Knights (6 page)

Gloriana fought back the sudden tears burning behind her eyes and aching in her throat. If she wept before this man now, she would never forgive herself. “You might have given me a chance to please you,” she said, “before you brought her here to take my place.”

“You do not understand—”

“I’m afraid I do,” Gloriana went on. “Now, I should like to retire to my chambers and rest. This has been a most trying day.”

“Yes,” Kenbrook agreed, after a long and rather thunderous silence, thrusting a hand through his hair. “Yes, you’re right, it has. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

Gloriana bit her lower lip and nodded. There were things she wanted to say to her husband, questions she wanted to ask, but this was not the time. She must rest, bring her emotions under control, sort through the shards of her hopes and try to reassemble them into something new.

“In Elaina’s solar, after mass,” he elaborated, and she thought she heard a note of sorrow in his voice. Laughter echoed from the great hall, and the sound was harsh and somehow foreign.

Hadleigh Castle had been Gloriana’s home since she was twelve years old, and she’d been happy there. She had never doubted, until her husband returned to claim her, that she belonged within those ancient, sturdy walls. Now she wondered if there was any place for her in all the world and looked forward to the morrow, not with anticipation, but with disquiet.

Gloriana’s handmaiden, Judith, had already come and gone when she reached her bedchamber. A tallow had been lit, though it was not completely dark outside, this being a summer’s night, and the covers were turned back on the bed. A basin of fresh water waited on a crude washstand beneath an ornate crucifix that had been Edwenna’s most treasured possession.

Gloriana longed now for her foster mother’s counsel and consolation, as she had many other times since the fever had taken that good woman, as well as her husband, to realms unknown. Friar Cradoc believed that Edwenna and Cyrus were together in heaven, for they had both been devout and paradise was the eventual destination of all who kept the commandments of the Church—after a short visit to purgatory, perhaps,
where penance could be served and the last stains of sin might be eradicated.

Gently, Gloriana touched the pierced feet of the small wooden Christ. She hated to think of sweet Edwenna or of Cyrus, for that matter, spending so much as a moment in purgatory, a terrible place almost as frightening as hell itself. Gloriana had not known her foster father well, for he had been away so much, but Edwenna had been unfailingly kind and devoted herself to the avoidance of sin. Surely even a jealous and wrathful God would not wish to punish such a woman.

Bowing her head, Gloriana murmured a quick but heartfelt prayer for the souls of Edwenna and Cyrus, then splashed her face at the basin and pulled her woolen gown off over her head. After folding the garment carefully and placing it in the proper chest, she blew out the candle and climbed into bed in her chemise. There, beneath the covers, as she had been assiduously taught, Gloriana wriggled out of her undergarment. It seemed cumbersome to go to so much trouble to be decent when one was all alone in a room anyway, but she performed the ritual nonetheless, because modesty required it.

Lying in the gathering darkness, Gloriana finally allowed herself to weep. She had looked forward to this night for so long, expecting to be held by her husband, and cherished, and finally deflowered. She had even dared to hope she and Kenbrook might conceive a child right away. Instead, she was alone, while Dane’s true love slumbered beneath the same roof, and there was naught to look forward to but an ominous interview in Lady Hadleigh’s solar after morning mass.

Although she thought she would lie sleepless until the morning came, Gloriana drifted off within moments
and found herself in the grip of a dream that had not visited her in a long time.

Purgatory, perhaps she was in purgatory, for this was a loud, busy place where everything moved too fast and people wore strange garments and spoke in a tongue Gloriana could not understand, even though it was familiar to her. In the dream, she was not Gloriana St. Gregory, a woman grown, but a child called Megan.

She carried a beautiful doll in her arms and wandered, lost and alone, through the ruins of an old abbey, searching for someone who did not particularly want to be found. She watched as a gate took shape in a crumbling wall, almost remembering.

Strange words came from her lips, and she knew what they meant only by the desolation in her heart.
They don’t want me
.

She awakened suddenly, thrusting herself up and out of the dream, gasping for breath, her slender but sturdy body damp with perspiration.

Gloriana lay trembling in her bed, remembering at last. Once, she had chattered incessantly about the Other Place, and even written about it, believing it to be real. The Lady Elaina and eventually Edwenna, as well, had cautioned her not to share the tales with anyone else. Over time, Gloriana had put away her writings and gradually faced the fact that she’d only imagined the adventure. Often, years passed without her thinking, even once, of that land she’d created in her mind, but then an image or a word would pop into her mind or she’d dream about it, as she had this night.

She snuggled down in her thick feather mattress and closed her eyes, determined to sleep, but her bladder wanted emptying. Resigned, she reached for her chemise
and, with a dutiful sigh, pulled it on over her head before slipping out from under the covers. Gloriana did not know which she hated more, the chamber pot beneath her bed or the noxious privies at the end of the passage, which emptied into a special conduit beneath the castle.

A memory came to her, if something that had never happened could be called by such a name, of a clean and glistening device made for personal convenience, and she yearned for that luxury. In the meanwhile, she contented herself with the chamber pot and, after washing her hands in the basin, climbed back into bed and went through the whole rite of removing her chemise all over again.

After much tossing and turning, Gloriana finally slept, and this time her rest was untroubled. At cock’s crow she rose and dressed hastily in the chilly dawn. Her gown was simple brown wool, and she donned a cloak as well, for warmth and for the hood that would hide her hair. This was done out of deference to God, and not her husband, for it would be blasphemous to appear in church without a proper covering.

The mysterious Mariette must have been ill for, unlike everyone else in the vast household, she did not appear at mass that morning. Dane arrived soon after Gloriana did, flanked by both Edward and Gareth, and slipped into the pew beside his wife. She noted, in a sidelong look, that there was a grim set to his jaw and a certain pallor to his skin. If Kenbrook had slept at all the night before, he had not rested well.

Gloriana shifted uneasily on the pew, for plainly his lordship was not looking forward to the forthcoming conference in Elaina’s solar any more than she was.

M
embers of the household smiled and nodded as Gloriana and Dane left the church together after morning mass. Whatever rumors might be circulating, the occupants of Hadleigh Castle were obviously pleased to see husband and wife walking side by side. No doubt they failed to notice, as Gloriana could not
help
doing, that Dane’s hand was pressed to the small of her back, propelling her along.

He inclined his head to those who called a greeting to him but did not speak, being intent on his business—whatever that was. They mounted an outside staircase, at the top of which was a door opening onto Elaina’s deserted solar.

Like most of the great keep, the chamber had been swept and aired and laid with herbs and fresh rushes in preparation for tomorrow’s ceremonies of knighthood. Gloriana thought fleetingly that here this was odd, since by Gareth’s own order the room was practically sacrosanct—a dusty shrine to his lost-thoughliving wife.

Something like pain moved in Dane’s face as he surveyed the place, but the interlude was as brief as
the brush of a butterfly’s wing. In less than a moment, it was over and he had set Gloriana before him, his hard, swordsman’s hands resting gently on her upper arms. He started to speak and then fell silent again, plainly exasperated by his own reluctance.

“You want to speak to me about the woman,” Gloriana said. There were tremors in her heart, but somehow she managed to keep her outer countenance still. Or so she hoped.

Dane allowed his hands to slide slowly down Gloriana’s arms. Again it struck her that, while he was a strong man, capable of great violence if the tales his soldiers were telling were true, he cradled her elbows in his palms with care. He sighed.

“How easy this all seemed when I was yet far from this place,” he said.

Gloriana, aware that he neither wanted nor expected comment, offered none. She waited, gazing up at him with what her body had hidden showing vividly in her eyes. She was oddly injured by his tenderness, full of strange, fearful and bittersweet feelings, which meant, of course, that giving him up would be all the more difficult.

He led her to a bench carved with unicorns, maidens, birds, and flowers, and sat her down beside him. He held her hand, unthinkingly interweaving his fingers with hers. “I have brought Mariette from France,” Dane said, at long last, “with the thought of marrying her.”

Gloriana swallowed hard. She was not given to guile nor mummery, and the reverberations of her shattering heart had finally reached the surface. “But you are my husband,” she whispered, stricken.

Dane averted his gaze, then forced himself, visibly, to look at her again. “Gloriana,” he said softly,
hoarsely, “surely you can see that ours was never a marriage of love, but a contract.”

She blinked. It was a new notion, this idea of marrying for love. When there was tender sentiment before the wedding, it was only a happy accident—no, love grew moment by moment, day by day, as a couple came to know and appreciate each other. She, Gloriana, had never been given a
chance
to have that, and fury filled her at the injustice of it.

“My father,” she said coolly, smoothing the skirts of her kirtle, “believed you to be a man of integrity who would honor his agreements.”

Dane flinched a little, to show he had felt the barb, and then smiled. “Do you want a husband, lovely Gloriana, who desires another?”

Gloriana pulled her fingers from his and stood, causing the mantle to fall from her hair. She did not trouble herself to replace it. “No,” she said fiercely, in a whisper that seemed to echo through the vast solar. “No, I do not.” She had turned her back on him, in a desperate effort to hide some of her turmoil, and she felt him standing close behind her.

To his credit, he did not venture to touch her. “It won’t be so bad,” Dane reassured her quietly. “There are fine convents all over England, where a woman of your gifts might pass her days pleasantly—”

Gloriana spun on him. “Convents?” she repeated, disbelieving. “You think to put me into a nunnery as if I were mad, like Elaina, or an adulteress?”

Dane stood his ground, his arms folded. He was, after all, a fighting man, Gloriana reminded herself, more content in conflict than in peace. The faintest hint of temper flashed in his glacial eyes. “You make it sound as though I would cast you into gaol. Convents
are not such terrible places. Mariette herself was raised and educated in one—”

“Then let
her
go and spend her days weaving and praying and stitching—I, sir, shall not!”

“You are my responsibility, if not my true wife, and you will be properly looked after, whether you wish it so or not!”

An angry laugh escaped Gloriana, and she waved both arms in wild exclamation. “Your
responsibility
, am I? Well, I’m something more than that, as it happens—I am a flesh-and-blood woman, with a heart that beats and lungs that draw air, and I shall not be trundled off to the convent for the convenience of your conscience. I have gold, I have houses of my own, here and in London Town. I require no ’help’ from you!”

Dane closed his eyes for a moment, and Gloriana knew he was struggling to control himself. Care for him though she did, that being her private and eternal curse, she wished just then that the top of his head would blow off. “You will not live alone,” he decreed, when he spoke at long last, his voice low and even and somehow dangerous.

“I wouldn’t be alone,” Gloriana replied, with stubborn reasoning. “I should have my servants to attend me.”

“That is not the same,” Dane said carefully. “A woman cannot be left unprotected, unsupervised—”

Gloriana muttered a word she might have learned in that other life, the one she dreamed about so rarely, the one Edwenna had warned her not to speak of except in her prayers. “Widows,” she pointed out, “live in just such a situation, all over England, perhaps all over the world.”

“You are not a widow.”

“Pray, do not compound my tribulations by reminding me, good sir,” Gloriana replied sweetly, with a little curtsy, “I shall instead bear the name of harlot, a woman spurned for no other reason than the fecklessness of her husband and shuttled off to a convent the way a lazy servant might use his toe to nudge a dead mouse under the rushes of the great-room floor.”

Even in that dim light, Gloriana saw Dane go pale and then vividly red. “You would be named harlot,” he said, breathing the words in the way dragons breathed fire, “only if you persisted upon this foolish and fanciful course you would set for yourself. Fortunately, you will be spared this mistake, and taken in hand!”

For Gloriana, the interview was over. Leaving her mantle in a pool at Dane’s feet, she moved, hem and slippers rustling, over the fresh rushes toward the outside door. In its latticed light, she turned to look back at her husband. “You are without honor,” she said, in dulcet tones, “and have no honest claim to knighthood. You may go straight to hell, for all I care, and roast there on a spit.”

With those rash words, which probably endangered her own soul, Gloriana left Elaina’s solar and fled gracefully down the outer stairway.