Domning, Denise (4 page)

The servants and peasants alike followed them back into the hall, laughing and shouting in high anticipation as they streamed in to join the feasting. Quickly, the dogs were chained into a far corner for the duration of the meal. Beneath each table now sat an alms basket for collection of food scraps for the poor. Additional torches were set into sconces along the wall and brightened the normally dim room into an almost festive glow.

Her husband led her to the high table at the top of the room. For this evening, they would have the seats of honor set with carved wine cups. While there were no special chairs, they found their places on the bench above the tall salt cellar. Like the servants, their plates were a thick slice of day-old bread to receive and absorb the soups and stews that would be served. But they had three, one for each course, while the commoners had only one.

Through the hall door came a man bearing a large basket. Wafting along with him was the yeasty smell of his fresh-baked wares while the scent of meat roasting in the cooking shed followed on his heels. Others moved around the tables filling cups with wine for nobles, and ale and beer for the rest.

At a lower table a musician tuned his instrument while he awaited his meal. The discordant and melancholy harmony wove itself into the newborn gaiety in the hall. Rowena winced.

For all of what remained of her life, she would preside over a hall similar to this one. Each day she would give the same orders to her maids and hear from them the same reports. If she was fortunate and her husband allowed, she might attend a fair or market in a nearby city or town from time to time. But mostly likely her home would become her prison. Such was the fate of one who would have been, could have been, a powerful and influential churchwoman.

From the moment they shared the water in the hand basin at the onset of the meal, she could not escape her new lord's courtly attentions. Too sensitive to the mockery beneath his manner to be flattered, she wondered if his attitude was naught but a ruse to forestall any personal inquiry she might make.

As the none-too-lavish meal ended, the jugglers moved away from the open space left in the center of the room and the musicians took their places.

Although they were louder than they were competent, their raucous and gay tunes helped her wean her thoughts away from the man next to her. Later, she lost herself completely in the playacting of the mummers who followed the musicians.

"Do you never speak unless spoken to?" Lord Graistan's quiet words were barely audible over the noise in the hall.

She glanced sidelong at him. Whatever slight peace she had enjoyed since the meal's end dissipated. "I admit to no knowledge of what is expected of wives. Nonetheless, I had always been under the impression that men prefer silent women."

"You seek only to please me? My lady, you flatter me."

She sipped her wine while carefully formulating her answer. "I would not have taken you as a man so easily flattered," she said slowly.

Lord Graistan raised a cautious eyebrow. "So, you have now had the time to better judge me, have you? And how, now, do you feel about our marriage?"

Rowena sighed and set her cup down. What on earth did he expect her to say? "You must content yourself in knowing I have only some impressions. Please take no disrespect, but, if you find me wary, it is because I am cautious by nature."

"Wary of me? There are those who would laugh at that." He suddenly seemed to withdraw once again into himself, and he turned away.

She let her attention return to the actors and was startled when a moment later he said, his lips very near her ear, "I assure you, you are not what I expected. You are an attractive woman."

When she turned to look at him, his eyes were soft as he watched her. "I was not taught to think of myself in that way," she murmured.

His arm encircled her waist, and he pulled her nearer to him on their bench. Before she could protest, his lips touched hers. She gasped lightly at the shock of flesh on flesh. His mouth moved just a bit, but it was enough to send a deep tremor down her spine. Her breath caught.

In an oddly intimate caress, his hand slid up her arm along the closely fitted sleeve of her undergown. Within her soul a flame burst into being, awakening life where before there had been nothing. He plied her lips with light, taunting kisses, his fingers drawing small circles in the bend of her elbow. Tiny shivers tingled up her arm. When he finally eased back, his mouth brushed her ear. "Did I not tell you they wished us to behave as lovers do?" he whispered.

"What?" Her mouth barely moved as she spoke. In the blazing warmth his touch had awakened, Rowena could find no sense in his question.

"Listen." He kissed her earlobe, then released her from his embrace. The hall rocked with cheers. Even the mummmers were amused. They began an obscene pantomime of the night's expected conclusion.

Rowena's eyes narrowed, her face an icy mask of disdain. "It amuses you to humiliate me. Have you finished or might I expect to fall into other traps before this evening is done? Ah, but then"—she smiled coldly—"it would ruin your pleasure if you were to warn me."

"Humiliate?" Her husband's face was devoid of expression. "Not humiliate. I cannot help that I am tempted beyond propriety by your loveliness."

She only stared coldly at him. "Such a glib tongue for one who earlier had done all that was possible to avoid this wedding. I daresay it is I who should now be flattered. Should I believe that you have suddenly discovered that I am your one, true love?" She shot him a mocking smile. "Unfortunately, your words have not even the flavor of truth to them."

"Ah, your tongue has cut me to the quick," Lord Graistan said with a smile, not in the least wounded.

"Aye, my tongue can be sharp. You would have known this had you more closely examined this piece of merchandise before you purchased it, my lord." She kept the same mocking tone.

"Wife, you set yourself before me like a keep with its defenses up and its gate barred. I am dared to lay siege to you. Have a care. You are too innocent in the ways of this warfare. I will reduce your walls to rubble." He was still laughing at her.

Rowena frowned. She started to speak, but he pressed a gentle finger to her lips and smiled a lazy, confident smile, then spoke. "Winter nights are long and cold." He ran his fingers down her arm. "I will welcome you with open arms to my bed." He beckoned a nearby servant. "Inform my Lord Benfield"— he paused to watch his father-in-law spew drunken curses at a servant too slow refilling his cup—"nay, my Lady Benfield that her daughter is ready to retire." Then he turned back to his wife. "I think I should now closely, very closely, examine the goods I have purchased this day."

Chapter 3

Rowena rose without argument and stared haughtily down at her husband. "How true. This day has dragged on long enough. Besides, I am mortally tired." He only smiled, not fooled by her bravado.

She turned on her heel and followed her mother into the bedchamber that had so recently been her prison. When the door shut behind her, her eyes closed and she swallowed. There was no escape for her.

Being convent raised had not sheltered her from the realities of this earthly plane. Although virgin she was, she knew well enough what was expected of her. Could she freely allow her husband to use her as she knew she must? And, what of him? Would he make her his victim and abuse her? Some of the nuns who had once been wives told such tales. She choked on her fear. Behind her closed lids, she conjured up an image of herself raped and bruised on her marriage bed. When she at last opened her eyes, the room held new meanings in its homely furnishings.

The flickering night candle near the door gave it all a sinister bend. The trunk squatting at the wall seemed to shift out into the room while the chair beside it crept more deeply into shadow. The bed was by far the worst. Its thick spiraling posts cast evil forms onto the wall behind it, and its dark, cavernous interior seemed no more than a malevolent craw. Once again, she shut her eyes.

Her mother had seen her look. "It was my mother's bed," she said, her voice oddly wistful. "It is all I had left of her, but it is mine no longer. Your father has given it to Lord Graistan as part of your dowry."

Rowena sagged. If only she might once again have the simple, straw-filled pallet that had served her so well in the convent. It, at least, had never appeared as though it might devour her. "I do not want it," she said, fear sharpening her voice. "You keep it."

Her mother shot her a hard glance. "Do me no favors. I do not need your pity." She turned away to the hearth as her maids entered the room and set briskly to their work. Precious candles were placed in ornate metal branches, and the fire fed until the room glowed with gentle light. They stripped the bride of her wedding finery until she stood unclothed, her hair combed smooth once again. When all was done, she was wrapped in a soft, wool robe to ward off the chill.

They had only barely finished when a heavy knock broke the tense stillness in the room. Rowena clutched fearfully at her single garment's neck. Edith glanced in irritation toward the closed door. "Is he so eager for you? He barely allows us time to make you ready."

The priest opened the door and her father stumbled in, leaning heavily on his son-in-law's arm. Benfield swayed noticeably and glanced, bleary-eyed, about the room until he saw his daughter. "Impertinent twit," he mumbled. "Didst swear she'd rather die than bed a man. Well, she'll see her comeuppance this night." With those words, he lurched to the side and fell against the wall. He slid gracelessly to the ground, emitted a deep belch, then snored.

Lord Graistan's expression remained impassive as he watched her father's exit from the conscious world. Then he gave a short laugh and handed his cloak to a maid. "Did she?" he murmured. His low, suggestive tone teased an amused response from the serving women. He turned to the priest. "When you've finished blessing the bed for us, Father, will you stay to help them take their lord out of here?"

With one pull he removed his gown. A moment later and his boots were off, then his shirt, until he was clad only from waist to toe in his stocking-like chausses. Rowena stole a swift glance.

The fire's light made his bared skin gleam ruddy. His was a work-hardened frame that radiated power in it every solid curve and angular plane. Several livid scars cut across his chest and served as proof that he kept his livelihood by his sword. Dark hair trailed down his chest to disappear beneath the drawstring waist of his chausses.

He chuckled, and she knew he'd caught her glance. Rowena drew a quick breath and turned away, but it was too late. "Have patience, wife," he teased. "This poor maid must work the knots from my cross-garters before I can remove my chausses." The kneeling woman tittered as she unwound the strips of fabric that crisscrossed his legs from ankle to knee and kept his stockings from sagging.

Until this night, Rowena had never had a complaint with the custom of bedding the bride and groom. It was sensible, even practical. How better to make certain, prior to the consummation of the marriage and in front of as many witnesses as possible, that there was no hidden physical defect in either party? Now, as a maid pulled at the sleeves of her robe, the sour taste of reality filled her mouth.

As she herself had said, she was purchased goods to be examined for blemishes before the final transfer from seller to buyer. Nude and vulnerable, she turned to reveal herself to her husband. It was her shame, not the cold air, that made her skin prickle.

Lord Graistan stopped undressing, his chausses dangling from his fingers. For a short, silent moment, it was as though there was no one save the two of them in the room. His gaze lingered on her body, touching her full breasts, slim waist, and gently curving hips.

She looked at this lord who now owned her. Long legs, narrow hips, broad chest, strong arms, arrogant man. If he chose to take her against her will, she would be powerless to stop him. Rowena Benfield, once sure she would be owned by no man, intensely felt her loss of freedom. She glanced up at him. He met her gaze and took a half step forward. His movement broke the spell woven around her.

"Well, my lord," she asked acidly, "am I worth the price?" Even her mother gasped at the harshness of the question.

"I am pleased so far," her husband answered, his voice soft and deep, "but the night is still young, and there is a test or two remaining 'ere it's over."

Those women still gathered behind her chuckled and loudly whispered their bawdy comments. He laughed, and Edith stepped closer to her daughter. Rowena shifted away in startled surprise at her mother's seemingly protective movement.

"May she retire now, my lord?" her mother asked.

He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to
his wife. "But, she has not yet answered. Do you find a flaw?" His tone was intimate.

How could he be so casual about this? "Nay," she snapped, then immediately retreated to the great bed and slid between the cold sheets. The maids laughed at her cowardice, but her husband silenced them. "Have mercy on us," he pleaded mockingly. "A body could freeze solid in here in just moments. Now, would that not be a sorry waste of flesh?" The women chortled.

He tapped his father-in-law with a bare foot as the priest dragged the nobleman out the door. "Do not worry overmuch, Father; I doubt he will notice his humble departure." He crossed his arms against the chill and waited patiently for them to do as he had bid. After they had filed out, he quietly shut the door behind them.

Rowena had heaped the many, soft blankets about her, but she was still cold. In wary fascination, she watched her husband snuff out all but the night candle until the air reeked of burned wick and deep shadows again whispered in the corners. The night candle flickered, and the embers on the hearth spat and hissed. A moment more and he was at their bedside.

She lay tensely back against the bolsters and waited. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. Her teeth clenched. Linen rustled impatiently against linen as he arranged the pillows to suit him. Still, she waited.