, the fullness of her breasts as they nearly spilled from her partially open bodice.

"And what of your virginity?" Jean asked with a smirk.

"Lost, I'm afraid," the girl replied, giggling. "long ago. I've looked all over for it, but have never found it." She knelt in front of Jean, spreading his legs apart, her hands sliding up his thighs to his crotch, where she began the work on opening his pants.

"Such a valuable thing to lose," Jean remarked, allowing the girl to open his pants and reach inside to find his already hard cock. "What is your name, girl?"

She pulled his cock free and licked from the base to the tip, then fixed him with a wicked smiled. "You can call me Marguerite if it pleases my lord." She opened her mouth and filled it with Jean's cock.

Jean angrily pushed the girl away, his cock popping free of her mouth. He shook her roughly as her eyes filled with fear. "No! I will not! You are a whore and nothing like her!"

"No, my lord!" the girl replied, frightened, not wanting to be beaten. "I'm sorry! My name is Gelda."

Jean released his iron grip and relaxed. "Very well, Gelda," he said, standing up and holding his erect cock in his hand. "Lift your skirts and turn around."

The girl bowed her head, rose to her feet and gathered up the folds of cloth, pulling them up and over her hips, revealing a thick bush of dark hair between her milky white legs. She turned around, as instructed, giving Jean a good view of her plump rear. He stepped up behind her and pushed her forward, forcing her head down onto the dining table. He moved between her feet, and l kicked them apart as he rubbed the head of his cock against her fur-lined gash.

Gelda gripped onto the table and closed her eyes as she felt Jean shove his cock into her forcefully. He was not gentle, but fucked her roughly, harshly, pounding his hips and grunting with each thrust. "Oh, yes! Fuck me!" gasped Gelda as he pumped her violently.

A draft blew through the chamber, sending a chill up Jean's spine as he fucked the maidservant. With it came a whispering voice from his past. "She will betray you!" It sounded like his first wife. He shook his head and tried to fuck the girl harder to drown out the voice.

"He will fuck her like you fuck this whore," the voice whispered into Jean's ear.

"Shut up!" Jean yelled.

The girl gasped in a mixture of pain and pleasure, "Yes, my lord!"

Jean grabbed Gelda by her hair and pulled her head back, fucking her even more roughly, feeling his balls starting to rise and tighten.

"Will you poison her too?" came the voice again.

"No! You fucking bitch!" Jean yelled out as he started to spill his seed inside the maidservant. He groaned loudly as he thrust and spurted over and over until he collapsed on the girl's back, out of breath. Finally, when his limp cock slipped out of the girl, he stood up and fell back onto the bench, reaching for his wine.