The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (3 page)

Marie knotted her hands together in the folds of her gown and choked out, "But, Lady Cathryn—"

"Marie," Cathryn interrupted, carefully brushing off the flower heads that she was preparing to dry, "Greneforde needs a lord." Looking into Marie's lovely blue eyes, she said calmly, "My duty is to see to the safety of Greneforde; I have known this since bread first replaced the taste of my mother's milk." When Marie only stared with frightened eyes, Cathryn smiled softly and asked, "Have you not seen what my orphaned state has brought Greneforde? Surely you have been as hungry as I? Will we not all benefit from a knight's strong arm raised in our defense?" Gathering Marie's chill hands in hers, Cathryn said, "Tis past time for me to marry, and the king is within his rights in selecting a mate for me."

"But the man he has chosen will be one of
his
men," Marie protested.

"Can King Henry be worse for England than King Stephen has been?" Cathryn countered. "Can this man, this William le Brouillard, be worse for Greneforde than no husband has been?"

Marie had no answer for her mistress, at least none that she dared voice. It was true. Times had not been good, but it was not Greneforde that she thought of; it was Cathryn herself.

"And when you are this knight's wife and he is lord of Greneforde, what then, Lady Cathryn?" Marie whispered, her heart in her eyes.

Cathryn turned again to the yarrow plants, the flowers still amazingly white and delicate, though soon to turn brown, the leaves lacy and green, long and slender. Alive and taking nourishment from the soil in one moment, and the next plucked to serve the needs of those who inhabited Greneforde, for yarrow served those who bled and those who could not draw air into their lungs, even those who shivered with fever. But yarrow had first to die to heal the people of Greneforde. And Cathryn, pushing all memories to the bottom of her thoughts, lived to serve Greneforde. Running her hands over the leaves, letting them slide through her loosely closed hand, Cathryn answered her young servant without raising her dark eyes.

"Then Greneforde will be safe, Marie, for as long as he can lift a sword and mount a warhorse."

Yea, Greneforde would be safe, Marie thought as she watched her mistress leave the herbs and proceed to the kitchen, but what of Cathryn?

What could be done to dignify the castle in its present state was being done. None wanted it said that Greneforde did not greet its new lord with head held high. John the Steward was supervising the preparation of six hens, two ducks, and half a pig; the herbs used in cooking were becoming scarce, but there was still enough parsley and primrose to be respectable, and when Lady Cathryn arrived with a small bag of cloves she had hidden away, there were smiles all around.

The bustle of activity, from the beating of the tapestries to the replacing of the rushes, from the sharpening of the plows to the mucking out of the stables, all infused Cathryn with a ripple of energy. Greneforde was coming alive again, coming alive in anticipation of a new master, and the sight gladdened her.

Finding that John had the meal well in hand, she rushed across the yard and up the stairs to her chamber. Cathryn walked quickly and quietly across the room to the massive polished chest that contained her worldly possessions and carefully opened it. The small knife that had always rested on the top, the knife that her father had given her as a parting gift, had been absent for three months, and she surprised herself by thoughtlessly reaching for it. Pushing aside the memory, she worked through the trunk, considering first one bliaut and then another. The absurdity of her behavior suddenly struck her, and she rocked back on her heels in silent laughter; to choose the worn cendre which made her look as appealing as a cold hearth or the faded castor gray? How did it happen that all her clothing was of a grayish cast? Shaking her head ruefully, her plaited hair brushing the floor with the movement, Cathryn decided that the least odious was the undyed wool. Shaking it out, she checked it for damage. Happily, it was in good repair and did not look too plebeian; the black cord edging gave the soft white of the wool a crisp look. It did not add much to her appearance, the lack of strong color seeming to draw the warmth from her complexion, but it was clean and did not look to be the sort of thing a servant would wear. It was the best she could do. She did want to look pleasing to the man who even now approached to marry her, though she could not think why. They would marry no matter how he found her, pleasing or no; it was the king's command. It was how Greneforde looked to him that mattered, after all.

Arranging her clothing with nimble fingers that shook almost imperceptibly, Cathryn stood for a moment fingering the heavy fabric. Below, she could make out the sound of footsteps on the stair. Someone, she could not distinguish who, was calling to Albert as he manned the tower gate, and Albert called back in the negative. William le Brouillard had not yet arrived. But he soon would. Gradually, almost cautiously, she moved to the wind hole and looked out at the courtyard stretching away to the curtain. Alys was stretching to reach an apple high on a tree in the orchard, the basket at her feet only half-full. Tybon was whisking a comb through the long coat of the only remaining inhabitant of the stable, fussing over her as if he were a powerful warhorse and not a tired mare. From the corner of her eye she watched Marie slide along the shadow of the kitchen, her eyes downcast and her shoulders bunched up to her ears, looking for her, Cathryn was certain. She smiled, touched more deeply than she should be that someone cared so tenderly for her. Yet for Marie's peace of mind, for all the people of Greneforde, she dared not admit that the coming of le Brouillard frightened her.

He would arrive at any moment; it was unlikely that his messenger would have preceded him by more than half a day. By nightfall she would be wed, and on the heels of that... She could follow that line of thought no further. He could be any manner of man, one who took without giving, one who would strip Greneforde of its struggling life and leave for richer holdings. She did not know, could not know until she had looked into his eyes and taken his measure, and the not knowing consumed her. One thing she knew: she would protect Greneforde in any way she could until she discovered the caliber of the man King Henry had contracted for her.

She did not think of protecting herself.

Breathing deeply and straightening her shoulders, she walked down one flight of steps to the lord's chamber. It would be the chamber of her new husband. The bed was dressed with the best Greneforde had to offer. A fire had been laid. The wash-stand was ready with fresh water. Not looking at the bed again, Cathryn nodded curtly in approval and left the room. It was past time to check the progress of the meal.

* * *

Alys carried the apple basket into the kitchen and plopped it on the dirt floor.

"The trees are truly naked now," she announced.

John looked at her over his shoulder and remarked softly, "They have given up their bounty for the best of causes."

"I would not have her disgraced in any way that we can prevent," Eldon declared, speaking for them all. "The new lord and his men will eat and eat well, even if we do not eat at all."

"We will eat," Lan offered as he cut into the pork, "but it could well be stew."

Alys wiped her hands on her apron before she began preparing the fruit for baking.

"A hot meal is always welcome," she remarked in her straightforward way.

"Will a new lord be as welcome?" Lan asked.

"With a new lord comes the means of procuring more meat," John responded. "He shall improve our lot, for which we shall be grateful."

"Perhaps," Lan persisted, his knife hacking into the flesh of the pig, "but perhaps not."

"Nay," John interjected, kindly but firmly, "there will be no questioning, no speculation, no doubting as to that. A new lord comes and he will be welcome. Think on our lady: an orphan at the dawning, betrothed at the first meal, and a wife before close of day. Nay," he repealed more forcefully, "not a whisper will pass your lips of 'perhaps not' for the sake of Lady Cathryn, if no other purpose will serve."

Lan said no more after that, stricken that his careless tongue could have caused Lady Cathryn to bear a heavier burden than the one she already bore. John's words had been well spoken and well received by all who toiled in the kitchen preparing a feast from next to nothing to celebrate the coming of King Henry's man. John's warning had been well timed, for Cathryn entered the kitchen just moments later.

Watching her as she checked the progress of the oatmeal pudding bubbling in the cauldron or debated with John the precise amount of precious clove needed to spice the pork, they drew comfort from her composure. She was the keel to their boat, keeping them from floundering in panic and fear. But until today, their boat had been rudderless. William le Brouillard would change all that. Watching her, Alys could scarce believe that in hours she would be wed, so calm was she. Watching her, Eldon knew with growing confidence that the Lord of Greneforde would protect the land and the people from attack. The image began to solidify for each of them that having a lord again would mean hunters to provide meat and men to scan the horizon from the curtain walk; their world, upended for so many years, would be set right again. Cathryn's visit had achieved its purpose.

And then, from the walk, Albert's cry bounded off the walls to echo through the courtyard, an echo that seemed to reverberate in Cathryn's very soul.

"He comes!"

All eyes turned to her, all preparations halted; the sweat running down the column of Christine's neck, the blood dripping from Lan's knife, the rolling boil of the cauldron, the rapid blinking of Eldon's light blue eyes were all magnified and crystallized for her in that moment. It was an eternal moment, a moment when time ceased. It was the moment between freedom and bondage, maidenhood and marriage. Nay, she inwardly scolded, it was the moment between vulnerability in a hostile world and safety, hunger and a full belly. That was what she must remember, what she must believe. With her next words, eternity ended.

"He comes," Cathryn repeated and then she smiled softly, "and I shall go to meet him."

With measured tread, she turned and left the kitchen, standing for just a moment on the threshold. The sounds of frantic activity resumed with the force of unexpected thunder and she smiled. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the gray wind that swirled within the enclosure, enjoying the cool wetness of the air in her nostrils. Truly, she was enjoying every moment as if it were her last. Today she would marry. Her bridegroom even now approached, and she would wed by order of the king. The thought careened in her head like a stone in a barrel until she nodded firmly, setting her scattered thoughts to rest. With strictly enforced peace holding her terror captive, Cathryn marched across the courtyard.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marie, huddled against the stone of the great tower, her eyes unseeing circles of summer sky in an ashen face. Stepping into her line of vision, Cathryn made a quick motion with her hand and Marie was gone, gone to hide in the shadowed corners of the great tower. For a moment, a small moment, Cathryn wished for someone to give her permission to hide away from the coming encounter, and then that rebellious wish was cast down with a firm nod.

"Open the gate," she called calmly to Albert. "The lord of Greneforde is come."

Cathryn stifled the overwhelming sense of vulnerability that assailed her upon seeing that open gap in the wall. She could hear a horse approaching. Squaring her shoulders, she waited, alone in the wide courtyard of Greneforde, for William le Brouillard.

Chapter 3

The gate in the tower that rose in solid splendor over the river Brent opened as William approached. It strengthened his impression that he was home. In the future, he would have a solemn talk with the keeper of the gate, for it was foolhardy in the extreme to open Greneforde wide to an unidentified knight and his retinue, though his men were far behind him. Even Rowland, who rode with him, had been left behind as he had urged his horse to greater and greater speed the closer he drew to Greneforde.

Riding into the courtyard, William drew up suddenly, and for the first time in many days, Greneforde Castle left his thoughts entirely. Mayhap it was not such a hardship to marry.

She stood alone, the wind pressing against the soft white of her bliaut and causing her rich brown cloak to flutter out behind her. She was as golden and slender as a single flame. Hair of light gold hung in ribboned plaits to fall to her knees. She had delicate features, her nose delightfully small, her lips gently full, all covered in skin the color of palest honey. Amidst the delicate golden glow of her, dark brown eyes stood out, looking almost black in the paleness of her skin. It was then that he noticed the scar that marked her, skimming the fringe of one dark brow. It was recently earned, if he could trust the pink that colored its center. She had the coltish look of a woman not yet matured to the role, and yet he had been told she was full-grown; the heavy white wool of her gown fell without any familiar break or bulge of obvious womanhood.