The Protector (26 page)

They filled the castle, these strangers, these wives of lords and vassals. She hadn't seen most of them since her mother died, and before that they had been adult guests of little interest to a child. But now they were suddenly her friends and confidants, immersing themselves in the
wedding preparations, getting underfoot, descending on her repeatedly as they had moments ago, this time to raise her from her sleep to begin the long procedure of bathing and dressing for the ceremony.

Four weeks gone in the snap of a finger. Four weeks, first of travel and then of hard work and preparation, of cleaning and supervising and planning. One week now of strangers everywhere, first the vassals and their households and then the long processions as the neighboring lords arrived with their retinues.

She watched the last of the buckets of hot water being brought in for her bath. She had carefully ignored the reason for all of the preparation. She had avoided thinking about the upcoming wedding.

But now it was here, an imminent reality. She had been forced to face it squarely yesterday morning when Ascanio came to discuss the ceremony. In his most priestly manner he had described what she was to do. When he had finished with the vows, he had recommended an additional gesture on her part that was not required or expected.

He had advised her to kneel before her new husband.

The suggestion had raised her ire. “Did Morvan ask you to request this?”

“He doesn't even know that I speak of it.”

“It is no longer done in these parts, Ascanio.”

“Sometimes it is. Anna, there is some resentment among the people over this marriage. A saint should be pure, to their minds, and they think an English king has forced you to debasement. And while the vassals and lords like Morvan, and are inclined to accept him, they watch you closely. The ones with the distant fiefs, Baldwin and Gaultier, do so especially. They are wondering if you marry against your will. One of them may
decide that the daughter of Roald de Leon will welcome the chance to be free of this English husband soon.”

She hadn't noticed anyone looking at her at all, let alone watching her closely. But Ascanio, in his quiet way, would have seen all.

“I cannot make this decision now.”

“When the time comes, do what you will.”

Anna stood up and walked to the tub. It would kill her to do as Ascanio had asked, but she did not want it thought the marriage had been forced on her. She may not have welcomed it, but that was different. In the interests of harmony she would kneel, but she would also explain why to Morvan, so he did not misinterpret it as submission.

She glanced at Catherine and then at the women on the bed. Catherine understood and made some excuse for the ladies to accompany her down to the hall.

Lady Gervaise, Haarold's wife, disengaged herself from the group and came over to where Anna was lowering herself into the tub. She moved a stool and sat herself down.

Lady Gervaise was a thin-faced, purse-lipped woman of middle years. She had taken an unwelcomed supervisory role since she had arrived, making it obvious that she thought Catherine and Anna were too young to be trusted to do everything properly.

“You know, your mother and I were great friends,” she said.

Anna busied herself washing her hair.

“Since your poor mother isn't here, and you have no older women kin, I think it best if you and I had a little talk. It is important that you understand your duties.”

“I know my duties.”

“Do you? My husband has told me of your life here.”

“I know my duties, Gervaise.”

Gervaise paused at her tone, but only paused. Too bad. Anna had meant to silence her permanently.

“Do you understand what is expected of you tonight? You were raised in that abbey—”

“I know all about it. Do not trouble yourself. I know what to expect.” Saints, did she ever. The sick knot twisting inside her never forgot.

“That is well. However, Haarold has expressed some concern that you will know your place once you are married. It is important that you honor your husband's rights.”

“Oh, my lady, I was taught that at great length at the abbey. In fact, we had to memorize it as a lesson and recite it daily, for most of the abbey's wards would eventually leave to marry.”

“Memorize it? Of what do you speak?”

“The Holy Writ of Woman's Duties, of course. It was chiseled on the back of the Ten Commandments that God gave Moses, was it not?” She began reciting. “Thy husband is thy lord and over thee in all things. Remember to honor thy husband and be abjectly grateful for any generosity. Thy body and person belong to thy husband to do with as he will, even to beat or kill. Thou hast nothing, but all that is thine is thy husband's first….”

First Gervaise looked confused, but as she realized that Anna was making this up, she became shocked. When the list continued, her eyes turned devilish and her pursed mouth twitched.

“Thy husband need not explain anything, but thou shalt answer his questions promptly,” Gervaise interrupted with a giggle.

“Thou shalt offer thy husband no counsel, for as a woman thou art by nature a fool.”

“Thou shalt remain pure to thy husband, but he may whore about at will and thou shalt not upbraid him for it.”

They continued on, topping each other as they expanded the Holy Writ. Lady Gervaise gasped with laughter and put a bony hand on Anna's arm. “Child, I think that you will do just fine. Is there anything that you want to ask me?”

There were a lot of things she wouldn't have minded learning from an older woman, but Lady Gervaise was not the one to ask, even if they had shared this little rebellion together.

“I expect that I will learn as I go along, like most women.”

“Then I will leave you to your bath. It is known that you are overly modest and do not like others present. The abbey's influence, no doubt. Although that will have to end tonight.” She raised her eyebrows. “At least Sir Morvan is a handsome man, and seems to know what he is about with women. And you are not a child. In that you are luckier than most.”

The door closed behind her.

Grateful for the respite of privacy, Anna sank lower in the warm water.

Tonight.
She had managed not to think of that for four weeks, but a good deal of last night had been spent worrying about nothing else. She was resigned and prepared, but not convinced that Morvan was.

She had seen little of him since the betrothal. A week after they returned from England, he had made another journey to Brest, not returning until the morning that the vassals began arriving. He brought back two jongleurs to entertain, and the news that he had recruited
three knights and five men-at-arms who would soon come into service for him.

It had been a productive journey, but an unnecessary one. She suspected he had made it in order to avoid her.

He had said that he could get them through this, but last night she had concluded that he would need a little help. She had a plan in place to make things easier for both of them.

“Master Phillipe,” Anna exclaimed, taking his hands in her own. “I had not seen you in here.” She had nursed Phillipe during the plague, and had tasted with him that intimacy that she had also known with Morvan and Ascanio.

“I am honored to be here, my lady,” he said in the formal way he always spoke to her. “Your husband was kind enough to invite me.”

Phillipe politely offered his good wishes and then drifted away. The merchant still acted very awkward around her. He probably always would.

She looked to the distant wall, where Morvan spoke with Ascanio. Her new husband had a very black look on his face. Something was wrong.

Her mind turned to Phillipe again, and for the first time she paid careful attention to the people feasting at the wedding in the hall. It was very crowded, full of the normal castle folk and also the servants and retainers of their guests. Most of the town's people and the estate's workers celebrated out in the yards.

She surveyed a sea of faces and noticed other people whom she hadn't expected in the hall besides Phillipe. Her eyes moved quickly, picking out a face here and there.
The butcher's young son. The forester's wife. Even the babe, not yet two years old. They were all here, all of the people who had survived while she nursed them. She hadn't even noticed.

Morvan retook the lord's chair to her left.

“Is something amiss?” she asked.

“A simple thing. Ascanio will see to it.”

“Not so simple, Morvan, if he told you of it.”

“Some of your people are praying in the field for your saintly virtue, asking the angels to deliver you from me. Perhaps you would like to join them.”

She pushed back her chair. “Nay, but I will go speak with them.”

He grabbed her arm. “You will not.”

“One word from me and they will leave.”

“One look at the expression that your face has held this last hour and they will know that you welcome their prayers.”

“That is not true,” she lied. She had felt so gay until the sun went down, but in truth
had
offered a few prayers for deliverance since.

“Do you think that you can hide such things from me? I can feel your moods more clearly than I feel this velvet. I do not know what is in your head, but I remember well the terms that you first offered me. Yet know this, Anna. You are mine now.”

He glanced down the table and beckoned Catherine. She hurried over. “Soon,” he ordered sharply.

Anna stared at the silver plate in front of her. Along the polished edges she could see her reflection. She had removed the veil, and her curls fell on either side of a pale face. She gazed at the distant look in her eyes. He was right. She had not been playing her role well this last hour.

She tilted the plate to see better. An emerald necklace glittered back. She remembered seeing it in Morvan's bags while he was ill, and had been surprised when it arrived as his wedding gift. He had explained that it had been given to him by a woman in Caen after he helped save her family from the English army when the city fell.

She touched the stones hanging from their gold chains. One emerald would have been a sufficient gift. He might be taking all that she had, but he had given her everything of his in return.

She rested her hand on his. “They are all here, aren't they? The ones who survived like us? Master Phillipe said that you invited them to sit here with the favored guests.”

“I thought that you might want them here.”

His thoughtfulness moved her. She raised his hand and kissed it.

Hoots and shouts along the table distracted her. The ladies came to her chair. Catherine touched her arm. “Come, sister.”

Morvan released her hand. His eyes flashed into hers before the women hustled her away.

In her chamber, she stood numbly as the women twittered around her, preparing her for bed. Lady Gervaise pulled back the new coverings and sprinkled some scented oil. Two of the others began getting her out of her gown.

Finally she was naked, and they pushed her to the bed. She climbed in and they tucked the covers over her so that her breasts showed. That horrible twisting began again in her belly.

She caught Catherine's gown. “Get them out of here
now
. And go down slowly to the hall. I need some time.”

As soon as Catherine herded the ladies from the
chamber, Anna jumped out of the bed and went to her trunk. She grabbed a long woolen shift and slid it over her head. She blew out the two night candles, then untied the bed curtains. She peered inside at the total darkness that she had created.

Those lords, those strangers, would probably insist on bringing Morvan up here. They might even come into the chamber. She could not, would not, be lying here if they did.

Grabbing her robe, she scurried over to the gallery door. Let them tease Morvan about the skittish virgin if they came in and found her gone. After all, she
was
a skittish virgin.

Morvan tried to hide his impatience.

How long could it take nine women to undress one girl? They were probably sitting around telling stories of their own wedding nights. He glanced down the table at frowning Haarold and bland Fouke. God, he hoped not. He'd be lucky if Anna didn't jump into the sea.

He had been very restrained this month. Avoiding her had helped, and visiting Brest had yielded practical benefits. But the days since his return had been a slow torture of anticipation.

Even as he sat beside her at meals and joined conversations, a part of his mind relived that night at Reading. Expanded it. Completed it. His mental lovemaking had gotten much more creative than it would be this night. She was frightened enough already. About what? He didn't know for sure.

A noisy commotion from the stairs claimed his attention. He was out of his chair as soon as Catherine appeared, and a roar of laughter swept the hall. Baldwin
and Gaultier and several of the younger lords fell in behind him. Ascanio, carrying a vial, appeared at his side.

His companions amused themselves all the way up the stairs. They made innuendos about her skill at arms and recommendations on the use of his own weapon. They voiced concerns that she might be too much for one man and offered to help. He parried the jests, but in truth he wasn't really listening. His spirit was already in the chamber with her.

At the door he raised a hand. “Only the priest, to bless the bed.” A chorus of complaints greeted that, but he stood firm until they drifted away.

“She will appreciate your sparing her dignity,” Ascanio said.

“Sparing
our
dignity. Enough is enough.”

He opened the door.

She was not there. The bed curtains had been drawn, but he knew she did not lie within them.

He glimpsed an instant of profound relief flash on Ascanio's face. Well, whatever she was up to, she had spared one man a moment of hell.

He lit a rush and bent the flame to the candles flanking the bed. Then he tied back the curtains while Ascanio sprinkled the holy water and said his blessing.

Ascanio turned raised eyebrows to him. Morvan gestured to the gallery door, which stood ajar.