The Marriage Test (24 page)

Julia rode across the fields and through the forest in Griffin’s arms, relishing the feel of the wind in her face and the thundering rhythm of the great war horse beneath her. It was dazzling, confusing, and for the moment exhilarating. All she could think was that he’d come for her and he’d rescued—
married
—her! It all happened so fast she couldn’t catch her breath.

The previous day she had spent in anxious solitude, pouring over Old Jean’s book, in desperate need of someone to talk to about the things she was reading. She had expected that Sophie would slip in to see her that morning, but she didn’t come. As the sun began to lower she wheedled and cajoled her guards into carrying messages to Sophie and Sir Martin. They returned shortly saying that neither Lady Sophie or Sir Martin had been out and about the castle all day, and that there was some talk that the count had confined his impetuous daughter to her chambers the night before.

Then the next morning, Sophie’s waiting maid appeared at her door with word that Sophie was well and a lovely ivory silk gown that seemed to be rather large for Sophie’s diminutive figure. Julia tried it on, as she was asked to do, and it fit surprisingly well. Then the maid helped to brush her hair and then whisked away her old woolen gown, saying Lady Sophie insisted it be cleaned and freshened.

Midday, she heard voices and commotion below her window and looked out to find the castle’s workers scurrying toward the center of the enclosure, while men-at-arms were rushing the opposite direction … for the walls. Then, when the sun was almost overhead, Sir Martin and his men came for her, bound her hands, and led her down the tower steps and through the great hall.

Sophie, looking rosy and confident and pleased to see her, fussed and tugged at Julia’s dress and then gave her a warm hug that allowed her to whisper “don’t worry” into Julia’s ear. After that, Sir Martin ushered her out the main doors.

She heard Griffin’s voice thundering at the Count of Verdun before she saw him. Everything within half a mile, even the wind itself, seemed to have stopped to listen. When she reached the gate, she understood why. He was huge and terrifying and magnificent … astride a huge black horse draped with blue and green trappings and a silver clad saddle and bridle fittings. His armor enhanced his already sizeable shoulders and arms and he looked ready to ride down the very walls of Verdun.

Then he saw her. She could tell the moment he set eyes on her; his mount stopped its pawing and he froze in the saddle. She could feel him reaching for her across the distance, touching her, examining her … reassuring her. Her fears eased at Sophie’s cryptic “don’t worry” and his powerful presence, combined with arrival of a priest at her side.

Then the guards seized her, and one drew his blade. Something was happening between His Lordship and the count. Lord Griffin looked at her again and she felt his anxiety and anger like physical vibrations on the air around her.

By the time His Lordship dismounted and the priest dragged her forward, she realized something had been decided. She couldn’t have imagined that it was the price of her freedom, or that it would prove to be that he speak marriage vows with her. When he told her what was required of her, she asked him to repeat it, thinking that she couldn’t have heard properly.

Was that what this was about? All of these men, these preparations for battle, this anger and fear … it all came down to speaking marriage vows?

Suddenly Sophie’s advice made sense. She had known what her father was about to demand of Lord Griffin. She looked down at her new silk gown. She had even provided clothes for the occasion.

Now it was done and she was on the way home. She relaxed back into His Lordship’s arms and felt surrounded, secure, safe. He had married her in order to rescue her. It was proof he
cared
for her. And it also meant that her heart and her future were at last set on the same tumultuous path.

She turned her face up to the sun, closed her eyes, and felt like the luckiest maid in the entire world. She refused to think any further than the circle of his strong arms.

They picked up the pace as they neared the walls of Grandaise and soon they were galloping past the waving sentries and thundering through the eagerly opened main gate. The courtyard quickly filled with cheering folk. House servants, retainers, villagers, and knights just dismounted, all crowded around to welcome Julia back and to hear and tell the remarkable story of her rescue. It was Sir Axel who shouted the news of the nuptials to them.

Married? The folk stared at their little cook in amazement, which quickly melted into acceptance. They’d known all along that she was wellborn and different from the usual kitchen master. Truth be told, it was a modest step in their eyes from presiding over the kitchens to presiding over the rest of the household as well … the kitchens being the acknowledged heart and lifeblood of the estate.

Julia was lifted down by the Baron Crossan, who was the first to kiss her hand and call her “milady.” Axel and Greeve presented themselves to her with exaggerated courtesy, squeezing her extended hands and volunteering their assistance to her as she launched into her new role. Arnaud the Steward bowed and Genevieve the Housekeeper curtsied awkwardly. With everyone talking excitedly and all at once, she scarcely noticed Sister Regine pushing her way through the crowd with a shocked expression.

“It’s really you!” Regine looked at her as if she were a ghost, then threw eager arms around her. “We were beside ourselves. We lit candles in the chapel every day. You just disappeared and then we learned—you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said beaming. “Never better.”

Regine looked her over and then turned to His Lordship with a teary smile. “You did it, milord. You brought her home safe, as you said you would.”

Everyone looked to Griffin, who had not yet dismounted. He sat above them watching her reception with a taut expression, and he cleared his throat.

“Yes. And now things can return to normal.” He swept the crowd with a look. “Everyone can go back to his or her duty. And perhaps we can get some wine and ale in the hall for the baron and his knights.”

After a few more hurried greetings, the householders hurried back to their duties, leaving the courtyard to the soldiers, squires, and grooms. His Lordship dismounted and, setting a hand to the small of her back, propelled her through the throng of men toward the hall.

When Sister Regine lifted her hem and bustled along after them, he halted the sister to suggest that she check on the progress of supper in the kitchens.

“I’ve been helping in the kitchen since you’ve been away,” she said to Julia, as she backed away, grinning. “I get to give orders and people actually
obey.”

Julia watched her depart, smiled, and continued into the hall.

“Thank you, milord, for coming to my rescue,” she said, slowing as she approached the door and then stopping just outside to have a moment with him. “I never imagined that you would go to such lengths to retrieve a cook.”

“I wouldn’t have gone to such extremes to rescue just any cook,” he said thickly, his gaze sliding to hers and his body leaning closer. She saw his gaze drop to her lips and for a moment wondered if he meant to kiss her. But he suddenly snapped upright and looked at the men filing past them into the hall. “I have a great deal invested in you. I could hardly let Verdun and his band of cutthroats deprive me of the best food south of Paris.”

He escorted her briskly into the hall, where the Baron Crossan and several of Grandaise’s knights crowded close to ask questions. As she began to recall for them how it all began, she suddenly remembered the one responsible for her abduction.

“Oh—Sir Bertrand—” She turned to His Lordship and grasped his sleeve. “It was he who betrayed me and put me into the count of Verdun’s hands.”

“Bertrand? Betrayed you?” His Lordship froze, staring at her with disbelief. All around the hall, Grandaise’s men halted in their tracks and turned to look at her. “But that can’t be. He fought—was beaten and wounded trying to—”

“It’s true, milord. On my honor.” She looked from him to Sir Axel and Sir Greeve and the others. “He followed me as I searched out the mushrooms, and when the two men came out of nowhere and seized me … it was Sir Bertrand who supplied them the ropes to bind me.”

His face blanched as he turned to Axel and Greeve.

“Bring Bertrand to me.
Now.”

Things were exceptionally quiet in the hall as His Lordship ushered her to a seat on the dais to wait for the knight to be brought from the barracks. The baron joined them and His Lordship removed his helm and gauntlets—handing them off to a squire—then called for Grandaise’s best wine to be served straightaway.

She watched him pace the dais and was unable to understand why her charge was met with such skepticism from him and the rest of the knights. He had mounted an armed force to retrieve her from Verdun, but he refused to believe her story about who had betrayed her into captivity?

“I’m telling the truth, milord,” she said, looking from him to the baron and back. “I have no reason to lie about who abducted me.”

“Nor, we thought, did Bertrand,” His Lordship said grimly. “He was brought back to Grandaise beaten and bloody.” He looked to the main doors of the hall, where Axel and Greeve had disappeared. “If he wasn’t beaten by Verdun’s men, then who beat him?”

She shook her head, having no explanation and feeling suddenly like she was the one against whom evidence was being gathered. She had a number of other things to tell him, but if he wouldn’t believe her on this, he surely wouldn’t believe the rest of what she had to say.

It seemed an age before Greeve reappeared in the doorway and strode quickly through the hall with Axel panting along behind. Greeve glanced with a misery-laden smile at Julia before announcing to his lord:

“He’s gone, milord. His bed, his garments, his armor—everything.”

“Absconded,” Axel added. “His horse is gone from the stable.”

“Dear God.” His Lordship broadened his stance, bracing, looking shaken by the news and its implication. “Bertrand. Verdun’s foil. He never gave a single indication … and he was brought back injured …” He stood for a moment, letting the news sink in before lifting his head and forcing himself to shake off the vile feeling of betrayal.

“Let it be known,” he announced to all in the hall, “that if Bertrand de Roland is found on Grandaise, he is to be seized and brought immediately to me.” A muscle flexed in his jaw as he took Julia’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Come. You look tired, demoiselle.”

“I feel fine, milord.”

“Believe me, demoiselle, you are more fatigued from your ordeal than you realize,” he declared, pulling her toward the arches leading to the steps. She was surprised that he whisked her away so forcefully. But she was even more surprised when he took her straight to the chamber she had shared with Regine instead of his own quarters.

For a moment, he stood looking around the sparsely furnished quarters, as if collecting and assembling his thoughts from the chamber’s unused corners.

“Why did you bring me here, milord?” Some of the tension visible in his face migrated into her.

“I wanted to tell you out of others’ hearing …” he said, looking at the bed, the table, the stools, the floor. She braced privately. “There will be no change between us or in my household as a result of what we were forced to do today.”

“I don’t think I understand, milord. What are you saying?”

“Verdun contrived this wedding to ruin me with the king. No doubt his messenger is on the way to court even now with word of our vows.” He dragged his hands up and down his face. “I don’t yet know how the king has responded to the word I sent him of your abduction. But I am sure Verdun will try to make it appear that I have violated the truce and the king’s command in wedding you.

“To make matters worse, it will also appear that I have just violated my agreement with your abbess and the duke of Avalon. If my lands and title are not stripped from me by the king, I may lose them to the duke and the convent in reparation for dishonoring our agreement.”

Dishonor? Reparation? He was speaking of their vows in such terms? She fell back a step, found herself at the edge of the bed, and sat down with a thud. She hadn’t expected him to be pleased about wedding her—not at first—but she could scarcely believe that he thought being bound to her in wedlock was nothing more than his enemy’s damaging contrivance.

“I wedded you to keep you safe, but a wedding does not a marriage make. As long as the vows are unconsummated, you may still be allowed to return to the convent. I will seek an annulment, but if that fails … I believe you may still take vows with my permission.”

“I don’t want your ‘permission.’ ” She felt as if everything in her chest was melting, creating a hollow where her heart had been. “I don’t want to go back to the convent. I’ve never wanted to take vows.”

“What you want has nothing to do with it.” He stalked closer to her, his arms pressed tightly to his sides. “I am bound by honor to fulfill my agreement with your abbess and the duke.”

“You speak of honor—what about honoring the vows we spoke this day before a priest?” she said, anger rising into the stunned void inside her.

“We spoke
words
—that is all.”

“Words that were powerful enough to make Verdun release me,” she declared hotly, shooting to her feet. “Words powerful enough to make you fear the king could strip you of your lands and title.”

“What I am saying is … words don’t make a real marriage.”

“Tell me, milord, what do you think
does
make a real marriage?”

Something in the tone and timbre of her voice made him look at her, and the moment he did it he knew it was a mistake. Her cheeks were flushed, her burnished hair was sweetly tossed, and her eyes flashed like faceted emeralds … dark-centered wells of feeling and response he had experienced and been unable to forgive himself for wanting again and again.

“I-I don’t know.” He felt an alarming surge of heat that had nothing to do with anger. “But I do know that
this”
—he gestured between them—“is not it!”

He backed with jerky motions to the door and exited. After he cleared the landing, it felt like he was falling down that incline of steps … catching himself with first one leg and then the other … always just one lurching motion away from being flat on his face.

His talk with her had been every bit as bad as he feared it would be. She thought their vows had somehow affirmed and ennobled the desire between them, and made it into something acceptable. But with duty, diplomacy, and destiny all against it, how could it be anything but a disaster?

He was a lord; she was a cook. He was ordered to marry another; she was promised to God. He had to think of an irate king and duke and bishop and abbess, while defending his lands from a dangerous, grasping neighbor; she didn’t want to think of anything but their mutual desires. She had no idea of the dire ramifications of what had just happened to them. All she cared about was—

What? Being held in his arms … melting against him … the way she had as they rode back from Verdun? If he had anything to do with it, that would be the last time he suffered the sweet torture of holding her in his—

He stopped in the hall as wave after wave of memory fanned through his senses … the softness of her against him, the prisms of tears in her eyes, the way she curled against his chest and made him feel as if she were melting into him. It suddenly felt like the very foundation of his determination was dissolving and leaching from him like chalk from old bones.

She cared for him. He swallowed against the emotion filling his throat. And he cared for her more than would be wise to admit, even to himself.

The intensity of his longing suddenly jarred him back to reality.

But a noble marriage wasn’t about harbored passions and feelings run amuck. Marriage was about advantages of property and power and alliance, about duty and heirs and obligation. Marriage was an organizing, civilizing influence to be entered into with deliberation.
Not
at the tip of an enemy’s sword.

He scowled and proceeded into the hall.

Why the hell couldn’t he have thought of such things when he was talking to her just now?

Julia stumbled to the bed and sat down, feeling drained and hollow and strangely more bereft and alone than she had as a prisoner at Verdun. She had said marriage vows, but according to her groom, wasn’t truly married. She was to go back to the kitchens and cook and pretend nothing had happened.

She looked down at the ivory lutestring silk of her gown. It was a lady’s gown. A fitting bridal garment. For a wellborn lady.

The hollow feeling in her center grew.

She closed the door, untied her side lacings, and drew off the lovely gown to pack it away in the small chest she had brought with her from the convent. Sophie had kept her other, better gown, so the only thing she had to wear was an older brown woolen one she had cleaned with fuller until it looked the color of rusty ashes. Thinking that it would have to do, she donned it over her chemise and tied the laces at the sides. She looked down at the patch on the skirt that covered a hole burned by a popping ember, and reached into her chest for one of the two aprons she had stitched long ago when learning to sew. As she pulled the drawstring over her head and wrapped the fabric around her, she fingered the girlish, uneven stitches and recalled the hope and anticipation with which they had been made.

She had a sudden and powerful yearning for old Sister Archibald, with her sage advice and warm, sensible wisdom. Her throat tightened and her eyes began to burn. A moment later she was running down the steps and out a side door, headed for the one place on Grandaise where she could come close to the comfort she missed … the chapel.

Father Dominic, the priest who served the lord and people of Grandaise, was busy tending a small plot of earth at the side of the chapel when she arrived. When he saw Julia running for the chapel doors, with tears streaming down her face, he rose and dusted the soil from his hands and cassock. He entered the chapel and found her kneeling by the altar railing, pouring out her heart in a stream of sobs and half-audible prayers.

“Here, here, my child. It can’t be all that bad,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. She gave a start and looked up. Seeing it was the priest, she swallowed back a sob and turned to sit on the step in front of the railing.

“The sun still treads its appointed course, the seasons come and go, and the Creator still looks upon it all with a smile. Everything else is subject to change, my child.” He smiled. “Including human hearts.”

“Not all hearts, Father. Some are made of stone.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her palm. “Or they wish they were.”

“Hardened and stony hearts are God’s own personal grief,” he said with a sigh, sitting down on the kneeling step beside her. “They’re the very reason for all of this, you know.” He waved to the chapel and altar and their trappings. “The Almighty wants to crack open our crusty and difficult hearts … to fill them with such peace and joy and goodness that they overflow into the world around us and make it a better place.” He gave a rueful shrug and looked around them. “Unfortunately, we have quite a way to go.”

She nodded and he gave her hand a squeeze.

“It may help you to know that many fervent prayers were answered by your return to Grandaise.” Father Dominic chuckled. “I saw faces at mass in these last few days that I usually only see at Christmas and Easter. We are all grateful for your safe return, demoiselle. Or should I say ‘my lady’ ?”

She winced.

“I’m not anyone’s ‘lady,’ Father. Least of all His Lordship’s.” She halted and struggled with how best to say what was on her mind. “What makes a marriage, Father? A real and true marriage?”

“Ah.” The little priest nodded, understanding now what was troubling her. “I’ve heard of these vows of yours. The village, the barracks, and the barns are abuzz with talk of them.” He searched her troubled face. “Unfortunately, the church law is not as clear as we would wish it to be on such matters. There is the matter of spoken vows—which, I take it, were said.” She nodded. “Then there is the matter of volition. The vows must be said of one’s own will. Which, I take it, may be where the problem lies.”

“The vows were forced,” she said dejectedly.

“And then, there is the matter of consummation. I take it you have not …”

“How could we have?” She looked so horrified that he smiled.

“I thought not. I do hear all of the confessions, hereabouts, you know.”

“Are there laws prohibiting nobles from marrying … non-nobility?”

“No. In fact, there have been some famous instances of French noblemen wedding common-born women. But, didn’t I hear that you are wellborn?”

“My father was a baron. But a poor one. And not well-known.”

“A status shared by half of the nobility of France.” He chuckled and clapped his hands on his knees. “It appears to me, my dear, that your problem is mostly a matter of volition—willingness. If you want to be married, you are.”

“But what if only one of us wants to be married?”

He scratched his tonsured head and sighed again. “Then I believe one of you will simply have to convince the other … one way or another.”

Trudging back up to the house, her thoughts were on her conversation with Father Dominic and on convincing His Lordship they
were
truly married before he could convince her they
weren’t.
That was no small task, considering that he would have to accept her as his lady wife while knowing as he did that it meant he would have to stand up for her to the duke and the abbess and even the king.