The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (7 page)

"For my portion I claim a dinner service of hammered silver, twelve plates of gold, five hundred gold pieces, a trunk of spice, a trunk of woven cloth from the East, twelve warhorses, a small bag of gems with settings of gold and silver, and a bag of seed."

At the mention of the seed, and only of the seed, Cathryn's eyes lit with dark fire and she looked at William hungrily. So she cared little for his gold and much for his seed. They had that, at least, in common, and he remarked upon it, "These seeds I have gathered from many lands to someday enrich my own land," he said warmly. "We share an interest in agriculture, it seems."

Cathryn tried to ignore the warmth of his tone and the way his eyes suddenly shone upon her like fine silver plate.

"You bring many fine and costly gifts to our marriage, my lord, but the prospect of food when one is hungry is most welcome." Smiling politely, she added, "I am certain that I will appreciate the golden plate when my stomach is full of roasted goose."

William had known hunger as too close a companion not to appreciate her sentiment; he had known great hunger, endless hunger, following the Way. He smiled fully in agreement.

And Cathryn forgot about the seed.

Never before had she seen such dazzling beauty in a man. His smile lit the world as the sun never had, and she wondered why the intensity of it did not blind her.

The world shrank to only him. All sound ceased. All thought fled. He was consuming her and she stood motionless, unable to breathe. A stillness unlike any she had experienced rose from within her—not a self-imposed control of emotion, but a frozen stillness that came from the center of her and cascaded out, almost freezing the very air around her.

William le Brouillard had touched the core of her; he had snared and caught the emotions she kept so protectively guarded—and he had done it with a smile.

But all that William saw was Cathryn's deathly stillness, which seemed to him to be remote serenity. Defying reason, he was disappointed with her response to him, and then chided himself for his folly. She would be Lady Snow to his Fog. They were well matched; after all, the land was his goal, and it seemed they shared a love of the land.

Flicking his cloak back and over his arm with courtly elegance, William leaned down to sign the completed contract. It was with satisfaction that he watched Cathryn do the same.

Greneforde was his.

Father Godfrey then began the ceremony that would bind them in the eyes of God.

"It only remains for me to solemnly demand from you your consent to the marriage. This is the moment for you to reflect... and to think of He who blessed all marriages..."

Cathryn heard only snatches of the ceremony. She fought against William's touch on her soul, so casually achieved. She would never survive this marriage if he could touch and hold her with such ease. His deep voice rumbled and she heard: "Yea; I, William, take thee to wife."

Her hands clasped in front of her, the image of feminine submission, Cathryn responded softly.

"Yea; I, Cathryn, take thee for my husband."

Cathryn was his.

Father Godfrey produced a ring of gold studded with rubies and topaz that caught and held the flickering light of the candles.

"May the creator and preserver of all men, may the giver of grace and eternal life cause His blessing to descend on this ring."

William took the ring from the priest's hand and put it successively upon three fingers of Cathryn's right hand, gently pulling her clasped hands free of each other, and said each time, "In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."

Taking her left hand solemnly in his two large, callused ones, he looked into her eyes upon saying the final words of the contract. Dark brown eyes absorbed the glitter of gray as he said, "With this ring I thee espouse." Cathryn felt her stomach lurch.

His voice husky now, he continued, "With my body I thee honor." The stillness within her shattered like icicles when they struck ground.

"With my goods I thee endow."

Unable to look away from him, she could only try to recapture the peace of rigid control.

Then, with Father Godfrey leading them and Rowland following, they crossed the solar silently and climbed the stair to the chapel one floor above. Of all the rooms in the tower, it alone had the luxury of glass. Reaching the center of the nave, Cathryn felt William's gentle tug on her hand and then they lay prostrate, the extended hands of Father Gregory held over them.

The wooden floor was cold and rough against her cheek, and she welcomed the sensation. She wanted to block it all out: the poverty of Greneforde, the hunger, the fact that her home had been given to a stranger and that stranger was now her husband. But she couldn't. Emotions long suppressed rolled through her prostrate form until she thought she would be sick. This man would rule her, her life lay in his hands by the authority of both God and king. If she displeased him, he could beat her, imprison her, starve her. And she would displease him, of that there was no doubt at all. The priest's next words caught her off guard.

"May God bless you, and Himself teach you to worship one another in your bodies and in your souls."

Had God blessed her with William le Brouillard as husband? She had said as much to Marie and John and all the rest, but in her heart of hearts, did she believe it? Would God, indeed, instruct her in worshiping her husband—for he was husband now—with her body? How could her body, the house of her pain, be used in worship? It could not be, yet the priest had said so. The tremors that had begun with William's words rocked against her lungs and all her inward parts. Standing with William's aid, she clasped her hands tightly and stilled the tides that pounded against her. She was Cathryn of Greneforde and she would not falter.

Standing on William's right, close enough to his hand that she could almost detect the blood flowing through his veins, she heard the mass for the first time as a married woman.

And then it was finished, or she thought it was. William advanced to the altar, his black hair coldly shining in the faint light admitted through the glass above them. He was very tall. Why had she not noticed that before? He was beautifully clothed, his cloak falling smoothly from wide shoulders. She fingered the coarse texture of her wool bliaut; it was hardly fine enough for a wedding, yet it was the best she had.

William leaned down and received the kiss of peace from Father Godfrey, who was no small man himself. Tall and broad he was, yet not a bullish figure, but wide at the shoulder and narrow at the hip with thick arms and long legs... Why had she not seen the full measure of this man before? Because his cold gray eyes had captured her, she answered herself; his cold eyes and his winning smile and his black hair and... She was doing it again and she must not. Not now. Not when he was walking toward her, his eyes both solemn and joyous. And then she remembered. He would transmit the kiss of peace to her!

William towered over her in no way menacingly, for he was there to give the kiss of peace, after all; yet the shadow of the cross fell between and over them and she shivered. Smiling encouragingly, as though to soothe a frightened hound, William placed his hands on her shoulders. His movements were slow and deliberate and suffused with gentleness, and in spite of that, she jumped at first contact. He must think her doltish, she scolded herself silently. Breathing in slowly, she raised her face to accept his kiss.

It was a chaste kiss and meant to be nothing more.

It was a chaste kiss, truly, yet too long and too warm and too... close. His breath was pleasantly warm and sweet, his lips firm and soft, his chin rough against hers. She did not like to be touched. She did not like the way she felt physically surrounded by him. She did not like his breath mixing with hers. She did not want to feel his body press against hers so that she could smell the essence of him. She did not want him to touch her. Breaking away, she ended it.

And now, surely, the ceremony was complete.

Father Godfrey smiled warmly at her. William's comrade, Rowland, clapped her husband on the back once and smiled with quiet humor. She watched them congratulate William, feeling for just a moment like an outsider at her own wedding, and then all three turned to her, expectantly.

Nodding firmly, she said, "The meal awaits," and without waiting for them, hurried to the stairs.

Rowland looked askance at William as he watched his new wife rush from the room.

"'Tis an efficient wife you have, William, and one who does not let emotion rule the day."

Pulling his eyes away from the spot where he had last seen Cathryn, William spared Rowland a glance.

"Yea, and what man would not wish for such a wife?" he asked, his voice unnaturally even.

"None in this room, surely," Rowland agreed pleasantly.

Nodding in unintentional mimicry of his wife, William marched to the stair and quietly descended with Rowland and Godfrey just a few steps behind. The meal was, in fact, waiting for them. Ulrich had produced the gold plate, at William's direction, and it added a richness to the meal that the food alone could not provide. The hall seemed to shine with the gleam of metal; the table glinted with silver, pewter, and gold, and the knights who were sworn to William cast their own dull sparkle with sleeves of mail and burnished swords.

If Cathryn was startled to find armed men at her wedding feast, she gave no outward indication of it, and that only tilted the scales of suspicion against her. If she was innocent of treachery, she would be insulted. If she was guilty, she would be dismayed and try to hide it.

Fie on wives, he growled silently; who could read the heart of a woman? Cathryn was a master of contained emotion, or perhaps possessor of none. No, he was being harsh in his judgment. She was anxious and eager for the meal to come off as planned; that much was obvious, and was so typically womanish. She stood off to one side, head-to-head with the steward, pointing and directing the stream of servants as they entered with their hot burden of food. And suddenly she was directing him.

"Sit, my lord. You have had a long journey in wet weather; sit and eat."

It was a kind offer, yet an offer he could not take. Cathryn was lady as he was lord. He would not sit at table without her. And, as eager as he was to sit at the lord's place in Greneforde Tower, he would not take that place; she would have to lead him to it and give it to him of her own will. He not only wanted her people to see her relinquish Greneforde in this public way; he wanted her to personally hand him Greneforde.

But she had already turned away, fully expecting him to do as she had bidden. Truly, the lady had been too long without a lord.

How many minutes had passed before she looked and saw that neither he, nor Rowland, nor Godfrey had moved a step deeper into the hall was uncertain, but the look of surprise on her face was one he would not forget. It was the first glimpse of any emotion that he had seen her display in all the hours he had known her.

"Is there aught amiss, my lord?" she asked quickly, her anxiety clear.

"Yea," he answered softly, "we wait on thee, lady."

"There is no need," she assured him. "I am but seeing to—"

"Lady," he cut her off, his voice deep as it rumbled past his throat. "I wait on thee."

For Cathryn, the only gleam, the only glitter in the capacious hall originated in William's silver eyes. The air was charged between them. She could feel the force of his will upon her, even in the crowded room that had of a sudden grown very quiet. And she knew that she would do as he asked. No, he did not ask. He willed. But he was her husband and her lord and she would submit with good grace. In this.

And with graceful movements she drew near to him, her steps suddenly loud in the quiet hall. John came to her rescue when he called for the salt. The noise level escalated to its previous and normal level as the servants again jostled each other moving to and fro from the hall, down the stairs, to the kitchen and back again.

He held his hand out to her and with hardly a shiver she placed her hand in his. His was warm and dry while hers felt cool and damp, but no matter, the table was before them and he did not hesitate to lead her to it. Such a fuss over her accompanying him to the high table; she had scarcely thought a fighting knight would trouble himself over so small a detail, but he was also unlike any knight she had ever known. He followed the code of etiquette and chivalry to the letter. He was an oddity in her experience, which was admittedly limited.

William was pleased—no, more than pleased that Cathryn had not balked in seating him at the high table in the lord's chair. What pleased him just as much, though he hardly spared a thought for it, was that she had rushed to his side at his request and was now seated placidly to his left. To his mind, they presented a united front to the people of Greneforde, both hers and his, and solidarity was his goal in image as well as fact. The contracts had been signed, the marriage vows spoken and witnessed, and Greneforde secured. Only one thing remained: consummation.

His loins burned at the word.

He had not expected that, but Cathryn had been a surprise. She was warm beauty and chill manner, delicate of bone and firm of will; he was drawn to her even as he felt her withdrawal. He wanted her and did not want to, sensing that she did not want him.