For Love And Honor (21 page)

“We cannot go back,” Piers said. “Not yet. We
are sworn to Roger now, and our first duty lies with him. Instead
of heading toward England we are obligated to go to Italy, I with
Roger and you with George.”

“
I know
it.” With a sigh, Alain put aside his own wishes. “Unlike the
nobles of England, I will not break my oath once it’s spoken. But I
will never relinquish the hope that one day we will return to
England.” Nor would he give up his dream of seeing Joanna again,
that perfect woman with her golden hair and her sapphire blue eyes
and her delicately chiseled features. The memory of
Joanna
put to shame all the Si
cilian
beauties he had met, making him refuse George’s offer of a cousin’s
daughter for a wife with the statement that he had sworn never to
wed.

However, Roger’s offer of a titled wife as
reward for Alain’s services required a fuller explanation than the
one he had given George. In a private interview, Alain told Roger
about Joanna and how she had been wed to Alain’s dear friend and
cousin. Roger, still despondent over the death of Queen Elvira,
understood Alain’s feelings.

“
My
advisers insist that I should remarry, possibly to a Byzantine
princess, in order to make a strong alliance against the Holy Roman
Emperor,” Roger said. “But I want no other woman. Forgive me,
Alain; I did not know about your lost love. It appears
that
we have something in com
mon. As
I do not want to be pressed to marry, so I will not press you. But
if you should change your mind in the future, you have only to tell
me and I will do for you what I can, for I expect you to continue
to be valuable to me and to George.”

With the
immediate issue settled, Alain made in his own mind a reluctant
peace with the necessity to remain in Sicily for the present. He
did not find it an unbearable situation. There was much for him to
learn from George, and his e
a
ger, questing mind was enthralled by the culture the Norman
rulers encouraged on the island. In his year’s stay he had already
made friends, Roger and George of Antioch foremost among them, but
there were other friends, too, including Abu Amid ibn Amid
,
the royal commissioner who had interviewed him on his first day in
Sicily
and who had become
Ambrose’s friend, too. Alain no longer thought it strange to call
an Arab his friend, and enjoyed Abu Amid’s company.

There
were, occasionally, women, but only a few of them. Dark tresses and
eyes could never entirely eclipse the remembered beauty he carried
in his innermost heart, but he was a healthy young man with a young
man’s needs. He treated his rare mistresses kindly, paid them well,
and gave them no part
of himself beyond what was necessary
for a pleasant bedding.

Piers, having brought a whole heart with him
into Sicily, was more fortunate. His long talk with George had
eased Piers’s conscience. Piers no longer cursed himself for a
calculating fool, but instead made up his mind to appreciate the
benefits of allying himself to the family of George of Antioch.
Yolande’s open and buoyant happiness gave Piers great pleasure.
Thinking the temptation would be too great for both of them, he
promised himself not to be alone with her until after they married.
He might have saved himself his concern for her virginity; she was
frantically busy and had little time to spare for romantic
dalliance.

“Theo Georgios has decided the wedding should
take place in two weeks, before Lent begins,” Yolande told him.
“There is so much to do. I must have new clothing and linens, so
there is endless sewing, and the seamstresses cannot possibly
finish all of it in time. Nor can I have our new home ready before
the wedding, but do you want to spend our first days together here,
in someone else’s house?”

“
Hush, my
dear; don’t worry.” He caught her fluttering hands and brought them
to his lips, then kissed her mouth, quickly, ever mindful of Lesia
and the other attendants who constantly hovered about her of late.
Where had her old nurse and the tiring woman and the seamstresses
been when he had found it all too easy to be alone with her? Had
their absence been Yolande’s doing, or her uncle’s? He did not
greatly care who had been res
ponsible. He did not love
Yolande,
but he liked her very
much and he was going to marry her, and that was that. Considering
how most nobles married, sight unseen, their contracts arranged by
their parents, and too often finding themselves bound to spouses
with whom they had nothing in common – considering all of that,
Piers thought he had no reason to complain about his own
arrangements. “Yolande, my sweet, don’t worry about the house. I
will see to it.”

What he did was talk to George, who, in spite
of his many duties for Roger, seemed to have endless time to deal
with any problem that might arise in Yolande’s life or the lives of
his numerous other relatives who made their homes in Palermo.
George lent to Piers some of his own servants to clean the new
home, and then announced that he was giving his niece and her
betrothed their marriage bed. It would be delivered to the house
several days before the wedding.

Assured
that the housecleaning was progressing as it should, Piers took
himself to the market, where he purchased a round table inlaid with
marble and multicolored woods and two chairs with comfortable backs
and arms, to which he added blue silk cushions. He bought an Arab
rug patterned in shades of red and blue on cream. Having sent all
of these i
tems to his new house, he next found a jeweler and
bought several gifts
for
Yolande, to add to the necklace of large pearls and the assorted
other jewels that were part of his loot from the previous summer’s
battles. Those battles seemed far away now. He had pushed them to
the distant fringes of his memory, so he could enjoy the rewards of
battle without thinking about the pain. It was a good feeling to be
Baron of Ascoli, a man of substance, to have a house of his own and
gold coins in his pockets so he could buy whatever he wanted. He
gave Yolande the pearls for her wedding gift and kept the other
pieces to present to her later.

*
* * * *

The wedding of Yolande and Piers was
celebrated at George’s house with a large crowd of guests in
attendance. Roger was still in Italy, but the presence of all the
members of his Palermitan Curia, who helped to rule Sicily, chief
among them the Emir of Emirs, George of Antioch, made up for the
king’s absence. Alain, in bright red silk tunic and hose, was
Piers’s chief witness. Piers himself wore blue silk with a heavy
gold chain about his neck and several gold rings. He had learned
during the past year to enjoy the luxury of Sicilian fashions and
had given up the coarser wools of his homeland with little
regret.

On
George’s arm Yolande entered the large, airy reception room where
the ceremony was to take place. Her hair was combed into a slightly
more elaborate version
of her usual topknot and wound
through with narrow silver ribbons. She
wore the pearl necklace Piers had given her
wrapped twice about her slender throat. Two splendid oval pearls,
George’s personal wedding gift, dangled from her ears. Her
wide-necked, long-sleeved gown was cream and silver brocade, cut so
the flaring skirt rippled and whispered when she moved.

Piers had expected to see her radiant with
happiness. Instead, Yolande’s face was pale, her eyes like those of
a terrified deer. Piers wanted to speak to her, to tell her not to
be nervous or afraid, to assure her that he would always protect
her and care for her, but the ceremony allowed him neither the time
nor the privacy for a word with her.

The marriage contract was lengthy; although
Roger had taken back the Italian lands once held by Yolande’s late
father, he had given her property in Sicily in return so she would
have a suitably large dowry. George had been managing this property
for her, but now it passed into Piers’s control. The details were
complicated and the official reading of the contract to the guests,
who served as witnesses to it, took some time. While George’s
secretary droned on and on, Piers sat in his high-backed chair,
watching Yolande out of the corner of his eye. He saw how she was
gripping the arms of her chair so hard, her knuckles had turned
white. Thinking only to allay her very natural nervousness, Piers
reached across the few inches separating their chairs to cover her
hand with his own. She gave a startled gasp, loud enough to make
the secretary look up from the parchment scroll he was reading. The
sound also made George, who was standing next to the secretary,
glance at Yolande with raised brows, and it caused Father Ambrose
to smile encouragement at the young couple.

Piers did
not think Yolande noticed any of those reactions. She was staring
at Piers’s hand on hers, watching him pry her stiff fingers off the
chair arm so he could fold them into his. Then she clutched at him
hard, holding tight, and he pressed her
hand to reassure
her. She seemed to
relax a
little after that. Her hand did not shake when she signed her name
to the marriage contract, nor did she tremble when Piers took her
arm to help her kneel for Father Ambrose’s blessing and the prayers
for the contentment and fruitfulness of their marriage. When they
were on their feet again he grasped her lightly by the shoulders
and pressed a soft kiss upon her unresisting lips. Then it was
done; they were man and wife, and the guests pushed forward to
congratulate them.

The feasting began, accompanied by a wide
variety of wines, more good wishes, laughter and loud talk,
constant music and, fortunately, only a few lewd jokes. Yolande was
frequently whisked away from Piers’s side by guests who wanted her
to talk to some group or other, and during one of those intervals
Piers found Alain.

“I want to leave quietly,” Piers said,
“without noisy guests following us to our new house and into the
bedchamber. I can see that Yolande is near to fainting from
nervousness, and I’d like to spare her the usual rowdiness. I’ve
ordered a carrying chair for her, so if we can smuggle her out of
the house, we should be safe enough.”

“Go to the entrance and find the chair and
the bearers,” Alain said. “I’ll take care of Yolande.”

Alain was as good as his word. It was not
long before he appeared around a corner of the house, leading
Yolande.

“He told Theo Georgios that he was kidnapping
me,” Yolande informed Piers. Looking at Alain, she said, “I thought
no one but Theo Georgios and I knew about that private door.”

“
You
would be amazed to learn just how much I know about what goes on in
this house,” Alain said. Not commenting on Yolande’s sudden blush,
he added, “Old Sir Piers, you are a fortunate man. May I give your
lady
her last kiss be
fore she truly becomes your wife?”

Yolande blushed even more furiously at this
hint of what was soon to come, but at Piers’s consent she offered
her cheek to Alain.

“
Ah, no,”
he said. “I have your husband’s permission for more than
t
hat.” Catching her about
the waist, he kissed her lightly on the mouth, then hugged
her, saying, “Be happy, sweet girl. And now I give you into your
husband’s good keeping. Love each other well.”

“Alain, you sound like Father Ambrose,” Piers
chided, laughing. But so quickly was Alain gone, disappearing back
around the corner of the house, his hasty exit made Piers wonder if
perhaps Alain was recalling another wedding at which he had not
been the bridegroom. Piers saw Yolande into the carrying chair and
closed the curtains. At his signal the bearers lifted the stout
bars that supported the chair and began to move forward. With Piers
beside the chair, they walked the short distance to the house
George had given them.

“I sent the servants away until the morning,”
Piers said, latching the front door securely to prevent any
mischievous guests from intruding on them. “There is furniture only
in the master’s chamber, but at least it is well supplied. Come,
I’ll show you.”

Because
Yolande now looked paler an
d more
frightened than she had during the ceremony, Piers
made no attempt to touch her. Instead, with an exaggerated gesture
of his hand, he ushered her ahead of him up the stairs and through
several empty rooms until they reached the largest chamber on the
upper floor. In this room was the bed her uncle had provided, along
with the rug, the chairs, and the inlaid table Piers had bought.
The unshuttered windows along one wall looked inland toward the
rolling hills and the distant mountains.

“I chose this room for us so we would not
have to look at the sea and feel ill,” Piers said. “From the
balcony you can see down into the garden.”

“It’s lovely.” She clasped her hands tightly
together. “I am very pleased.”

“Then why do you look terrified?” he asked,
moving toward her.

“I wanted this so badly,” she said, “to be
married to you, to be alone in our bedchamber with all our lives
ahead of us. I dreamed of the night when you would make love to me
at last. But now that it’s happening, I am afraid.”

“
There is
no need for fear.” He took her clasped hands, pulling them apart
and drawing them around his waist so she was forced to come closer
to him. “Yolande, you know what will happen, and how you will feel
when I touch you. We have done most of it alread
y.”

“Not the most important part.” She looked as
if she would cry, and Piers’s heart ached for her. He knew what she
wanted of him, but he could not say he loved her. He could not lie
to her. Taking her face between his hands, he began to kiss her,
gently at first, tenderly, trying to ease her fears and her
nervousness. When she began to relax and leaned against him with a
throaty little cry he gathered her closer, kissing her more deeply,
letting his tongue fill her mouth, refusing to release her until
she began to respond. He had known she would. She was too
warm-blooded to resist his desire for long.