The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (34 page)

Henley was as white as winter wind. "Nay, you dare not," he whispered, eyeing all those who thronged within Malton's walls to hear Dornei gossip.

Bertrada's pale complexion was bled of all color, her beauty a mask drained of all save horror. She made to leave. Richard called her back.

"Stay, Bertrada, and hear my confession. Let all within Malton's walls, where first I did fall into sin, hear."

"You will ruin me," she whispered, her hand extended in her plea.

Richard smiled, looking for all the world like a monk offering comfort to a lost sinner. "Bertrada, we are already ruined. This will make us clean."

"Slander my wife and I will slay you," said Henley hoarsely, sounding more like himself.

"You will slay me for telling the truth, yet you let me live after joining my body to your wife's?" Richard intoned. "What man chooses such a path?"

"He knew," Isabel said, her eyes on Henley, her heart on Richard. "He always knew."

Richard turned to look at Bertrada, leaning against her woman, her curves turned upon themselves as if she wished to sink into the mud that stained her hem.

He remembered, daily, how Bertrada had sought his company, how she had touched him innocently, how she had made him smile and eased his loneliness. How the innocence and comfort had been a shield to hide her longings. Aye, he had learned of women and their ways while at Malton. Only Isabel did not play at women's games. Only Isabel was bold with both her intent and her words. Isabel hid nothing—not her desire, not her heart.

His look for Bertrada was all of pity. Pity and naught else. For Henley he had only cold disdain.

Henley had known? Of course he had known. What man turned aside when his wife sought the company of another?

"You used your wife, used her as the stick to drive me. And the gain?" He smiled grimly. "A man under a weight of guilt such as mine would hardly say nay to the lord he had sinned against. But such is not the path to redemption laid out by my Lord. Public confession is required; public confession shall be given."

The population of Malton stamped and jostled in their curiosity and impatience. The Lord and Lady of Dornei presenting themselves to the Lord and Lady of Malton was a spectacle irresistible to any. Children sat on shoulders, women elbowed their way to the front, and the curtain walk was three deep in armed men; all waited, all were hushed to hear more than the mumbled emotion of the quartet in the center of them.

Richard, his body lean and hard, knelt in the mud at the feet of the Lord and Lady of Malton. His face was calm and composed, like a man at prayer. What he did was as holy as prayer, this Isabel understood. Richard sought release from his burden of sin and guilt, and though it would likely ruin him, she would not hinder him in his holy duty. Nay, she would stand with him.

Erect and proud she stood, her hair a flag of victory, her chin high and her eyes clear. She stood at his side, his mate in all things, even this most public of humiliations. Humiliation was a small word when held against the presence and the power of Richard.

Richard's voice was loud and strong, carrying to all parts of Malton, compelling each ear to hear his confession of sin.

"I have defiled the marriage bed of Henley and Bertrada," he boomed. "I have committed the cardinal sin of lust. I have betrayed my lord. I ask forgiveness."

He knelt, mud-covered and head up, seeking Henley's decision, his soul at rest.

All was quiet. The wind started again, sweeping across the sky, pushing dark clouds before it until they cascaded across the late afternoon sky. It threatened rain. The sky was heavy with water, ready to burst open and wash them all. An errant breeze, cold and clean, shot into the bailey, blowing Richard's dark hair. Isabel could see his flesh rise in bumps at the contact, but he did not move. He waited, trusting in God, though it was Henley who stood with a sword at his side and archers at his command. Richard had laid his life in God's hands; he would not snatch it out for fear of Henley. Not again.

The crowd was titillated; she could feel it and hear it in the excited whispers all around her. Henley's silence grew until the weight of it pressed against her, crushing her lungs and flattening the beat of her heart. Richard could wait silently and at rest for Henley's decision; Isabel could not.

"Can you not forgive the man who stumbled," she hissed between her teeth, "when you are the man who set the trap?" Henley's eyes widened, and Bertrada gasped. So, Bertrada had not known. But Henley had known. "How much forgiveness will you need to seek from Richard, if God is capable of softening your hardened heart? You used your wife as harlot, Henley. How much forgiveness for that?"

"Enough," he spat. "You were ever a bothersome chit."

"Speak well of Isabel or speak not at all. Do what you will to me, but she will not be harmed by even a wayward glance from you," Richard said coldly.

How was it that a man, kneeling and naked, could carry such a weight of lethal threat behind his words?

"Please, let it be done," Bertrada implored her husband, her eyes black holes of pain and humiliation.

"Very well," Henley grunted out, the veins in his forehead throbbing. "It is done. You are forgiven."

Richard leaned forward and clasped Henley's hand, kissing it. "Thank you," he said.

Isabel took her first full breath of the afternoon. It was over. But it was only beginning. Isabel had not perceived how far Richard's duty would take him.

"Bertrada," Richard said, standing, his near naked body holding all eyes, "seek your lord's forgiveness, as is right. Confess and be healed."

Bertrada looked little disposed to ask forgiveness of the man who had smiled and looked the other way while she sported with another man, but Richard was determined that she walk the path of cleansing he had just trod. It was the only way. It was all that could save her. Otherwise, Henley, his pride publicly shorn, would kill her, and none would fault him. Bertrada must confess and obtain forgiveness. Bertrada must be saved or he would be responsible for her death.

"Enough," Henley growled, his heavy face red with anger and impatience. "You have what you sought of me, and it is more than you deserve."

"Forgiveness is always more than we deserve, yet who has not sinned? Who among us has no need of it? Come, Bertrada. You know 'twas not well done. Lay down your weight of guilt and be free," Richard said, his eyes kind, compelling her to act.

She had little enough defense to stand against him. She had pursued Richard, innocent though they both had been of where such flirtations ended, to meet the lack in her own marriage bed. She had not conceived, and Henley was not a man to keep a wife not fruitful. She had to bear a child, and if not by Henley, then by someone else, someone who would never speak of his betrayal. Richard, strict in duty, beautiful in body, alone in spirit, had seemed perfect. Their hurried couplings still shone in her memory like starlight, dark and bright. Exposed now to daylight, her decision seemed tawdry. There had been no honor in their gropings, only desperation.

She dropped to her knees, her face hidden in her hands. "'Tis true. I have been sick at heart for what I allowed to happen. Forgive me, Henley, please forgive me. I would only honor you, with my life, or with my death if you cannot forgive. I await," she said, raising her dark eyes to his. "My heart is at rest."

It was a moving sight, her beauty and her piety blending seamlessly with her womanly submission. It was a balm to the eye, and those who watched sighed in satisfaction and nodded mute approval.

Henley looked like a man trapped. He had known—aye, he had manipulated to have the two of them spend much time together, knowing where it had to lead. Bertrada was a beauty, but he was not a man to be stirred by a woman's beauty, and after breaching her on their marriage night, he had not found his way to her bed again. She had hungered for a man until her eyes had settled on Richard, for it was Richard whom he had placed under her eye. Again and again, he had set them together, speaking words of praise concerning the boy to Bertrada, teaching Richard that he was a man soaked in sinful lusts and ill equipped to quench them. He had done his work well. If all had gone as he wished, Bertrada would have conceived a child and Richard would have drowned in guilt, ready to grant Henley any service to expiate his crime. But Richard had run, Bertrada had not conceived, and he now faced the public exposure of his secret acts.

Bertrada waited, her piety and submission obvious to all. To kill her now would leave him none the richer in pride or regard. "Up, Bertrada. You are forgiven," he ordered roughly.

Instead of obeying him, she sobbed into her hands, kneeling before him. He offered his hand to help her to her feet, eager to end this display. Bertrada rose, leaning into him, her sobs shaking her. And still Richard stayed, waiting.

"Begone," Henley barked, motioning with his hand toward the gate. "There is nothing more for you here."

"Is there not?" Richard said calmly. "Only you can know, Henley, if there is any sin you must confess to me or to your wife. If your soul is without stain, then I will go."

Richard stood unmoving, waiting, his expression expectant. Henley looked a man in torment.

"It was not I who fouled my vows," Henley said in an undertone.

"Nay?" Richard responded. "To love, honor, and protect, lifting your wife as holy and blameless to the Lord of Hosts?"

"Words spoken at the marriage ceremony," Henley said. "Am I expected to remember and keep every vow I have ever sworn?"

"Yea," Richard said, "you are."

"Did you plan all this when you stripped and walked through my gates?"

"I only wanted forgiveness. For all who have sinned."

"You are more monk than man," Henley grumbled.

"It does not take a monk to see sin before his eyes, or in his heart."

"Must we all kneel in the mud today?" Henley snarled, his anger obvious.

Richard stepped close to him, the visual force of his nakedness a blow against Henley's guilt, and said in a hoarse whisper, "I know what you did."

Henley looked up abruptly, and Richard's eyes pierced through the layers of deceit with which Henley had covered himself.

"You set us together. Again and again, time upon time. A woman of beauty who hungered for a man's touch and a youth just coming into the full force of his manhood; you taught me well that my lusts could not be contained, that I was ruled by passion and sin and could never hope to quench their fire. I believed every word you spoke," Richard growled softly, his eyes smoldering. "You needed a child, an heir, Henley, and I was the vessel which was to provide one for you. And knowing how I had sinned against you, knowing the guilt which would ride me all my life, you hoped I would grant you any service to expiate my crime. But Bertrada did not conceive," Richard hissed sharply. "And I will not hide this sin any longer. Will you stand before God and declare that you do not need forgiveness?"

Henley was trapped. There was naught he could do. If he did not ask for forgiveness, would Richard then speak aloud his guilt? Such he would not risk. Richard could see all his dark thoughts in the frantic shifting of his eyes; Henley, his motives and his methods, were as clear to him as rainwater. Even now, he plotted. Bertrada could be plumped with child another way.

Henley dropped to his knees at Bertrada's feet, his movements stiff and quick.

"Do not kneel to me, my lord, 'tis not—"

"Hush, woman," he barked. "Can I do less than others have done?"

All waited, shocked that Henley had been driven to this. Yet did not eternity weigh more heavily on a man than this temporal life? Not a one of them would have chosen differently.

"Forgive me, Lady, for taking such a course. 'Twas ill done," he said.

For answer, Bertrada knelt with him, throwing her arms around his neck.

'Twas done.

Richard smiled and silently thanked God for His mercy. And then thanked Him for holding Isabel's tongue during this display. He had felt her urgency and her fear, her anger and her distrust, yet her lips had remained sealed. 'Twas nigh on a miracle. Turning, he walked with Isabel toward the open gate, and Dornei.

She understood more than what had been said in their public confession and mutual forgiveness. Richard knew that Henley had done more than turn his head away from the adultery of his wife; he had actively pursued the alliance, forcing his squire and his wife to spend much time together. Also, he had convinced Richard to owning the cardinal sin of lust; a young man of such serious and godly bent would have taken such instruction to heart. Such had Henley not confessed. And she also understood what Henley had hoped to gain. An heir, no doubt, for Bertrada had never borne one. But she would say none of it. It was left behind, with Henley and with all memory of Malton, to be forgotten. Let God deal with Henley in His own way and time. Richard had done his part.

"What has he done? I comprehend it not," Edmund said to those who waited with him near the gate.

"'Therefore, confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.'" William quoted. "'The effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much... My brethren, if any among you strays from the truth, and one turns him back, let him know that he who turns a sinner from the error of his way will save his soul from death, and will cover a multitude of sins.' The Book of James, chapter five."

"You know as much holy writ as a monk," Edmund said, looking wide-eyed at William.

"Yea," he said woodenly. "I do."

He did not seem pleased with his skill, Richard noted. Richard and Isabel were at the gate, and now he would see where his confession had taken him.

William and Rowland faced him squarely, their expressions solemn. He could not read them and prayed anew that God would not desert him in this first of many steps back into the world of honorable men.

"You have heard the depth of my sin," he said, facing them.

"Because we have heard your confession," William said, his silver eyes glinting like polished steel.