For Love And Honor (2 page)

“But Lord Crispin is only twenty-one,” Joanna
whispered. “It will be many years before he is less hasty and
fierce.”

“
Perhaps,” Rohaise said, reaching for a shred of comfort,
“perhaps he will learn to love you. I do believe, if the man were
to love the wo
man, what he does to her in their bedchamber
might be
the most beautiful
thing in the world.”

* * * *
*

That
night, alone in the tiny chamber that was accorded to her as the
daughter of the lord of Banningford, Joanna lay in her narrow bed
and thought about the unknown man who would soon take possession of
her body. She had no mirror, so she could not tell if she was fair
to the eye or not, but when she ran her hands up and down the
length of her body she knew her skin was smooth and soft. He, this
stranger who would be her husband, would lay his hands on her bare
breasts –
so –
and perhaps slide his hands gently across her abdomen
–
in this way –
to the place between her thighs where golden curls grew,
before he spread her legs and –
no!

“
No!” She
turned in bed, flinging herself facedown, burying her sobs in the
straw mattress so no one passing her door would hear her. Lord
Crispin would hurt her. He would
be rough and
coarse as her father and his men were.
Night after night he would do
that
to her.

She had seldom in her life asked for anything
for herself when she prayed. Her entreaties to heaven had been
filled instead with pleas for the repose of her mother’s soul, or
for the souls of her first stepmother and that poor lady’s
stillborn babies, or for Rohaise when she was sick; for rain during
a draught or forgiveness for some trivial girlish sin. On that
night, for the first time in her fourteen years, Joanna prayed for
herself with terrified fervor.

“
Please,”
she whispered into the darkness, “let the man to whom I am to be
bound be good and honest, clean and healthy, and fine-looking. And
please
– oh, please –
let him love me with all his heart until the day he dies, so that
he will always be gentle with me and never strike or bruise me, and
not hurt me when he does
that
to me…. “

So distressed was she at the thought of her
coming marriage and so unaccustomed to thinking of what she wanted
for herself, that she neglected to specify that the man who would
love her so enduringly should be Lord Crispin. And she was far too
young and innocent to know that prayers are sometimes answered in
strange and unimaginable ways.

Many of the invited guests had already
assembled ere the bridegroom came to Banningford Castle two days
before the wedding. He brought with him only a small company.
Standing between Rohaise and her father in the narrow entry hall,
Joanna watched them come up the stairs and into the castle keep,
leaving brilliant sunshine and warmth outside.

As always, the great hall at Joanna’s back
was damp and chilly, though the air smelled relatively fresh thanks
to the thorough cleaning Rohaise had ordered and the new rushes and
sweet herbs strewn across the floor at her behest. But nothing
could alleviate the cold and darkness of a place built with arrow
slits instead of windows; not the fire roaring in the hearth or the
torches set in sconces along the walls, or even the dozen tall,
branched silver candelabra burning the finest beeswax candles.
These candelabra Rohaise had set upon the long tables, and they
cast pools of golden light that caught the jewels and shining silks
worn by men and women alike, shattering the colors of fabrics and
furs, precious stones and gold, into glittering shards of
brilliance that danced against the dark background of shadowed gray
stone walls, heavy tapestries, and faces seen in half light.

In the alternating areas of dark and light,
Rohaise’s wine-red gown glowed like a somber flame and her gold
necklace sparkled. Joanna’s midnight-blue silk dress reflected a
deeper radiance, and the simple gold bracelet on her left wrist,
her only remembrance of her dead mother, was almost unnoticeable
except when she touched it. In her present nervous state the
bracelet was like a talisman to her, its smooth surface soothing
beneath her trembling fingers.

The first
of the party from Haughston was a priest, Father Ambrose, who was
Lord Crispin’s uncle, his late father’s brother and, until a few
weeks previously, Crispin’s guardian. While Radulf and Rohaise
courteously greeted the clergyman just inside the arch of the door,
with the ever-present Baird on guard beside them, Joanna allowed
her eyes t
o stray toward the others who
had crowded in behind Father Ambrose and who now
stood waiting to speak to their host and hostess. There were a few
servants and squires in the entry hall, but these Joanna dismissed
as unimportant at the moment. She wanted to see her betrothed. It
was difficult to decide who he might be, for three young men,
distinguishable as nobles by the fineness of their dress, stood
together.

They had come to the wedding in the highest
of spirits, in radiant health, and with all the brash assurance of
new-made knighthood. Joanna had seen her father’s men stand so
confidently and walk with that same slight swagger. She was
accustomed to new knights who glanced boldly about the hall, their
eyes challenging the older men or resting on every pretty serving
maid they encountered. These three were familiar types to her, and
in beholding that familiarity she lost some of her fear.

Radulf was still talking to Father Ambrose,
guiding him toward the hall with Rohaise a step behind them and
Baird as usual following Radulf like a bulky shadow. The tallest,
largest of the three young men merely nodded to her before, at
Father Ambrose’s signal, he hastened to catch up with the older
folk. The second man, a lean, sharp-featured fellow with straight
black hair, winked at Joanna, then grinned in such a mischievous
way that she could not be offended.

It was the third man who captured Joanna’s
fascinated attention. He was remarkably good-looking, with a firm,
square jaw, a straight nose, and crisply curling dark brown hair
cut close about his ears. His level gray eyes held hers, making her
think he was weighing her value. The other people around them
passed on, moving out of the entry and into the gloom of the great
hall, but this man remained, pausing to speak to her.

While she gazed at him the motions and sounds
of the hall faded away until it seemed to her that they stood alone
together in some far-distant and secluded part of the world,
linking eyes and hearts and lives in silent communication. Surely,
oh surely, this was her betrothed, this tall and handsome youth
whose cool look softened into silver-gray warmth as they stood
regarding one another. How glad she was; she could marry him with
no qualms, for she had at once recognized in him a kindred soul.
How she knew it, she could not tell, but know it she did, and her
heart rejoiced.

“My dear lady.” His mouth curved into the
beginning of a smile, and Joanna found herself smiling back at him.
How thoughtful of him to wait until her family and his friends were
gone so their first words to each other could be spoken in relative
privacy.

“My lord.” She made him a curtsy and was
about to put her hand into his when the gesture was forestalled by
her father’s loud voice.

“
Joanna,
come here and be
presented to your
betrothed!”

With a glance at the handsome man, Joanna
obeyed, wondering at herself as she did so. Where had she learned
that flutter of her eyelashes or the swift and quickly repressed
smile that only he could have seen? She had never flirted before in
her life, but it had come so naturally. And now she knew he was
watching her. Indeed, he was close on her heels, following her
across the hall. She could feel his presence at her back. She
imagined she was leading him, and he would go wherever she desired.
It was a powerful, heady sensation. She looked up at her father
with shining eyes, wishing she dared thank him then and there for
the husband he had chosen for her.

Then Rohaise gave her a frightened look and
her father frowned at her. Brought back to reality with a sudden
gasp of understanding, Joanna knew she had made a mistake. Her
heart stopped its dancing and began to sink.

“Daughter, you forget your duty to our
guests,” Radulf said sternly.

“It is no doubt an overly exciting time for a
maiden. She ought to be excused her nervousness.” Father Ambrose
appeared to be kind, yet somehow he gave Joanna the feeling that he
understood what had just happened to her and did not approve.

But
what
had
happened
to her? Why was it so hard to breathe; why did her heart beat so
painfully? She dared not even glance at the gray-eyed young man.
She could only stare at the stone floor with one hand clasped over
the bracelet on her other wrist, praying silently with a last,
stubborn flicker of hope that refused to be quenched by the growing
despair of certainty,
please, let it be him,
while her father made the
introduction.

The hand that reached for hers, that lifted
it away from her mother’s old bracelet and held her fingers with
gentle strength, was large and bore blond hair upon its back and
wrist.

“My lady Joanna.” Her hand was borne upward
and she was forced to look at Baron Crispin of Haughston while he
pressed his lips upon her fingers and then bent to kiss her
cheek.

He was
nice enough looking to please any girl. Tall, big-boned, and
muscular, blond with blue eyes and a ruddy face, from his
expression Crispin looked to be a kindly man. Under other
circumstances she would have been delighted with him. It was just
that
for an instant she had dared
to dream, to hope….

“Here are my best friends,” said Crispin,
turning to them. Indicating the slim, black-haired man, he added,
“This is Piers, the third son of the Baron of Stokesbrough. Since
he has to make his own way in the world, Piers is about to become
one of my household knights, so you will know him well before long.
And this curly-haired lad is Alain, heir to the Baron of Woodward.
He’ll be riding north when we leave Banningford, to help his father
hold Woodward against the Scots and the wild Cumbrians.”

“So far away?” She could not help it; the
words slipped out, sounding as lost and desolate as she felt. She
saw a flash of something in Alain’s eyes, a response to the cry
that had come from her heart. She prayed her father had not
noticed.

“That’s just what I said when I learned of
it,” Crispin told her, apparently oblivious to her pain. “But then,
you and I are going even farther away.”

“How can that be?” Radulf snapped out the
question. “Your principal seat is at Haughston.”

“So it is,” Crispin responded mildly. “But I
also have lands in Normandy, which my father had not visited for
years before he died, and which now require my attention. I’ll take
you with me, Joanna, as soon as the wedding feasts are over at this
week’s end. I have also a wish to make a pilgrimage to Compostela
in Spain, and again, I’d have my wife by my side.”

“
I have
never been away from Banningford,” Joanna said, intrigued in spite
of her heartache. “I think I would like to see mor
e of the
world.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Crispin smiled at her,
a touch of warmth breaking through his bland exterior. “You will
find I am a religious man. When we return to Haughston in a few
years I plan to build a new chapel there, finer and larger than the
present one. Perhaps you would like to embroider an altarcloth for
it. I have been told that you are a skillful needlewoman.”

“
A few
years?” exclaimed Radulf, visibly upset by this news. “What of your
wife, sir? Would you have her miscarry your h
eir while you
force her
to endure rough roads
and dangerous sea voyages? A newly wed couple ought to stay at home
until the wife has produced at least two sons!”

“I do assure you, Lord Radulf, that I will
take the greatest care of the lady Joanna,” Crispin said. “I, too,
understand the importance of a healthy heir.”

“I will undertake to guarantee that your
daughter is well cared for,” added Father Ambrose, “for I am to
travel with the couple to London first, and after that at least as
far as Normandy.”

“I suppose you are on your way to Compostela
too?” grumbled Radulf rather rudely.

“No, to Sicily,” Father Ambrose informed him.
“I go in the footsteps of Adelard of Bath, that remarkable scholar
of blessed memory. If God grants me a safe journey, like Adelard,
I, too, shall study at Palermo for a few years.”

“
My
goodness,” said Rohaise, a bit too brightly and with an
apprehensive glance in her husband’s direction, “so much travel. So
interesting. Joanna, I shall want to hear all about it when you
return. Radulf, my dear, won’t the tales of Joanna’s journeys make
wonderful entertainment when we are all gathered together on a cold
winter’s evening? Sir Alain, you may visit us, also. I’m sure my
lord Radulf would enjoy hearing about your battles agai
nst
the Scots and – what was it? – the Cuthbrians?”

“The Cumbrians,” Alain corrected gently. His
eyes met Joanna’s with laughter that melted into wistful
longing.

“
I don’t
hold with travel,” Radulf said. “Except for his forty days’ service
to the king each year and the needs of warfare, a baron ought to
stay at home and guard his castle. I thought that’s what you
intended to do, Crispin. It’s not right to go off like that, not
when the Earl of Chester and his friends are growing ever more
powerful. As
for the
other Marcher lords, who knows what will happen in the next year or
so?”