The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (11 page)

Father Langfrid broke into his tumultuous thoughts, his interruption a blessing. "When will you accept the oath of fealty?"

The oath of fealty, the oath which would bind the people of Dornei to him and he to them as their lord. A binding ceremony which would set him in his place as lord, as binding a ceremony as marriage. Or even more so, since there was no chance of repudiation with the oath of homage.

Richard did not take his eyes from Isabel, could not, though he knew it fed her to have him watch her so.

Nicholas moved toward Isabel, and Richard's eyes took it in, noting the smile of speculation and the look of pregnant question in Nicholas's eyes as he watched Richard watch Isabel. Yea, he needed to bind these men to him if he was to keep Isabel from sin, though God knew better than he how little that helped when two souls were bent on destruction.

Today," he answered Father Langfrid, his eyes still on Isabel and her circle of men. "Now. Before the meal."

Chapter 10

Once word had gone out, it had gone quickly. Kneeling before him, hands clasped and heads bowed, they had sworn to be his men. But he had noted that Nicholas had hesitated to bend his knee. He had also noted Adam's half-hidden smile as he bowed his head. The men-at-arms had submitted quickly enough, but that tale told little. Betrayal came easily to most men, even those who held honor high. Still, it was done.

Except Louis. Louis had left upon some errand for Isabel, so said Isabel. Where, how long, and concerning what were all questions she could not or would not answer. Searching her face, so small and delicate in its dark beauty, he had seen the lie in her crystal eyes. And said nothing. What point in demanding the truth of a liar?

But Isabel had not been a liar at Malton; bold, yes—too bold for a maiden pledged to another, but not a liar. What other changes had taken place in the last year? What else would she feel the need to lie about? In order to find out, he would need to talk to her.

Once he had passed into manhood, talking to Isabel was a task he had avoided. She invariably offended his dignity, making sport of him, laughing at the wrong time. And she always found a reason to argue with him. With maturity, he had understood that her constant pricking had been the evidence of her frustrated desire for him.

And his avoidance of her was because he had returned it.

Comely and bright, she had been watched by all the squires. Isabel had returned the interest with smiles and flirtations while keeping the heart of her interest in him. He had felt the heat, and none had been blind to the glow of attraction that had shone from her onto him. For himself, he thought he had done well and kept his unlawful fascination with her well hidden. But Isabel had known; by that kiss, so urgent and wild, he had shown himself the sinner he was. All long ago now.

How many men had she kissed since then?

How many lies would it take for her to hide beneath pretended innocence?

Nay, he did not want to talk to Isabel. He did not want to drive her into a lie. He did not want to look the fool.

Only to himself would he admit that it was a poor beginning to his lordship of Dornei and Isabel.

After the homage ceremony, Isabel had suggested they go hawking, to celebrate the day. He had wanted to stay within, having much more to discuss with his clerk and his bailiff, but the fighting men had been instantly enthralled by the suggestion, and he had little wish to thwart a celebration commemorating his lordship of Dornei, no matter how little he himself wished to celebrate such an event. He had his duty to perform. It was all that mattered to him.

He found suitable clothing for himself, determined not to feel irritation that Isabel had not arranged for a boy to see to his needs, and was mounted and ready with the rest of them. Isabel was mounted and ready as well. Isabel, it was clear, had decided to hunt with them.

The day was fair, the sun full and strong in the sky. The strong wind of yestereve had passed away in the night and left behind a sky as blue as deep water and as cloudless. The world was growing green in the warmth of a gentle spring, and he could not but help being gladdened by the bounty of God's grace in providing such beauty to the
eyes
.

If only Isabel and Adam would not ride so close together.

She was a woman who did all she desired, no matter where her desires led her. He knew that better than any man in this company, or he hoped he did. How far had she strayed since leaving Malton? Her father, Lord Bernard, had not been a stern man; he had let his only child run wild, letting her fancies direct her in a most unwise fashion.

She rode ahead, showing him her back and her long fall of hair and the trim curve of buttock poised atop her mount. She should be wearing a cloak, shielding herself from male eyes, no matter that the weather was mild. She was not mild, and she did not inspire mildness.

Adam, at her side, did not look mild.

Richard reined in his annoyance. They were in a large company of armed men; nothing would befall. Not here, not now. He should ride up to the head of the party, being lord of them all, yet he did not want to ride to Isabel. She would see his coming to her as a victory; she made victories out of wet kindling, making something of nothing. Yet, he would not willingly give her even the fantasy. He would stay to the back, well away from her.

He cast his eyes downward, upon the earth, striving for peaceful and contemplative thoughts. Yet his eyes again and again rose to watch Isabel share her laughter with Adam.

When next he looked up, she had disengaged herself from Adam's side and was making her way along the edge of the party back to him. Was it not so? Did not Isabel always seek him out? He kept his eyes forward and did not greet her when she came alongside him. She did so neatly, her mount well mannered and well managed; she had always been a capable horsewoman, he would give her that silent compliment.

"'Tis a wondrous day for hawking, is it not?" she said with a smile. Isabel smiled too often, he thought, and at too many. Always she had a smile for any man who two words to her.

"'Tis a fair day," he answered.

"I am so happy that you agreed to this adventure, Richard. I fear to bubble up with joy because of it," she said, her eyes glistening with emotion.

She was joyous because he was hawking? 'Twas ridiculous. He said nothing and did not stop the frown of irritation that crossed his features.

She noted his frown, and her smile faded. He did not feel the least bit guilty.

"You do not share my joy," she said. "Are you so unhappy to be out of doors, or is it your married state which drives you into dismay?"

He could hear the trace of wounded pride in her voice and felt a small surge of grim satisfaction; not all men would tumble into the dirt at the radiance of Isabel's smile. She must know by now that he never would.

"I have been forced to give up my heart's desire, Isabel, as you well know. How joyous did you expect to find me?"

"Can you find no joy in me?" she asked.

"I find my joy in duty, as you would do well to learn." He looked at her askance. Her bosom was high and full against her bliaut, her profile white and delicate against the background of trees coming into hill green; he knew the look of her and could not stop looking. "It is obvious that you have lost none of your appeal to men. Under dire consequence to your soul, you would do well to re member that you are now a married woman."

Her ire was up. She was ever up and down, her emotions pulling at her like the wind, without direction or control. He did not care that her anger had been pricked; in fact, it pleased him. She had lost her joy in him. It was enough to satisfy.

"Perhaps after tonight I will not have trouble remembering," she said, holding his eyes with hers.

"If you cannot remember now, you will not remember later," he answered, looking down at her.

"We shall know for certain on the morrow," she said, striving to keep her voice pleasant.

"You assume much about tonight," he said, prodding her again. She would find no rest in conversation with him, particularly on this topic.

"I assume that we will share the marriage bed. 'Tis past time."

He snorted lightly, the sound coming through his nose with all the arrogance he intended. "You are overeager." He said it as an insult. She received it as such.

"Perhaps you are merely undermanned," she snapped back, her eyes as hot as sparks. "Will you pray through another night?"

"You mock me for praying for the souls of your father and his wife? For my brothers and your betrothed?"

"Nay, naturally not—"

"I begin to think there is little 'natural' about you," he cut in sharply, his voice on the rise.

"I would have said that you have long thought me too 'natural'!" she snapped.

"We will scarce find game with such a row as this," Nicholas interrupted, pulling up beside them. His smile was as wide and as treacherous as a river in flood. "Even the boar run in fear."

"You forget yourself, Knight, to speak to your lord and lady thus," Richard said heavily, swinging his anger round to an equally just target. Nicholas and his arrogance he would ill tolerate.

"'Twas said in jest, Richard," Nicholas said, bringing up old taunts with such words. It was uneasy ground between them, old and bitter ground, and Richard was ill disposed to give way.

"And not well done," he said. "Mayhap you should return to sit behind Dornei's walls, since hawking is not to your mood today."

Nicholas seemed on the verge of opening his mouth to argue, but, looking again at Richard's face, he snapped his mount around, called for his squire, and rode back to Dornei. Even when they were fellow squires, Nicholas had learned the folly of argument when Richard's temper was prodded. Richard rode on silently. Isabel rode silently at his side, thinking hard and holding her tongue against further insults. 'Twas not the way to lure Richard into her bed.

Richard was obviously going to try to find a way to avoid the marriage bed, and he seemed determined to be miserable in his husbanding of her. Could the hawk catch the sun? Such it had always been between them, but she had the advantage now; they were husband and wife. He would not slip the snare that easily.

Did he think to insult her by declaring her over-eager for the marriage bed? Was she not supposed to want her husband to possess her? Had she not been imagining it for year upon year? How did he manage to make it sound sinful for her to want her own husband? How did he manage to make guilt rise in her like an upward draft of hot air? That was the worst of it; she felt guilty. Richard always made her feel guilty. He clearly did it by design. No man could be so successful by accident.

But, among the stone of words he had thrown, had she not heard the glimmering pebble of jealous? Jealousy was her ally, for at least it showed he had a heart to bruise in regard to her. At least she could make him feel
something.
If jealousy, could love be far behind? But how deep could love grow if he avoided the marriage bed?

He must not avoid it. Richard would claim her tonight. It would be so, for she would make it so.

They returned to Dornei having caught nothing, the hawk unblooded.

Chapter 11

With Richard well married and the oath of homage declared, Brother John departed while the day was still fresh. However, Isabel did not miss the sympathetic look Brother John pressed upon her or the grim longing in Richard's eyes as John rode out of Dornei's gates and back to the abbey. No more longing for life away from her; that would change tonight. The only one he would look after longingly would be her, once he had tasted the delights of the marriage bed.

He acted ill disposed to taste.

Perhaps it
was
an act, an act given for her benefit. Richard had never been effusive in his treatment of her. Isabel sighed within herself and confessed the truth: he had treated her with little more than courtesy, and that tinged with disdain, for years.