Virginia Henley (13 page)

For a moment she thought she would die. Then she nodded slowly, knowing he had no idea how she felt.
Bryan, Bryan!
she wanted to scream. But she couldn’t speak because she was crying so hard. Her heart felt as if it were bleeding.

Pavilions and tents had been erected for the great tournament that was to be held the day before the wedding. The tents where the nobility and royalty would don their armor were glorious, made from silk and velvet. Each flew pennants and banners emblazoned with colorful shields of arms.

The contestants haunted the pavilions. Each had his own squires, armor-bearers, and baggage men; the most important man in their employ was always the master armorer. Armor was designed to save a man’s life, but unless it was fitted perfectly, so that he could move his arm easily to wield his sword in battle or his lance in a tournament, it was next to useless. Good steel and a good mount put the odds in his favor. If a horse carried itself true and straight and helped the rider keep his balance, it often saved that rider’s life.

The joust today was for pleasure only, although it always carried inherent risks. The flower of England’s nobility was out in full force—Pembroke, Hastings, Devonshire, Norfolk, and Percy—and the tents were filled with
earls, dukes, barons, and lords, and the spectator stands overlooking the field of honor were filled with their ladies.

Lord Hastings, who was Chamberlain of the Royal Household, was acting as field marshal of the joust. He had placed the color standards along the east flank of the field to mark its length. The King’s heralds sounded their trumpets, and the combatants rode out onto the field for a couple of rounds to learn the ground. Each horse wore armor, which was then caparisoned by silken trappings with each rider’s arms emblazoned on the flank. Over their armor the men wore emblazoned tunics, and each carried a shield and a plumed and crested helmet.

The ladies were dressed in their very best, vying with each other for the most eye-catching head fashion. Some wore steeple hats with veils; others wore horned confections, not realizing that they left themselves wide open for catty comparisons to cows. Roseanna, seated in the high place of honor with Joanna beside her, wore a jeweled posy cap whose floating silver veil shimmered as mistily as a spider’s web. These veils had detachable scarves to be given to their champions as favors. As the men rode to the field’s edge to receive these favors, their identities were easily discerned.

The King was adorned in purple, with the Sun in Splendor superimposed upon the white rose of York. Roger Montford was in black silk surcoat with a black clawed raven on a scarlet background. The plume in his helmet was also scarlet. It was expected that the bride bestow her favor upon the groom; however, as he rode up to her, she ignored him. So Joanna, doing her best to cover her daughter’s lapse, draped her own scarf on the
tip of Ravenspur’s lance. He affixed it to his scabbard-ring and wheeled away.

A hushed whisper went through the crowd of women. Perhaps the bride had reserved her favor for the King, as many ladies did. When Edward came in front of her, however, she turned her head away to show her displeasure with him. The crowd’s murmur increased. A rumor was going the rounds that this was no love match. Who would the bride bestow her favor upon? Surely not some lover from her past—not openly here in front of the world?

As Jeffrey stopped in front of his ladies, Roseanna smiled upon her brother affectionately and took the silver veil from her head. He saluted her by placing his right hand over his heart. The crowd’s relief was so great that a little burst of applause broke out.

As Roger and Edward rode from the field together, Roger said to him, “Ned, I want to exchange opponents with you.” He grinned helplessly. “I’ve been challenged by Roseanna’s swain, and she would never forgive me if I injured the young devil.”

The King grinned back. “You’re caught between the devil and the deep, for my challenger is her brother.”

“Let’s make short work of them, Ned. We’ve a dozen other challengers to face yet,” Roger urged.

“Are you forgetting we are almost twice their age?” replied the King. Then as always, his vulgar humor came to the fore. “Mayhap their lances are stiffer than ours.”

Roger winked. “I am hoping experience will win the day—and the night.”

The King opened the ceremonies by riding in the first joust. The marshal looked to left and right to each man. When he saw they were ready, he lowered the mace. Sir
Bryan Fitzhugh lowered the visor of his helmet and began to sweat. He was in a no-win situation. One did not try to shine at his monarch’s expense. Besides, to unhorse the giantlike King with his long reach would be no easy task. He knew a few underhanded tricks that he had been prepared to use against Ravenspur, but since the King had asked for him especially, he feared a test of his loyalty rather than of his jousting ability.

The drumming of the hooves was the only sound that could be heard until the two men clashed and the crowd roared with one voice the name of their champion: “Edward, Edward!”

The King, who seldom got angry, was close to that feeling at this moment. For when they had closed, the young knight had deliberately lowered his lance, which ripped the silk trappings of the King’s horse. Edward’s lance hit its intended mark with his full weight behind it, and Bryan Fitzhugh lay sprawled in the field.

Roseanna’s breath caught in her throat, and she was on her feet before she realized it. The blood had left her face; she was white and shaking. Fortunately her agitation went unnoticed, for all the other spectators were on their feet, too—cheering. She wanted to rush to Sir Bryan’s side, but she knew she could not. She had to sit on through one contest after another, for they went according to rank and the earls of the realm jousted before the barons.

By the time it was her brother’s turn to challenge Ravenspur, some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She decided she did not enjoy these silly dangerous games that men seemed to take so seriously. Yet as she saw Ravenspur close his helmet and grip his horse with his thighs, she wished she were riding against him. She
would have gloried in a chance to oppose him and perhaps defeat him. Then she realized that she would get that chance tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come. Her weapons would be different, but the challenge was almost identical.

The stallions were in their stride; the distance closed. As Roger took the measure of Jeffrey Castlemaine, he fancied that hatred glittered out at him from the slitted visor. He knew he must unhorse his foe at the first charge. Castlemaine feinted to the left to draw Montford’s shield, but Ravenspur was too old a dog to be fooled. He veered in so close and hit Jeffrey with so solid a blow that the young knight was on the ground before he knew what hit him.

Roger wheeled his great mount with deceptive ease and bent to retrieve the silver veil from his opponent. Then he rode up to the edge of the field, where Roseanna stood covered in shame for her brother. Ravenspur lifted his visor. His night-black eyes burned into hers with searing intensity. Slowly, he brought her veil to his lips, then fastened it to the tip of his lance, where it fluttered triumphantly.

My God,
she thought with alarm,
he has won the first bout!
She withdrew from the crowd. Her lips tightened when she saw Kate Kendall detach herself from the other servingwomen and follow her. There would be merrymaking in the great hall tonight, but Roseanna would have no part of it. Tomorrow she faced the greatest challenge of her life. She would stay alone in her chamber to gather her strength.

It was past midnight when the tears came, flooding her pillow. The quiet night air was shattered with her sobbing. Suddenly, she felt comforting arms about her.

“There, there, my lamb. All will be well. I’ll look after you, my little one.”

For a breathless moment she fancied her mother had come to comfort her, but as she fell upon the comforting bosom, she saw that it was Kate. Had she been wrong? Had she judged the North-country woman too harshly? Roseanna did not know the answer; she only knew that she felt safe and comforted in the haven of Kate’s compassionate arms.

    Roseanna awoke with a start. For a moment she was slightly disoriented to awaken in the strange room; then as knowledge came flooding upon her, her heart fell. She realized that it was her wedding day. She lay staring at the ceiling for long minutes; then her resolve hardened. What a poor-spirited creature she was to lie there so woebegone! Today was a challenge, and she would rise to meet it. She would show them all that it mattered not a fig to her. She would meet fate head on and spit in its eye! Her voice raised in song, and she found that it helped considerably to keep the darklings at bay.

The reception room, which was part of the suite of rooms allocated to the Castlemaines, was filled with females. Weddings had such irresistible attraction and endless fascination for women that every lady of the Court had for one reason or another found her way to the bride. The dressers, the sewing women, and the ladies of the bedchamber were there to help, but others, such as the Countess of Pembroke and the Duchess of Norfolk, were there out of curiosity. Roseanna only had a passing acquaintance with most of them, but her mother seemed to know everyone.

Into the crush came the Countess of Devonshire with a
young lady in tow. The girl, Roseanna noticed, was very, very pretty. She had hair that could be described as strawberry blond; its attractive color could be seen clearly through her transparent head veil. Her gown was yellow and heavily embroidered with gold thread. Although it was an exquisite dress, it didn’t do her justice. She appeared to be quite shy, judging by the way the countess was having to coax her along.

“Joanna, here she is at last. I’ve finally managed to locate her.”

Joanna looked puzzled for a moment, then her lovely brow cleared. She grabbed Roseanna’s arm before she disappeared into the throng.

“Roseanna, here is your new sister-in-law. I’m sorry, my dear. What’s your first name?”

“Rebecca,” said the girl. She was so soft-spoken that they only just caught what she said. Roseanna looked questioningly toward her mother, who launched into an explanation. “Ravenspur is having his brother Tristan as his groomsman, and this is his wife, who will stand up with you as witness and be your matron of honor.”

Roseanna took the girl’s hands into hers. She found them icy and clammy to the touch, as if the ordeal were hers to face rather than Roseanna’s. Suddenly, Roseanna felt a great desire to protect this pretty child who was married to that young devil, Tristan Montford. “Are you all right?” asked Roseanna.

“Y-yes. It’s just that I’ve not been very well, and—and I don’t like crowds.”

Roseanna placed a firm hand in the small of her back and propelled her through the door into the bedchamber, where Alice and Kate were laying out Roseanna’s wedding
gown. “There. It’s not so crowded in here. Sit down, and I’ll pour you some wine, Rebecca.”

“Oh, no, no,” protested Rebecca weakly. “I—I don’t drink wine.”

“Why ever not?” asked Roseanna.

“It—it’s very fattening,” said Rebecca on a whisper.

“Well, that’s certainly something you don’t have to worry about,” said Roseanna in her forthright manner.

“Oh, I do.” She blushed. “My husband is revolted by fat women,” she offered, as if this explained everything.

“Did you say you’d been ill?” asked Roseanna.

“I—I don’t enjoy good health. I thought I’d feel too poorly to attend the wedding, but of course it is expected of me. So Tristan insisted,” she finished lamely.

Roseanna stared at her in fascination. The girl was a horrible example of what she must never let herself become. Marriage to Montford had crushed her spirit. Christ, she was as timid as a mouse! She wondered what had attracted Tristan to her in the first place. Rebecca was exquisitely pretty, of course, but she seemed to be the type who would acquiesce rather than risk her husband’s displeasure.

Joanna stuck her head inside the room and said, “Roseanna, I think perhaps you’d better dress now. I have to go down to the audience chamber to see that the wedding gifts are displayed well. You’ll be very pleased with them. There are some particularly fine pieces of silver and a pair of carpets that must have been brought back from one of the crusades to the Holy Land. My advice is to take all the best stuff to Ravenspur Castle. Don’t leave any of it at the northern strongholds; I’ve heard they’re no better than barren piles of stone.”

Rebecca shuddered. “I don’t like the North. I always feel unwell here.”

Roseanna smiled at her. “Do you live at Ravenspur Castle?”

“Not in the castle itself. We have a manor house in Ravenspur Park. It’s only about two miles from the castle.”

“Good. We can ride over and visit each other.” Roseanna wondered why the girl looked so doubtful.
God, don’t tell me Tristan doesn’t allow her to have friends and visitors,
Roseanna thought contemptuously. But she didn’t know if her contempt was for Tristan or Rebecca.

Alice fluttered about holding a chemise that was so fine-spun, it looked as if it were made from fairy thread. But the dressing of the bride didn’t begin until Kate Kendall put her stodgy hand upon Roseanna’s shoulder and anchored her to the spot. Silken stockings and two pairs of garters adorned her legs; one pair could be stolen by any gentleman bold enough to dare. After the chemise, the wedding gown was lifted over her head. Alice knelt to attach the love knots to the skirt so that they could easily be pulled off for favors. If they were attached too firmly and the crowd of merrymakers became too enthusiastic, the bride ran the risk of being stripped naked.