The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (7 page)

"Did they have a tendre for each other?" Louis asked.

"For Richard, I could not say; he is not a man to reveal his heart in his gaze," Nicholas said, "but Isabel, Isabel with her melting gaze, was always about him. Her heart was plain to behold. Even Richard could not have missed the looks she sent him."

"Were his knight's skills lacking that he should take the cowl?" Louis asked.

"Nay, he would not have won his spurs had that been so," Nicholas said. "He was fit enough, though monk's robes and monk's habits suit him better."

They had trained together, boys being hardened into men, and they had fought many times. And Richard always the victor. He had failed at nothing in his knight's training; he carved well, hunted well, fought well. To himself Nicholas could admit it: Richard had fought with the speed and precision that many seasoned knights never achieved in a score of years; all came so easily to him, every skill effortlessly acquired. Even Isabel he had won, and all the boys of Malton had been enamored of Isabel. Of course, although Richard had been fit enough to win his spurs honestly, he had not the brawn of Nicholas. Nicholas flexed his arm, finding pleasure in the coil of muscle.

"Henley, it has been said, had a special fondness for him," Adam said.

"True, but he was knighted fairly. He would have made a fine knight." Even there, Richard had been the blight of all the squires and newly dubbed knights for the favor he held from Henley, lord of them all.

"And now he is to make Isabel a fine husband," said Louis.

"And a lord to us," said Nicholas.

Adam said nothing.

It was into this abrupt and heavy silence that Brother John led his mule.

"Good morrow," he said pleasantly.

The men jerked and spun to face him, guilt sliding over their faces like sudden rain. The men were not known to him, not intimately; John in times past had seen them accompany Lord Bernard around the countryside, but he had not taken their measure in full. Nicholas he knew the least, but then he wondered if all who knew Nicholas knew him but a little. His hair was dark as rain-blackened bark, and his eyes the whitened blue of high summer; he was a tall man and thick with strength, with the wide brow of the Normans and the manner to match.

Louis he knew some better, for he had come to the abbey to pray when first he arrived at Dornei and its environs. Louis was the blond of wheat tassels, with eyes of darkest green; his manner matched his form, for he was tall and broad and he faced a man squarely or not at all.

Adam, smaller than the others but of a size to make a formidable knight, was blessed with eyes of clearest gray with sweeping brows of deepest auburn that were but a shade darker than his sun-brightened hair. He was a man to make a maid swoon, if another man could guess at such a thing.

"Good morrow, Brother," said Adam, smiling brightly. "May I help you with your mount?"

"Nay, but I thank you. Daisy and I are quite used to each other. I will see to her needs, if your stable will accommodate?"

"You are welcome. Brother John," said Louis. "As you see, there are stalls aplenty."

"Your pardon, Brother, but it is time for the meal. Shall we await you or can you find your way?" asked Nicholas.

"I can follow my nose to any table, thank you," said John with a wide smile. "No need to wait upon me. Go. I shall come anon."

"We will tell Isabel... and Richard, of your arrival. They will reserve a place of honor for you," said Nicholas.

"Were you expected, Brother?" Adam asked as they stood in the stable doorway.

All three turned to wait for his response.

"Nay, I am not expected," Brother John said as he removed Dais's saddle.

When he turned again to the stable doorway, all there was to see was a cloud of black flies hovering over a pile of horse manure.

The sky was dotted with dark clouds as the trio of knights crossed the bailey; the wind was picking up. It was a chill wind, and they quickened their pace to outrace it. The stair to the entrance of the Hall was exposed and they hurried up it, Nicholas leading them. The smell of hot food drew them on; the sudden drop in temperature propelled them. The hall was already noisy with the clatter of plate and the hum of chatter; Isabel was at her place at the high table. She wore a gown of leaf green, as fresh as spring itself, and a bliaut of pale gold. Her hair was down, dark against the fairness of her skin and her garments, and shone with the gloss of youth and health. She was a maid to make a man's heart swell with pride and satisfaction.

Her allure did not extend to the Benedictine brotherhood.

Richard was not with her.

Nay, Richard was standing by the fire and talking to Dornei's priest, ignoring all about him—the noise, the aromas, the occasion. It was his wedding supper, and he had left his bride to sit alone. Yet, though Isabel sat in the place of power, of rank, and of might, it was Richard who emanated all the power felt in the Hall. He did not act as if he knew it; nay, he behaved for all the world like a monk seeking spiritual counsel from his priest. And perhaps that was all he was.

Nicholas smirked away that notion. No man could ignore the weight of power when it rested so upon him, just as no man could ignore the desirability of Isabel, sitting at the high table, waiting in feminine submission for the Lord of Dornei to sit beside her in his rightful place. But Richard did. Or seemed to.

A whispered word from the priest, a subtle gesture, and Richard obeyed, moving across the floor to join his wife. He did not appear an eager husband, to have to rely on a priest to guide him to his mate. Adam watched avidly and said nothing.

Smiling, Adam left his brother knights behind and made his bold way to Isabel. Being closer, he reached Isabel before her tardy husband.

"Lady Isabel," he said, kissing her hand, "I have not yet expressed my sorrow over the death of your father and my lord, Baron Bernard. How do you fare in your grief? Know it is shared to the fullest. Perhaps it will ease your burden to know that I carry an equal measure of grief in my own heart."

"Thank you, Adam,"
she
said, smiling up at him. "Your words are as sweet as my gratitude."

She was beguiling, smiling up at him, her eyes shining and her pale cheeks smooth as pearl. She was wasted on the Benedictine.

"You fled away early, Lady; I would have ridden with you on your journey to the abbey. There was no need to ride alone to find comfort. As to that, there was comfort enough for you within these walls," he said.
Within my arms.

"I thank you again," she said with a slight dimming of her smile. "Yet I needed the solace, and the quiet, of abbey walls. It is a true gift to have the Benedictines within call when the need is great, is it not?"

"I cannot disagree," he murmured with a gentle smile. "We are a noisome bunch when it comes to that. And did they ease you of your grief?"

"Time alone will tell that tale, Adam. I—"

"God's mercy and loving kindness are more than sufficient for each day's burdens, Adam. Isabel is in the hands of God; what misery... or harm... within His grasp?" Richard said, intruding upon them.

He stood behind Isabel, his hands upon her shoulders, his words a barrier to flirtation as firm as any shield. He was acting very much like a husband. He spoke like a monk. Adam smiled; a man could not be both, and Richard, for all his growling protection of Isabel, was a man who clearly wanted to remain a monk.

"None at all, my lord," Adam answered calmly. "My lady." He bowed briefly and found a seat at the table. Yet, he watched them.

Richard of Warefeld had been monkish as a squire, according to the whispers of Nicholas. He would hardly be less so after a year of monastery life. Richard might well want his newly acquired wife charmed away from him before things went as far as consummation. Looking at them now, Richard towering over Isabel, his dark hair a perfect match for hers, Adam felt a moment of doubt. Richard seemed to be standing so that Isabel was shielded from his gaze, a bulwark against male eyes and male thoughts. Perhaps Richard was less monkish than Nicholas had suggested. But in the end, it did not matter; Isabel was too sweet a prize to let fall without a tumble to catch her.

Adam smiled and then buried it in a long swallow of ale. Yea, tumbling was just the thing. And with a message sent to his uncle, who was an established ally of Lord Robert's... why, he could find himself the possessor of his own betrothal contract, with Isabel as his bride. If only Isabel were free and unclaimed—but he had a plan to make her so. Adam pulled deeply of his drink, hiding his thoughts in its dark depths.

Nicholas missed nothing, most especially the speculative, plotting smile on Adam's face. "Adam thinks to snare a wife from Richard's grasp," he said in an undertone to Louis. "It will not be. As monkish as he is, Richard lets nothing slip from him once he sets his eye upon it."

"Even an unwanted wife?" Louis asked, looking askance at his comrade in arms.

"You have said it," Nicholas replied. "She is his wife. He will not toss her away for another man to snatch."

Nicholas stroked the hilt of his dagger, his eyes narrowed in thought. But if Richard could be convinced to return to the life he had chosen, what thought would he give to a wife and a life left behind? None, for, being married, Isabel could not remarry. Isabel without her lands interested him not at all. So, Richard must be urged to repudiate her, leaving her as unmarried as she had been yesterday. Richard had never seemed overly fond of Isabel, and Isabel had in all ways seemed more than fond of Richard. For a monkish man, doused in the church's teachings on women, the course rose clear.

"Come, let us celebrate. It is the marriage supper of our lord and lady," Nicholas said to Louis.

Louis, his own expression thoughtful, elbowed his way to a place at the table with the rest of the fighting men.

The hall was full, the tables crowded with all who lived within Dornei's walls. Elbow to elbow were the knights Louis, Adam, and Nicholas, seated below the high table. And at the high table, Aelis and Elsbeth, two young women in training to become ladies of their own halls, as well as Brother John, honored guest; Father Langfrid, Dornei's priest; and Lady Joan, who had lately served as companion to Bernard's second wife, Ida. She now served as counselor to Isabel, though Father Langfrid could see that Isabel was not of a mind to listen to any counsel which did not give her Richard. Well, that was past now, for Richard was hers; God had seen it done, no doubt in answer to the most heartfelt prayers since Abraham had prayed for a son.

But at what cost?

Father Langfrid sighed and prodded his eel with his dagger, trying not to observe Aelis's clumsy flirtations and Edmund's stiff refusal to participate in that flirtation. He tried even harder to ignore Richard's complete disregard for his bride. It did not seem the season for love, no matter what the troubadours mouthed of spring's glories. Isabel had the man of her choice, aye, and he sat in the lord's place, in the lord's clothes; Richard even had the lord's manner and mantle of power well within his grasp. But Isabel was no part of it. She was an observer, as were they all. Richard was the center, and he occupied his position of power alone.

A strong man and not given to idle talk, yet was not his wife a worthy subject of his contemplation? Isabel fair shimmered in her joy, while Richard was as dark and sharp as a midwinter night. Were two people ever more out of joint? Isabel had what she wanted in Richard, but was her marriage as she imagined it would be? Langfrid shook off his worry; God would manage all, in time. A marriage was the slow building of commonalities, the daily sharing of a life well blended.

Richard sat beside Isabel, sharing a trencher and a cup yet sharing nothing at all. 'Twas a most strange marriage feast. And all eyes watched it, course upon course, studying Richard's disdain and Isabel's devotion. Did she know? Could she feel her husband's displeasure with his state? Langfrid, knowing her, knew that she did. But in knowing her, he also knew that she would fly above such unpleasant thoughts to dwell on her success. She had wanted Richard and now she had him. Misery would have little room in her musings.

Father Langfrid scanned the room, studying the faces of those in the hall. Edmund and Gilles, both squires, served. Edmund kept his face averted from young Aelis the best he could. She was not so easily put off; Edmund knew that from experience. Still, he tried to maintain the distance he deemed both courteous and proper. What he usually achieved was a restrained disgust. Gilles was pimply and short; no one bothered to flirt with him.

Father Langfrid had never trusted Adam of Courcelle, and less so now with his open and too bright courtesy of Lady Isabel. That man looked after his own interests too well for common comfort. Louis he was unsure of; his blunt courtesy ran along the edge of incivility, yet he seemed honest enough. Not the sort of man to deal falsely with the man he was sworn to. Yet none had taken the oath of hom
age
to Richard. Nicholas was a knight who might not swear. Nicholas had high ambitions for his earthly life, giving little thought to his eternal one. And then there were the men-at-arms and squires and household servants—all tilted on their ears to have a devoted Benedictine as their reluctant lord. But, sitting at the high table with Isabel at his side, Richard did not appear a reluctant lord, only a reluctant husband.

"A strange beginning," said Brother John at his side. Father Langfrid had always liked Brother John; he was good with both medicinals and people and knew how to keep his own counsel.

Father Langfrid nodded gently. "Pray God it is the beginning only."

"'Where two or more are gathered together...'" John quoted. "I pray it without ceasing. There is much here beyond what can be seen, but God sees all, and I am certain that He will lay all to rights. At least I pray for certainty," he added with a smile. "You know conditions here. What will Brother Richard—that is, Lord Richard—face?"

"Whether he will be Brother or lord is its own answer. Do you seek to counsel him?"