The Uncrowned Queen (64 page)

Margaret turned back to her letter; she had never felt so confident, so certain. She patted his hand lovingly as she wrote. “It is certainly ten weeks or more.” She pulled one of his hands down to her belly. “This time, this time I have a good feeling.”

She leaned back against her husband's chest, dreaming. “And if we have a son, we could call him Ed—” She flicked a glance at her husband. “No. I think he should bear his father's name. Charles. In time, he will be the second king of Burgundy, now that Louis has no allies to speak of.”

Charles smiled and bent to kiss his wife. “Never underestimate a Valois, wife. Never underestimate the king of France. We have no kingdom yet.”

Margaret turned her glowing face to his. “Ah, but we will, husband. And I carry the heir. I'm certain of it. The heir to the kingdom of Burgundy.”

Charles prayed that she was right—about the child and about his kingdom. But they'd both been wrong before.

“I think you're ready now.”

Margaret Cuttifer stood back beside Deborah and the two women looked critically at Anne. Soft light bloomed through the thick glass of the casement and found highlights in her shining, unbound hair.

Though she was very pale—all brides were pale on their wedding day—her eyes were bright and her skin was radiant. The green dress was a novel choice, of course, as were the soft red shoes, but Anne had made the gown herself and would listen to no argument about the color. And today she was wearing the Cuttifers' wedding gift, a massive rope of matched pearls and emeralds. Jewels fit for a princess.

Anne caught her breath under their critical gaze and smiled. “Yes. I'm ready. I really am.” She said it confidently. She meant it. It was a brilliantly fine day as late autumn shaded into winter, and now the moment was close, the moment when Anne de Bohun would marry Leif Molnar. Soon they would say their vows in the porch of the newly refurbished church dedicated to the Mother of God, the blessed Lady Mary, empress of Heaven.

The people of the entire village would be there and some of the gentry from the surrounding properties, however, it would be a small celebration as these things went, for it was widely perceived in the district that Anne, an heiress honored by the king with even more substantial grants of land on her marriage, was throwing herself
away on a man much beneath her in station. The bride knew better.

“Anne, are you ready yet? We can't leave the poor man standing there, not in front of the whole village.” Sir Mathew Cuttifer knocked at the door of Anne's room, and all three women giggled.

“Yes, Sir Mathew. I'm dressed. Come in.”

“I'm sorry to hurry you, Anne, but really I'm worried we'll be…” The great merchant looked at the bride and a new expression crept over his face. Awe.

Wordlessly, he held out his arm to Anne and, before she placed her hand in his, she turned to the two women who were her closest friends. She tried to speak, but Margaret hurried forward, breaking the moment.

“The veil. We nearly forgot the veil! Deborah, help me.”

Between them, the simple square of finest silk gauze edged with tiny pearls was dropped over Anne's head and an unadorned circlet of gold was gently pressed down to hold it in place. The material was so delicate, so fine, it flowed around her shoulders and down her back like a cloud. “There. On your way, Mathew.”

Outside, in the inner ward of Herrard Great Hall, the stakes of the harvest wain had been twined with ivy and holly—the red berries standing out like rubies among the mass of darker green. A velvet-covered bench was placed ready for the bride and the man who would shortly give her away in place of her dead father, as was a fur rug, in case the day should turn cold. And standing proudly by the horses' heads, one on each side, were Wat and Ralph in new livery of Anne's own colors: red and forest green.

For Anne, the journey to the village passed in a swift and nervous dream. They traveled past a blur of faces, with the din of happy shouts and barking as all the village dogs tried to welcome them at once. And there, standing in the porch of the church, was the man she would marry; Leif was waiting for her, as nervous and pale as she was. Mathew, who was not insensitive, sensed Anne's state and before he lifted his ward, the beautiful Lady Anne de Bohun, down from the wain, he patted her hand and whispered, “Courage, my child. Courage!” Anne took a deep breath and, as the great merchant proudly led her to her groom through the people of
her village, she found she was smiling. It was all right. It was going to be all right.

And when Mathew placed Anne's hand in Leif's much greater hand, and they both turned to face the priest who would join them together as man and wife, she twined her fingers through his and made herself think only of him. She would see only her husband's face today; she owed him that much.

But later, as Anne stood in the church, hearing the words of the nuptial mass, she looked down at her red shoes, her green dress, and she remembered, just for a moment. Once, long ago and far away, she had worn another green dress, and a rope of emeralds and pearls as well, and another man had looked at her as longingly, as lovingly as Leif now did, standing beside her at the altar.

She smiled at the tall man by her side, her new husband. For him she had sewn this wedding dress with her own hands, and with each stitch she had set in the leaf-green velvet she had consciously created a link to the future and severed one more thread from the past. Yes, the color was unconventional but it was her choice, for green was the color of new love. She smiled tenderly as she linked her fingers once more into those of her new husband and looked up into his proud face. Love was a tender plant, but it would grow between them well, for they would both treat it with care and tend it faithfully. This was her promise to him, and his to her.

The wedding feast of Anne de Bohun and Leif Molnar went long into the night, but finally it came time to put the bride to bed—the villagers would not be cheated of the high point of the evening.

Leif, however, was dizzy with panic and unwatered wine. He knew he looked the part of the bridegroom, for he was dressed as finely as a man could be for his wedding feast in a long black gown of best English broadcloth with sweeping sleeves of figured gold damask, a wedding gift from the Cuttifers, topped by a padded hat the size of a wheel, fashioned from red velvet. But now the time had come to more than act the part of husband, and all his confidence fled.

Mathew smiled. Somehow it had come to him to coach both the bride and groom through the complexity of this ordeal. Sitting
in the place of honor to Leif's right at the high table, he made it his business to inject some propriety into the increasingly rowdy proceedings and rose to his feet.

“Dear friends all, yes, it is time.”

Much hooting and pandemonium rolled around the hall from the delighted, tipsy guests.

“No, my friends. A little quiet is called for, if you please.”

The groom earnestly studied each one of his fingers in turn, and Anne, eyes modestly lowered, tried hard to smile calmly, though her head rang with the noise.

“It seems our bride and groom are bashful, as is proper…” Laughter rippled around the hall as Leif Molnar blushed. “So we must help them to their task! A toast!”

This was the signal they'd been waiting for. All the guests scrambled to their feet, beakers in hand, yelling, “A toast! Yes, a toast!”

“To Master Leif Molnar and his bride, the Lady Anne. Long life, and many children!”

“Master Molnar, Lady Anne! Long life, many children!”

“Why not start tonight!” Ralph of Dunster surprised them all, bellowing from the back of the hall, but his voice certainly carried and soon the chant became unstoppable. “Start tonight, start tonight, start
tonight!
”

Leif's hand stole across the stretched white linen of the festive board and found Anne's. Her eyes were closed and for a moment her hand lay slack in his. But then her fingers twined with his own and he felt their strength.

“Yes, it is time, my husband.” Anne took Leif's face between both of her hands and kissed him sweetly, to the raucous delight of the crowd. Leif closed his eyes to savor the moment and only Deborah saw tears like jewels spike Anne's lashes.

Hand in hand, the bride and groom ascended to the upstairs room, the room with three doors, but when they turned at the top of the stairs it was the bride who spoke first, on her new husband's prompting, and this change in custom was remembered long, long after their wedding day.

“My dear husband and I, and my nephew, Edward…” She
waved to the little boy who was standing on one of the tables so he could see, with Deborah trying to hold on to him, and her words were lost in the cheering. “We thank you all for this wonderful day. This is our home and, as long as we live, you are welcome inside our doors.” She felt Leif's arm encircle her waist and all the tension, the anxiety, drained away; for a moment she leaned against his body, resting there, gathering strength.

He tightened his grip discreetly and, though Leif rarely spoke in public, tonight he found an uncommonly loud voice. “But now, if you've eaten and drunk your fill, my wife and I would be just as happy to be left in peace!”

Good-natured laughter swept the Hall like a warm wind. “No, no, no!”

“Yes, yes,
yes
!” The groom cut through the din, his voice suddenly self-assured. He turned to Anne. “Are you ready, wife?”

She found the words as she smiled at him, her eyes bright with more than tears. “Truly ready, husband.”

“Very well, then. From this day, no more sorrow for you or for me.” Bending down, he swept her up as if she weighed no more than a lamb or a small calf, and kicked open the door to the bed chamber, calling out over his shoulder, “And now, good night!”

And that closed door began their life together. They had earned their peace.

On the night of Anne and Leif's marriage feast, something remarkable happened in the skies over Herrard Great Hall. Meggan saw them first as she and Will wandered back toward the village, well fed and content, with the rest of the people from Wincanton the Less. A pair of sea eagles was riding the warm air as it rose from the chimneys crowning the Hall.

“Since when do eagles fly at night?”

They all stopped and looked upward as the birds crossed and recrossed the radiant face of the Advent moon.

Will shook his head. “Never seen that before, dame.” He crossed himself. “What do you think it means?”

Meggan turned back and looked at the Hall. High up, one light still shone out into the night. Then it blinked out.

Above them, the eagles called to each other and a moment later they were gone, heading toward the coast and the empty, silver sea. “Good times. And happiness. That's what it means.”

They trudged away into the night, singing.

And Anne, lying awake beside her now sleeping husband, heard them as they went. She turned to look at Leif's face in the moonlight slanting through the casements; moonlight had always been lucky for her.

And then Leif moved and the light touched his face in an odd way. For that moment he was a stranger, a man she'd never seen before;
but then he turned again and reached out, searching for something in his sleep. For someone.

Her.

The fingers of Leif Molnar's great hand found those of his wife, Anne de Bohun, and he sighed contentedly.

Anne curled up against the body of the giant in her bed. His warmth comforted her. As he did. Yes. They would be happy. She would see to that.

This time, it would be a good winter.

Having lived with Anne de Bohun and Edward Plantagenet in my head for quite a few years, I would dearly like to thank all the kind friends who have helped me so much as I've written their story in
The Innocent, The Exiled
, and now, the last book in the trilogy,
The Uncrowned Queen
.