The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (38 page)

"Be still, boy," Richard said, coming fully into the small chamber. "You did your service and well. There is no censure." When Edmund looked to argue anew. Richard said, "They must have thought you vital, a most important link to their success, or you would not have been felled so quickly. Think on that, Edmund. They feared your involvement."

Edmund's mouth hung agape for the time it took for the words to find a warm and sheltered place within his youthful heart. And then he lifted his chin and surveyed the room, his eyes proud and confident.

'Twas not lost on the women of his confinement. Aelis glowed her favor and her appreciation of a squire so bold. And Elsbeth—why, Elsbeth looked to Richard with all the devotion of a daughter. She smiled her thanks, her smile a gentle and awkward play of emotion on her face, but smile she did. Richard returned her smile... and winked.

Isabel missed none of it.

"My lord, are you satisfied?" she asked. "Edmund is well, or will be well if he could but rest. Alone."

"My lady, I will escort Elsbeth from the chamber," Ulrich volunteered.

"I know my way," Elsbeth argued, avoiding Ulrich's touch upon her arm.

"'Tis dark. You might lose your footing. I will attend," Ulrich said. "Do not deny me the pleasure of your escort, Elsbeth, for, to speak a truth, I will not be denied. I will follow, though you fly from me to heaven itself. I will attend. My heart can do naught else."

Elsbeth's sigh was deep and her answer heard though she and Ulrich were well within the confines of the stair tower. "I only go to find a bench on which to lay my head. I am not for heaven, in flight or otherwise."

"Then my heart can rest, for to lose an earthly life as sweet, as precious as your own to so untimely a departure for heaven..." Ulrich's voice trailed off softly as they descended the stair tower.

Isabel was not uncertain that she heard still more exasperated sighs from Elsbeth.

"I fear he will talk her to her death," Richard murmured for her ears alone.

Isabel smothered the laugh that rose up and turned once more to Edmund. "You are content? Your needs and comforts met?" She touched his face; he had no fever.

"I will see to his needs throughout the night. Lady Isabel," Aelis offered, her blue eyes bright with eager intention.

"Very well," Isabel answered, her hesitation only barely masked. "You will come if he has need?"

"Aye, lady," she said demurely.

It did not sit well; Aelis was not demure.

"It is well with you, Edmund? You are content with Aelis as your attendant throughout the night?" Isabel asked.

Edmund managed a look that was both disinterested and confident. "Yea, my lady. She can attend. I am content."

With a slight frown, Isabel let Richard lead her from the chamber into the stair tower.

"He seems very well content," Richard whispered. "How bad is his wound?"

Isabel caught his meaning and smiled, "Bad enough that two upon that bed would cause him pain."

"Intense pain?" Richard asked, his expression playful.

"How intense would pain need be to keep a man from tumbling?" Isabel said softly, her own grin wide.

"Cutting off his leg might do it," Richard answered. "Might. He is young."

They left the stair tower as they spoke, their own chamber before them.

"I thought we were to hear stories of battle and valor before the fire of our hall. Are not William and Rowland awaiting our arrival?" she asked as he led her in and closed the door behind her.

"I would lay a wager that they are not," Richard said with a shrug.

Isabel smiled and shook her head in mock disapproval. "The ways of men are strange to me. You play at words and meanings when to state your intention clear—"

"And who was it who yearned for a seductive game of chess with every beating of her heart?" he interrupted, holding her to him, toying with the laces at her back.

"'Twas you who taught me to play. I only wanted to test my skill."

The knot was undone and her bliaut loosened.

"You play badly," he said, his mouth at her temple.

"I want practice," she said, turning to his mouth.

"You cheat."

"I like to win," she said, kissing his throat, her arms around his back. He was so strong; he held the world away and sheltered her within.

"You have won," he said, releasing her from the bonds of her bliaut.

"Have I?" she whispered, marking him with her mouth. "And what of Elsbeth? Did you think I did not see the smile you gifted her?"

"'Twas all in innocence," he protested without alarm. She knew him.

She knew him as he had not known himself. He was all honor, and all his passion was for her. Upon this rock of knowing she rested, her heart at ease.

"Does she know that? You are a man to make a woman dream," Isabel said, ribbing her hips against his arousal.

"Only one woman dreams of Richard," he said, lifting the skirt of her undergown. "And for Richard, there is only one."

He kissed her hard, his mouth hot against hers, his hands urgent and demanding. She met his desire with equal force and equal urgency; ever they had been matched in this.

She pulled back from him, her eyes lit with the knowledge of her own worth and her own attraction, her words teasing. "And does Elsbeth know this? Have you said—"

"All the world knows the truth of this. For Richard there is only Isabel," he growled, grinning, tossing her upon the bed, her skirts above her hips. "Need I prove it?"

Isabel smiled and played with a curl of her hair. He was her world, a dream realized, a prayer answered, a gift divine. With a smile, she issued her challenge. "Do you think you can?"

Author’s Note: Richard and Isabel are the ancestors of Lydia, the heroine of Tell Me Lies, a novel that takes place in Colonial America. Lydia is captured and ravished by a mysterious pirate (Dan) and her subsequent struggle with carnal desires coupled with her ability to act quickly and make the decisions necessary for survival are a legacy of both Richard and Isabel; in the end, Lydia gets what she wants, on her terms. She gets Dan. I think Isabel would be proud of her.

Excerpt from

The Holding

Book One

Medieval Knight Series

by

Claudia Dain

© 2001, 2011 by Claudia Welch

Chapter 1

England, Winter 1155

William le Brouillard, Greneforde's new lord, would not be pleased with his prize. That was Kendall's first thought upon beholding his overlord's lands. Kendall reined in and cast his eyes around him, letting his breath out slowly. Nineteen years of war had taken its toll on William's hard-won holding.

Fields that should have been cleared and turned were broken wastelands of scorched earth dotted with struggling seedlings of oak and hemlock. The forest was encroaching steadily on the cleared land; forest that had once been beaten back to the fringes and held there diligently by sweat-soaked effort was relentlessly advancing on what should have been Greneforde's prime food source. There would be no corn this winter. A wet gust of wind blew against his face, and his stomach rumbled in protest at the assault; it would be a hungry season.

Leading his squire on, Kendall was struck by the absence of huts. Where were the villeins? Was that why the land lay fallow? Was there no one left to work the land? His stomach rumbled again, this time in trepidation. He did not want to be the messenger who brought William the news that his holding was a name on the Domesday Book and nothing more.

As if to mock him, Greneforde appeared suddenly out of the gray gloom looking reassuringly solid. The battlements were sound and the roof intact; there was even rising smoke from within the enclosure. The curtain wall, although of wood, looked sturdy, and one tower had been constructed of stone. Kendall's stomach ceased its complaining: Greneforde Tower was sound, but what was a sound great tower with no food to sustain the inhabitants?

Just then a woman appeared on the battlements, a woman where there should have been only battle-ready men. Silently they studied each other. At this distance, he could not make out her features, and there was something in her manner that warned against riding any closer to the curtain. He could see that her hair was fair and that she held herself erect; her mantle went beyond ordinary to be indescribably plain. They watched each other as warily as prospective opponents, and he found himself unnerved by her silent regard. It was almost ghostly the way the tower had appeared out of the fog and she with it. His squire mumbled uncomfortably behind him, stirring him to action.

"I am from King Henry II of England, overlord of Aquitaine, Normandy, Maine, Anjou, Touraine, Poitou, Guienne, and Gascony." Hearing no response, Kendall continued: "In light of Cathryn of Greneforde's orphaned state, the king has pledged her in marriage to William le Brouillard, who even now approaches to fulfill the king's command."

After a pause that could be counted in heartbeats, the woman on the wall nodded sharply, making no other response to his royal proclamation.

Kendall squirmed in his saddle, adjusting his sword, liking the reassuring weight of it in this desolate place of thrashing branches against a leaden sky and a woman who stood far too silently in the face of such news.

"Do you understand?" he asked awkwardly.

Again he saw her nod.

Kendall could sense more than hear his squire backing his horse away from him away from the woman on the wall, away from Greneforde. Being a knight of some renown, he could not allow himself the same indulgence, else his renown would be for his cowardice rather than his skill at arms.

The clouds that had covered the sun in a thick mat thinned suddenly, and multiple shafts of warm light pierced the air around the tower. Kendall caught his breath. What the gloom had hidden, the light revealed. The soil beneath him, broken though it was, was rich earth, earth that would welcome any seed. The great tower was constructed of yellow sandstone with arched wind holes and buttresses at the angles. And the woman... Her hair was of palest gold, warm and rich, hanging to a length beyond his view.