Rexanne Becnel (16 page)

“Now I am ready.”

Lord Barton collapsed into his chair with a heavy groan. Thomas was at his side in an instant, and Lord Barton chuckled despite his obvious pain.

“How is it that you who are so scrawny and stooped—and older than I—can still be so quick and spry? While I—” His face contorted in agony and he placed on hand on his stomach. “I appear hale and hearty yet daily feel the loss of my health.”

Thomas filled a tankard from a pitcher of goat’s milk then brought it to his master’s lips.

“Be glad your son-in-law Aldis does not see your illness,” he commented dryly as he watched his lord slowly drain the tankard.

“Aye,” Lord Barton agreed as he began to feel some relief to the fire in his side. “He would not stand by only fuming if he did not yet fear me. But after today he will have another to fear.”

Thomas shook his old gray head and his face reflected his concern. “I fear many changes may be ahead. A Colchester ruling at Orrick,” he muttered in disgust.

“Ah, but not just any Colchester. Young Corbett is not to be compared to Hughe. He has his father’s shrewdness and strength. And his mother’s family’s sense of justice. Hughe has always been a careless lad, not given to caution. Although he is cunning, he is a coward at heart. He may not be trusted.”

“And Sir Corbett can?”

“Aye. If I did not believe it I’d not have planned so long ago for this marriage between our houses. Even this foolish feud does not change that.”

With an impatient gesture he hoisted himself from his chair, grimacing only slightly. “Didn’t he come to me today with the truth of his night with Lilliane? It takes much bravery to tell a man to his face that you have been intimate with his daughter. He knows that Lilliane’s reputation has already suffered for it. Yet his concern is that she shall not be poorly judged.”

Thomas looked askance at his master. “She does not like him one bit. Doesn’t her attempt to flee prove that? ’Tis not likely her opinion of him has improved at all considering how he has shamed her now.”

Lord Barton waved his old friend’s concerns blithely away. “I did not expect Lily to go easily into this marriage. But she has met her match in Corbett. She will learn to appreciate his husbandly qualities.” Then his face became more serious. “I will speak to her soon, Thomas. I’ll tell her of my illness. When she understands how much Orrick will be depending on her, she’ll make her peace with him. She’s not one to take her duties lightly, my Lily. She’ll come around.”

It was hardly her duties that were uppermost in Lady Lilliane’s mind as she waited impatiently in her room. She’d sent word to her father twice and still he had not responded. The hour was almost upon her when the ceremony was to begin, and she feared now that he meant not to speak to her at all.

She was not completely certain of what she would say to him. She only knew she must try this one last time to convince him to stop this marriage. A part of her knew it was hopeless. What value would she be in another marriage contract, ruined as she now was? Every time she thought about the way the huge dark knight had seduced her, she flushed with embarrassment. But it only increased her feelings of righteous anger.

Still, Sir Corbett’s warning that she might be with child nagged at her. It was the final argument that would keep her father set on this mad course of his, she feared. For Lilliane knew without a doubt that he would not risk his unborn grandchild on what he considered her foolish whim.

She did not have the chance to worry long about the presence of a babe within her. Thomas’s slow, shuffling walk preceded his muffled knock at her door. When she bade him enter, his smile was tender but regretful.

“The company awaits, milady. All are assembled.”

“And my father? Will he not see me first?” she cut in anxiously.

“He will walk both of his daughters to their new husbands.” He met her fearful eyes with his own apologetic ones.

“I see.”

Lilliane’s gaze fell away from his. So it was to be, she realized. A shiver of despair swept through her. Sir Corbett had obviously revealed his crude behavior and her father could not change his plans now, even if he wanted to. She felt a flutter deep within her as she realized that in a matter of hours she would again be closeted with that man. This time he would have even more right to use her as he wished.

For a moment she almost regretted that anger that had prompted her to put her hair up in such an elaborate arrangement when he had so expressly asked her to wear it down. But it was the fashion, she reasoned. Still, she was tempted to pull out the delicate looking glass buried so deeply within her trunk. Did she truly look better with her hair free, or was that only another way in which he sought to manipulate her?

She could not answer that. As she was ushered from the room, she fought to quell the terrible fear that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. She did not want to belong to him. She did not want this union between Orrick and Colchester.

But most of all she was terrified that he would now have the right to exercise the terrible control he had on her—and that she would again bend willingly to the command in his tender touch.

S
IR CORBETT STOOD NEAR
the base of the stone stairwell. He was clad in a tunic of rich burgundy velvet trimmed with an unusual embroidered pattern of silver and gold vines intertwining. The deep slashes on each side of the tunic revealed dark braies and hose, which were tucked into tall black boots of unusual styling. He wore neither mantle nor tabard, but his sword was slung from a wide ornamental girdle at his waist. He stood motionless, his attention seemingly unfocused. Yet when Lilliane descended on her father’s arm, she knew his eyes were on her.

And that he was displeased.

Lord Barton was slow and regal in his descent, and Lilliane thought her nerves would not survive the journey. She glanced fearfully at Tullia who walked on her father’s opposite side, but her youngest sister’s beautifully serene face only caused Lilliane further dismay. Tullia anticipated her marriage with great joy. She loved Santon. For them it was as it should be, Lilliane thought as she kept her eyes averted from the vast, staring crowd. They were marrying for the purest of reasons, and their life together would truly be blessed.

She, by contrast, was being forced into a union for political purposes and against all her wishes. Could there possibly be any hope for happiness in such a marriage?

Unbidden, she thought of the hours she had spent with Sir Corbett in the shepherd’s cottage—and the exquisite pleasure she had found in his arms. If such was to be expected of the marriage bed she did not have cause for complaint, a small voice taunted her.

But there was no love—or even affection—she rationalized as she sought to bury any memory of that night. There was not even respect, for he most certainly cared only for the demesne that went with her hand, and she could never respect a Colchester. That house had brought only death and misery and sorrow to the people of Orrick. To deliver herself to him in marriage was truly madness!

And yet step by step as her father led his two daughters into the great hall, she progressed steadily toward that madness.

At the bottom tread she stumbled. Had it not been for her father’s hold upon her, she would most certainly have fallen. Yet his hand was quickly replaced by another, even stronger one, and when Lilliane’s startled gaze lifted it was met by the hard slate gray of Sir Corbett’s mocking eyes.

He did not speak to her as he led her across the crowded hall and into the smaller chapel. But his silence only deepened her despair. What need had he of words now? All would be his soon enough—Orrick Castle, the entire northern end of Windermere Fold, and the eldest daughter of his bitterest enemy. At that moment Lilliane truly regretted her rash decision to cover her hair so completely. It had been a gesture of defiance, but a useless one, she knew. Still, it was the only symbol of her opposition to this marriage left to her.

With a deep breath she lifted her chin and stared determinedly down the short nave of the chapel. Beneath her hand she felt Sir Corbett’s penetrating warmth. Her arm brushed his as they led the marriage procession, and she struggled hard to remain calm. What would be would be, she told herself. Nothing she could do would change it now. She would not think beyond this very moment. She would most definitely not imagine the night to come, nor the other nights—and days—that stretched before her in an endless, unknown stream.

She was firm in her resolve, and yet, when she knelt before the altar and bowed her head, it was not perseverance she prayed for but reprieve.

The mass that she so often found endless today seemed incredibly brief. Father Denys was clearly in his glory, for Lilliane was sure the chapel had never been so filled with devoutly bowed heads. When he bade the two couples approach the altar, she woodenly stepped forward to do so, but Sir Corbett’s firm grip brought her up short.

“You may marry Sir Santon and Lady Tullia first,” he said to the surprised priest. A quiet hum of whispers filled the small stone chamber but just as quickly died out when the priest nodded then addressed the other couple.

Lilliane hardly heard the ceremony that joined her youngest sister to Sir Santon. Her mind was too preoccupied with Sir Corbett’s high-handedness. Had he no respect for any authority but his own? Must even the church amend its ways so as to accommodate his whim? She was incensed, filled with a righteous anger, until she saw Santon slip his ring onto Tullia’s hand. When he sealed his vow to her with a sweet kiss, a general murmur of approval went up and Lilliane forgot her own distress. Her littlest sister was now a wedded woman! Only the best sort of future awaited her. A tear escaped Lilliane’s eye as she smiled back at Tullia’s ecstatic face. How happy this would have made their mother, Lilliane thought.

But then the priest turned to her and Sir Corbett, and all thoughts of happiness fled. The priest was preparing to begin the holy matrimonial prayers once more when Sir Corbett spoke up.

“I would have the wedding performed where all might participate.”

The corpulent priest in his gleaming vestments looked up at the towering knight with a puzzled expression. “And so they may. We shall serve communion immediately—”

“You do not understand. I would have this ceremony performed on the front steps of the great hall.”

At that Lilliane looked at him aghast. What did he think to gain by this ill-mannered display? she wondered in true amazement.

As if he read her thoughts he continued. “As you will recall, good Father, it was long the custom of the great houses to have everyone from grandest visitor to least servant witness their marriages. So it shall be today. I would have every man, woman, and child of Orrick bear witness to this marriage of Lady Lilliane, eldest daughter of Orrick, to Sir Corbett formerly of Colchester, now also of Orrick. Thus shall they accept me in their midst just as Lord Barton and Lady Lilliane accept me.”

To such a request, worded so reasonably and in such a tone as to refuse any opposition, the priest could only agree. Still shaking his head in amazement, the man made his way up the nave, preceded by his six attendants and followed by the entire company.

Only Lilliane and Corbett did not immediately make their way out of the chapel. When he turned to face her directly, she had to force herself not to back away from the glitter in his eyes.

“Now, my reluctant bride. I will have you appear as I instructed.” With that his hand whipped her veil from her head. Before she could stop him he had removed her filet and tugged the veil beneath her chin off as well.

“Stop this!” she cried even as she recognized that he would not stop until he had his way completely. “Why do you do this? Why must you shame me in this way?”

“There is no shame in wearing your hair free,” he contradicted. His one hand held her firmly by the arm while his other fumbled with the caul pinned at the back of her head.

“The whole company will see what you have done! That is shame enough!”

“And do you feel no shame to disobey your husband?” he taunted as the caul finally came loose. In a heavy tumble her gleaming chestnut tresses fell free to spill over her shoulders and arms. At the sight Corbett’s fierce expression relaxed, and he filled his hands with her silken locks.

He stood only inches from her as his fingers slid through her luxuriant hair. Lilliane trembled anew at his touch. Had he no respect for this holy place, to caress her in such a bold manner? Was there no one that this man bowed to?

“You are not my husband,” she replied angrily, but her voice carried little conviction.

Corbett chuckled as he stared deeply into her eyes, and his fingers stilled in her hair. “We are most assuredly wed, my Lily. ’Tis only left for the priest to mumble his words.”

“Oh! You truly blaspheme to say so!” she cried as she snatched her hair away from him. Then she lifted her skirts and hurried down the chapel’s aisle.

Corbett did not delay in joining her. He took her arm firmly in his as he opened the door for them both. Behind them only a few scraps of linen and a delicately worked caul, abandoned on the floor, gave evidence that anything had gone before.

The priest’s words were mercifully brief. He seemed alarmed that the tall, muscular bridegroom would make still another demand on him, and he hurried through the ceremony with no regard for propriety.

When he nervously asked the bridegroom for the ring, he seemed truly to fear for the response. But without word or expression Corbett produced a heavy ring, which he slipped onto Lilliane’s left hand. She had no ring for him but she felt no shame for it. She did not wish to bind him to her with a ring, she reasoned. And she did not want him or his ring.

Still, when he spoke his vows of marriage then looked expectantly at her to repeat her own, she knew it was useless to fight. Her voice was quiet and devoid of all inflection as she pledged herself to him. She would not meet his gaze—she did not want to see the smug look of triumph she was certain he wore. But she could not stop the tremor in her hand where he held her still within his possessive grasp.