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Authors: Roberta Gellis

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BOOK: The Sword and The Swan
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"Good," he replied. "Find the queen and return with her. I have some business I must see to."

Catherine was shocked. The queen had told her that Rannulf was an ill-mannered man and she knew he did not wish to marry her, but to be absent from his own wedding feast, no matter how unwelcome, was to be ill
mannered to an absolutely unparalleled degree. No affair could be so pressing.

She did not have a chance to protest, however, for in that instant Rannulf turned his head, saw Maud, and, without waiting for a word with either woman, took the few steps to his horse, leapt into the saddle and rode away. Maud hastened up, revising her estimate of Catherine's sweetness and docility and cursing Rannulf of Sleaford under her breath. There was no way she could soothe Catherine, for the insult was beyond reason. All Maud could do for Rannulf now was to show Catherine that, although she was heiress to Soke, her public consequence as well as her private comfort depended upon her husband.

Rannulf had no intention of missing the wedding feast, for his errand took him only a few streets away. He expected, indeed, to catch up with his wife before she reached the Tower, and would have done so had not Maud hustled her away. He felt very virtuous, as a matter of fact, as he set spurs to his horse and careened down the muddy road, for his business was to determine whether he could offer his wife a home of her own in London.

The master of Sleaford owned a house in the city, but he had not lived in it for some time and needed to know whether it was still habitable. If it was, he would write to Sleaford to have his clothing, bed, linens, and other household items sent to him, and he and Catherine could live in comfort and privacy—things not to be obtained when lodging with the king—until his investiture as earl of Soke had taken place.

A brief visit assured him that the walls and roof of the place were sound and that such trifling damage as had been done could easily be repaired. When he realized, spurring even more hastily along the road that led to the castle, that he had missed Catherine, he was a little annoyed, but no comprehension of the apparent enormity of his behavior disturbed him. He was sure that his bride would scarcely notice the absence of a groom so unwelcome in the press of well-wishers that must be surrounding her.

Accordingly, Rannulf did not hurry while he made his way to the head of the room. Catherine was not in the seat of honor. Well, there was no rule that she must remain seated, although it was customary. He would have liked to sit down himself, but it was also customary for the bride and groom to receive good wishes together. Rannulf turned his eyes on the crowd, seeking any large knot of persons that could indicate the presence of the bride. There was none near him, and he sighed and began to wander through the hall seeking her. Rannulf was very puzzled when he came across Catherine, who was sitting in a window seat.

"How now, madam," he said mildly, "What do you here? Why are you not at the top of the room?"

That was the last straw! Catherine was too well bred to shriek in public, but if a woman could be said to snarl, she did so. Her full lips drew back from her perfect teeth and her cheeks turned scarlet with the rush of her blood. Let him take what revenge he would. It was better to be literally destroyed than to die of shame.

"Because," she spat, "no one saw fit to take me there. Am I to push my way forward myself? Should I stop the passersby and bid them wish me well?"

The owner of a fine, full-fledged temper of his own, Rannulf could respect a round rejoinder. Apparently the woman—she did not look like a child now—could speak honestly what was in her mind. Rannulf did not understand why she was so angry with him, since he had nothing to do with the behavior of the guests, but that thought could not hold his mind as he stared in amazement into Catherine's flushed face. He had been startled by her pale beauty when he first saw her, but he was dumbfounded by her passionate radiance now. An urgent sense of desire touched him, a sensation far different from his usual impersonal need for a woman.

"I had no opportunity to give these to you earlier," he said finally, ignoring her outburst. "Here is your bride-gift."

He dropped the pouch gracelessly into her lap and stood somewhat bemused, waiting for her to open it. Catherine wanted to throw it back into his face, but again the fact that it was a public place restrained her behavior. As she slowly untied the string that secured the mouth of the pouch, her fear returned.

Rannulf of Sleaford was not the man, by the look of him or by reputation, to accept opposition meekly. Possibly his indifference to her temper meant that he did not intend to endure it long. As soon as possible she must repair the damage she had done and return to the role of cheerful and graceful compliance.

The drawstring gave and the jewels slid into her lap. Catherine gasped, her temper and fear alike momentarily forgotten, for she had an inordinate love of beautiful things and a passion for finery. Rannulf, watching her, almost smiled. The leaping from tantrum to pleasure for a new toy was a child's trick that he understood. If she was always so easily distracted, she would be no trouble to manage.

"I—I thank you, my lord," she murmured, somewhat mollified. Perhaps it was this he went to get, she thought.

"You are welcome to them," Rannulf replied. The jewels were worth a goodly sum, but there were plenty in Sleaford keep that could be doled out to maintain peace.

The faint humor in his voice did not escape her, and her heart began to beat more quickly. Why should he not give her the best of everything? In the event of her death, it would all be his again. "My lord," Catherine said urgently.

If she wanted more, peace would not be cheap. "What now do you want of me?" Rannulf snapped.

What little color had remained in Catherine's face faded away. "I only wished to beg you to pardon me for my hasty speech. What happened could be no fault of yours."

Rannulf stared at his wife attentively. Certainly it was true that what had happened was no fault of his—he did not even know what had put her out of temper—but that a woman should set aside emotion for reason and, moreover, that she should admit herself wrong on the basis of reasoning, was astounding. He noticed that Catherine was very pale again and was sorry for her; he understood very well how hard it was to admit oneself at fault.

"Very well," Rannulf said approvingly.

That nearly brought another burst of rage from Catherine, but he had led her away from the window seat and she was forced to return with civility the belated compliments she was now receiving. She smiled charmingly and extended a graceful hand to a young man whose fair handsomeness almost took her breath away. Roger of Hereford kissed her hand, murmured good wishes, and moved on to her husband whom he addressed more jovially.

"I do not need to wish you well—you are well. Who could believe that such a face would go with such a dower?"

"Your wife left nothing greatly to be desired on either score," Rannulf replied good-naturedly. He was far better pleased with Catherine than he had expected and was perfectly willing to display his satisfaction.

"Ah, but my wife is not here. She was lightened of a daughter some weeks ago and is still confined."

Rannulf's brows drew together. Childbirth was a serious and dangerous matter. He had lost his first wife to it. "We did not see eye to eye, but I remember the lady kindly. She does well, I hope."

"Aye, and the girl is already a shrew like her mother, God bless them both. When I first held her in my arms, she struck me soundly on the mouth."

"There speaks a new-made father." Rannulf laughed, recalling his own feeling of pride in similar circumstances.

"But I am not a new-made father, at least, it is the third time. All I seem to get is women . . . not that I regret this one. I wanted a maiden this time for I have her already bound in marriage, but the next, I hope, will be a son. There is my brother Walter to succeed me, but my brother … But this is no time to speak of political matters."

Hereford was ready to move on, but Rannulf stopped him. "Why not?" he asked.

He had no particular desire for Hereford to seek him out in private to discuss matters of state. It would only give Eustace another cause to howl about treachery. Far better for a rebel like Hereford to unburden himself of whatever he wanted to say in public.

It was Hereford who glanced at Catherine, but she was standing quietly, not seeming to pay much attention to their talk.

"Very well," he said. "My brother is a case in point. Whenever he needs money, or is bored, or, for all I can tell, when what he has eaten does not sit well in his stomach, he goes out to ravage the land."

Rannulf laughed. "Are you asking me what to do, or asking me to make him mend his ways?"

"I can control my brother," Hereford said impatiently. "I did but use him as an example. Half the kingdom is made up of Walters. Say such a man attacked my land. What should I do?"

"Drive him off." Rannulf looked annoyed and then laughed again. "Bah, you are drunk already. What kind of a fool's question is that? You have held your lands very well against all threat, Hereford."

"Yes, but why should I have that need? Why cannot a man rest in his own keep without listening hourly for the call to arms?"

"Another fool's question. Because that is life."

"Nay, Sir Rannulf. Because that is England." The men stared purposefully at each other, faintly hostile. "What will you do," Hereford continued, well knowing that they favored his cause, "if the vassals of Soke will not accept you?"

Rannulf slid a glance at his wife, his face black with fury, and Catherine held her breath. "Do you think I cannot beat them into submission? Those who do not submit, I will slay. There are enough younger sons among my own vassals to take the lands and serve me loyally."

"Perhaps you can do as you say, but think of the cost. There should be no need for you to think of such matters. If the transfer of Soke to your hands is ordered by the king, there should be no chance of resistance. The law should be obeyed."

Rannulf burst into mirthless laughter. "If the sun were made of gold and I could reach it, I would surely be a rich man. Why do you frown? It is equally reasonable."

"Aye, with the king we have, it is equally reasonable."

"Do not talk treason to me, Hereford!"

"I have no intention of talking treason to any man, but tell me this. If all the earls in the land agreed that Soke was rightfully yours and would aid you to it, would any vassal then dare say you nay?"

There was a momentary silence. Rannulf's eyes dropped, and then he sighed. "Aye, then," he said regretfully, "but you have the question of reaching the sun again. Men seek their own interest first." So this was what had caught Leicester's attention. It was an attractive idea, but not new, and Rannulf's eyes held only sadness.

Catherine was fascinated. Her menfolk had left the fighting to their vassals and dealt with politics through account books. In any case, they had never talked of such matters in her presence. She was frightened by Rannulf's attitude toward her father's men, but interested enough to be annoyed when a touch on her hand drew her attention away.

Lady Warwick was well pleased with the results of her interference. There was an aliveness in Catherine's face, and she decided to take the next step in her education of this very sheltered young woman. A moment or two passed in the expected platitudes while Lady Warwick listened to the men to be sure they were involved in a sufficiently interesting subject. She could see Catherine's attention wavering, although she was turned politely enough toward her, and she came to the point with deliberate bluntness.

"Now that you have had some talk with Sir Rannulf, what do you think of him?" Catherine glanced uneasily at Rannulf's back and Gundreda laughed. "He will hear nothing. When men talk together they are deaf to women's voices. After all, of what can a woman speak besides cookery and children?"

"I cannot think anything, madam," Catherine replied cautiously. "I have scarcely exchanged twenty words with him in the hurry of this day, but the king and queen have no cause to use me ill and Sir Rannulf's reputation is as high as a man's can be."

"Oh, yes," Lady Warwick said with an odd smile. ''As I told you, I have known Rannulf of Sleaford for many years, and he is truly a man whose pride and honor go before all else."

"Is that not a good thing?"

"Is it? My husband, too, is of that sort. Pride often goeth before a fall, and honor can lead to disgrace. You are young. You may live many years beyond this husband. Do not allow him to become your disaster."

Catherine's fears returned at flood tide. "You cannot mean that he would harm me to steal my lands," Catherine forced herself to whisper. "He has no need. The king has granted them to him."

It was time, Gundreda knew, to resolve Catherine's fear. Terror does not lead to clear thinking. "Good God, no!" she exclaimed. "Rannulf? He would as soon cut out his own heart and eat it. You need not have any fear of that, nor that he will yield a tittle of it to any man through force, but he might drain lands dry in this senseless war for the succession. He will breed with you—he gave his other wives sons. Through honor a man may lose his children's livelihood. See that the lands are still there to benefit your little ones."

Lady Warwick's mouth twisted, and the bitterness of her voice showed that she was not merely offering impersonal advice. "A pox take all kings," she added, then smiled. "But that is at a distance. A closer matter is that Rannulf is not the sweetest-tempered man in the world. I said he would not harm you, and he would not do so with intention, but he might well make a life of misery for you. A woman needs a refuge. When your father's vassals come to London, make a way to speak with them in private. Perhaps you can come to terms with them so that—" Her hand closed warningly over Catherine's. "Come to my house, if you have your husband's leave. I have a stitch to show you that makes all embroidery light work."

Catherine was not surprised at the sudden change of subject because she too had been conscious of an alteration in the rhythm of the men's talk. Hereford laughed and Rannulf growled, not unpleasantly but as if he were being teased about something that amused him.

BOOK: The Sword and The Swan
4.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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