Free Winter Song by Roberta Gellis

any more now that she was so well dowered. He had loved her
too much almost from the day they met. Nonetheless, there was a rich sense of
pride added to that love when he thought of how he would say, “This is Alys of
Marlowe, my wife, who brought me Amou and Ibos and Benquel and Blancheforte.”
Now no one would think he had been trapped by a pretty face.
    Raymond did not allow that thought to color his words when
he gave Alys her betrothal gift, because with the king’s sanction the contracts
had been written and signed, and the betrothal was formal. She looked only
briefly at the jewels—hair ornament, necklet, and bracelets of sapphires and
diamonds set in elaborately worked gold—and then asked about the land. Raymond
laughed and embraced her. Every woman he knew would have rushed to put on the
baubles and pose and preen. Only Alys understood what was really important.
    It was thus with considerable enthusiasm that Raymond
described the gains to Alys. Of course, he was not fool enough to imply to any
woman, not even one so sensible as Alys, that her value could be increased by
her property. For a reason Raymond found obscure, women seemed to demand that a
man desire them for themselves alone. And he did, of course, so desire Alys. He
had been quite willing to accept her with nothing, even without Bix if that had
been Sir William’s condition. Still, he knew Alys would be enraged if the true
source of his satisfaction showed. Still, he was surprised at her reaction.
    “Mine?” she said. “How can such lands be mine? Assuredly
they were granted because you are nephew to the queen.”
    “That helped, no doubt,” Raymond replied, “in that Henry
felt he could trust me and, therefore, was willing to give more. However, the
lands are yours—your father and your ‘uncle’ Richard saw to that.”
    A faint flicker of anger lit Raymond’s eyes when he recalled
those earlier deliberations, but it died quickly. When the way the lands were
to be held was discussed, Raymond and Henry had expected to have a free hand
with them. Richard and William stood adamant that they were to be Alys’s at her
will. Naturally, her husband would administer the properties during his life
and while his wife lived, however, she could will them as she pleased, and if
her husband should die before her, the lands would revert intact to Alys
herself, not to her son or sons. Those children would be the wards of her
husband’s male relatives who could take them and the land from Alys, leaving
her with nothing.
    Henry had been startled, Raymond appalled. “Do you not trust
me?” Raymond had asked furiously. “Do you think I would cheat Alys or flout her
desire? Perhaps you think I will murder her, or—”
    “Do you not trust Alys?” William had countered sharply. “What
do you think she will do, die before you apurpose and leave the lands to
displease you? Do you want her to be utterly in the power of your father or
younger brother?”
    That had stopped Raymond’s protests. “They would treat her
with kindness,” he assured William, “but you are right. It is not good to be a
helpless pawn without even the right to an opinion. And if some mischance
should destroy my father and brother before me, God knows where the right would
go. My grandfather is old and has no legitimate sons.”
    Somewhat similar arguments had been advanced by Richard to
Henry. “Do you want Alphonse d’Aix or the heir of Raymond-Berenger to have a
claim on the lands?” Richard had asked his brother. “For God’s sake, Henry,
they must go only to the girl. She is English and, through her father, my
vassal, thus yours. The lands may be administered by Raymond. He is a good man,
honest and loyal, but they must be held in the lady’s name only.”
    Alys now noted the flicker of anger on her betrothed’s
countenance—she noticed everything about him these days with a piercing
clarity. “Perhaps you had better explain to me just what you mean when you say
the