Free Tyrant of the Mind by Priscilla Royal Page A

had been conceived before any contract to marry, then slipped in the final telling. A rare, albeit failed, subtlety for a man of otherwise blunt speech. “What reason did she give?” she asked, deliberately turning away from her father, whom she knew would try hard to gesture her into silence.
    “What reason indeed? She had none. When I demanded she state her objections, she said first that Isabelle was too young for me.” His laughter was biting. “Can you imagine? She thought me an old fool with a member limp from disuse!”
    “Surely she did not mean that, Geoffrey.” Adam filled his friend’s cup once more with wine, then stood in front of Eleanor, offering her more refreshment as he glowered a silent demand that she cease her questioning.
    Eleanor shook her head, refusing both, and gave her father a puckish smile. “You were saying, my lord?” she asked Sir Geoffrey.
    “Indeed she backed away soon enough when I told her what I thought of that, but then she whined some female nonsense about her mother would not have wanted me to marry Isabelle. I told her that her mother had beseeched me to leave her be when she sickened, begged me to find some lusty young woman to warm my bed in recompense. You should have seen the shocked expression on Juliana’s face when I told her that, the silly wench!” His face began to turn red and he threw his head back, swallowing the wine in one gulp.
    Adam poured him more. Eleanor noticed, however, that her father had barely touched his own cup.
    She turned back to look at Sir Geoffrey as he swirled his wine and stared at it with a determined focus. His last comment had been interesting, she thought, considering the vow of celibacy Robert had once told her Sir Geoffrey had taken during his wife’s illness. Indeed, the man she remembered would never have forced an adored and ailing wife to bed with him. Had she not known that man, she would have believed that this man, now sitting in front of her, would have made a sick wife beg to be left alone. What had caused the change, she wondered: his lost hand, his waning virility, or something else entirely? “You did not believe her second reason to be the true one then?” she asked at last.
    “She has no objection to my remarriage beyond jealousy. Jealousy is the sole reason, Lady Eleanor. Juliana is young, lusty as women are at that age, and long overdue for a husband and babes of her own. Isabelle was getting a husband first and Juliana was consumed with envy. She now pales with it. She has gone mad with it and does everything she can to cause me grief. Isabelle has tried to make peace with my daughter and has begged me not to send her off to a convent. I was willing to let her go to learn the barrenness of pride and jealousy, but my wife has a softer nature and I have chosen to honor her compassion. The ungrateful girl will marry Robert, gain a fine husband despite her undeserving nature, and thus stay close to a soul that loves her. Still, I do find it hard to forgive Juliana for playing so cruelly with my wife’s good heart.”
    Adam poured another cup of wine for his friend. “This madness is surely temporary, Geoffrey,” he said. “I remember far better days when your daughter delighted all of us with her quick wit and loving ways. Indeed, she shall marry Robert and, in good time, the foolish girl will make peace and be as a sister again with your wife. You speak the truth of it, I believe. A husband and babes of her own will, without doubt, put an end to such silly rivalry.”
    Eleanor bowed her head. Little was quite as everyone wished it to seem, she thought. Of course she had known there was far more behind Juliana’s desire to enter Tyndal as an anchoress than she had expressed. Few women, even with genuine callings to the contemplative life, choose such a severe test of faith. Wisdom demanded that she look beyond a shaved head and eager words before accepting Juliana’s sincerity about her calling, and she would.