Honoring his Lady: A Medieval Romance (Norfolk Knights Book 5)

by Saskia Knight

  Suddenly a shout of laughter made them both turn around. With everyone focussed on their own work, Celestria’s flirting had ended up with her sitting on a mummer’s lap.

  “Celestria!” growled William. “Come here!”

  She jumped up and gave her gown a twirl for the benefit of the mummers. “What is it, brother?”

  “Behave yourself!”

  “I’m only having fun. If you’d let me go to court with Savari, I wouldn’t be so bored.”

  “Savari says it’s no place for a girl like you. Or any girl, come to that.”

  “Any girl who wants to have fun!”

  Celestria flounced away to play with the dogs, her every move designed to appeal to the mummers’ eyes—especially one.

  “I don’t like the way that mummer is looking at Celestria,” said William narrowing his gaze.

  Alice followed his glance. “I fear it is the way most men look at her. She is beautiful and lively and I think her desire for men is strong.” She looked at William, hoping that she hadn’t gone too far. But it was something of which she was particularly aware because it was something she felt to be entirely lacking in herself.

  “I fear you’re right. We need to get her married as soon as possible otherwise there will be trouble.”

  Alice couldn’t help thinking there would be trouble whatever happened but didn’t want to worry William any more than he already was. She shrugged. “She wants to live life. She’s too big for this world, here at Wanham.”

  William turned his penetrating gaze to Alice. “Is that what you think, too?”

  She shook her head and picked up a piece of holly, trimming it to fit over the doorways. She handed it to a servant to hang. “No, of course not. If anything, Wanham is too big for me. I’d be better somewhere quieter.”

  He grunted. “You’re wrong, you know.”

  She blinked, surprised. William rarely contradicted her. She wasn’t sure she liked it. “I don’t believe so.”

  He grunted again, but this time didn’t do anything except give her a sideways glance.

  She plucked another piece of greenery, with an exaggerated flick of the wrist. “And what does that mean?”

  “What?”

  “That look. That grunt.”

  “Just that you always think you’re right, and you’re not. Sometimes, other people are right.”

  “Like you, I suppose.”

  “Yes, like me. And you should give their views—my views—due consideration. To do otherwise”—he hesitated but plowed on—“shows arrogance.”

  Alice dropped the bough with which she’d been fiddling. “I’m arrogant now, am I?”

  “Aye, you are.” And with that, he strode away.

  Alice didn’t know what surprised her more—his accusation of arrogance, or his abrupt departure. She was accustomed to William’s devotion, even if she believed it to be unwarranted. They’d had a quarrel; they never quarrelled.

  She was about to follow him, to say what, she had no idea when Katherine caught her attention. Her face was flushed with the heat from the kitchen, but it wasn’t that which was so arresting. Alice had never seen Katherine look so agitated.

  “What is it, Katherine? What’s happened?”

  Katherine pulled a face. “Problems with our goods at Yarmouth. I’ve been trying to track down the captain of the boat, but I can’t find him. He only ever seems to appear when I don’t want him and not be there when I do!”

  “That sounds strange.” And, indeed, Alice did think that Katherine’s reaction was quite unlike her normal sensible one. She seemed oddly rattled by this mysterious sea captain, who always appeared to be so provoking to her.

  “Strange isn’t the word for it.”

  Alice wondered what word it should be, but decided not to ask. Katherine appeared to be unusually preoccupied.

  “They’re looking good,” said Lora as she swept into the Hall on a wave of cold air.

  Alice followed her gaze as she looked around the Hall, which had been transformed—every inch filled with greenery brought in from all around the estates. Evergreen branches—not only holly, but laurel and yew—decorated the walls, the windows and were draped around and on the tables. And above them, the ceiling was festooned with an outrageous display of greenery.

  Lora laughed. “No need for me to be outside with this lot! It’s like being in a green cave!” She pointed to the bright red ribbons which secured small branches grouped into twelves. “I see you managed to get Celestria to yield her ribbons for the decorations.”

  “Aye. It took some doing,” said Alice. Truth was, she’d grown closer to Celestria over the past weeks than she’d imagined. Celestria was so headstrong she took no notice of Alice’s withdrawn temperament, nor the barriers Alice tried to place between her and everyone else. Celestria simply bowled right on through them. It made things easier in some ways. And it made Alice wish that she could be like that with the others, especially William.

  Lora breathed in deeply. “Um, it smells good too. I’m starving.”

  “You’ll have to wait until our guests arrive,” said Katherine, whose agitation had increased, if anything.

  It turned out that they didn’t have to wait long. Soon the Hall was full, not only with their friends and neighbors, but the poor folk who lived thereabouts. They were all brought forth on that chill winter evening with the promise of good food and wine and company—exactly as their forefathers had done on the eve of Christ’s birth for centuries before them.

  A shout of “Wassail!” silenced the guests as they found their seats. Then Sir Harry, as Surveyor for the evening, turned to William, as the most honored guest and asked if the feast could begin.

  “No!” said William. “Not until First Foot cross the Christmas threshold!”

  Suddenly from the rear of the Hall, the mummer with the darkest hair appeared, dressed from head to toe in green. He was carrying an evergreen bough and wore small bells on bands around his ankles. Half-dancing, half-skipping, he moved toward the high table and, with a flourish, jumped over the green line of cloth laid near the high table which marked the Christmas threshold. Miraculously he found himself close to Celestria who burst into peels of laughter. William shot the mummer a black look.

  Once Christmas had been ‘let in’, and Christmas joy invited inside, the candles and yule log were lit and, to cheers of “Wassail! Wassail!” everyone fell to the feast of frumenty, roast meats, fish and fowl, and sweet morsels of gingerbread figures, plum puddings, and mince pies. It was all washed down with copious amounts of wine—sweet pear, elderberry, and the finest from Gascony.

  This must be what having a family is like, thought Alice as she watched Savari talking with William, and the girls dance along with everyone else. The thump of feet as they landed on the wooden floor in time to the drum, mingled with the pipes and shouts and laughter. The Hall was warm from the fires, full of the scent of pine and beeswax.

  “Are you sure you don’t wish to dance?” asked William, as Savari took to the floor with Lora.

  She shook her head. “No. But you must.”

  “If you don’t wish to, then neither do I.”

  There was something comforting about that, despite her protestations.

  “Who is that man Celestria is trying to flirt with?” asked William.

  Alice followed William’s gaze. “Oh, that’s that sea captain who Katherine is having so much trouble with.”

  “He looks pretty much at home here. What’s he doing here, anyway?”

  “Katherine seems as surprised as anyone that he turned up.”

  “I wonder what he wants?”

  “Not Celestria by the looks of things,” said Alice, noting how Celestria’s advances were going unmet. Instead, the captain’s dark gaze swept across the room and settled on Katherine, who continued to dance. Alice suddenly realized what kept Katherine dancing. She was avoiding this man.

  Celestria sat beside them with a flounce. “That man is horrible.
Why, do you know he was rude to me? He told me to go and amuse myself elsewhere with young boys. He dismissed me as if I were nothing but a nuisance child!”

  Alice tried not to smile.

  William glanced in the sea captain’s direction. “That man has gone up in my estimation.”

  Celestria grunted with annoyance and broke off a piece of marchpane and sat back and munched on it.

  “There are plenty of others with whom you can dance,” said Alice.

  “I don’t want to dance with anyone else.”

  “There must be someone,” said Alice, looking around. When she looked back at Celestria, her eyes had narrowed, and she knew that she’d found something else to entertain her.

  “Yes, there is.” Celestria swallowed the marchpane and jumped up. “I’ll dance if you will.” She took hold of Alice’s hand and tried to pull her to the floor.

  “No! I don’t dance. I don’t wish to dance.”

  “Yes, you do. I know you want to, for I saw your foot tapping in time to the drum.”

  Indeed, Alice had loved to dance as a young girl before everything changed. But she never allowed herself to relax in company since that time. She shook her head.

  Celestria gave a playful pout. “If you don’t dance, I’ll sit and sulk and make everyone’s life a misery. You know I will; you know I can do it.”

  Alice sighed; she certainly did know. Celestria ignored the chill exterior Alice showed to the world—she didn’t seem aware of it. And, so, when Celestria tugged at her hand again, she surrendered to the music and Celestria’s will, and suddenly found herself in the midst of a mass of people, all jumping and moving to the music.

  Her body soon remembered the long-forgotten rhythms and steps of the dances, and she twirled and jumped with the best of them. As the second dance drew to a close, she was swung around and found herself in William’s arms.

  Then the music stopped, and Alice was aware of nothing except William’s arms, which stayed around her, and his head dipped to hers, smiling. Then suddenly he looked up, and Alice was aware of Celestria shouting something at them and pointing overhead. Alice looked up to find that she and William were standing beneath the kissing bush of mistletoe, decorated with ribbons, small oranges and apples, nuts and tiny sculptures molded from stiff cloth.

  William lowered his head to hers. “We must kiss, Alice, it is tradition.”

  Alice nodded anxiously. She knew it was and had avoided it all evening. It was only the dancing which had made her unaware of her position in the Hall—immediately beneath the kissing bush.

  Her breathing quickened as William dipped his head to hers, his eyes closing as he drew nearer. For a moment, she stiffened in his arms, but then she felt the gentling touch of his hand behind her head, and his lips brush hers. She gasped as the touch lit something inside of her and the spark spluttered into life and flickered, a reminder of what life should be like, before he pulled away and the light went out, leaving her colder than before, knowing the heat she’d been missing, heat with which she wanted to fill herself again.

  She was surprised to find her arms were already placed higher on his back than before the kiss, and she resisted his backward move. Instead, she lifted her face to his, and he smiled, a very male smile, and lowered his mouth to hers once more. And this time, she greeted his lips with her own. And there was no tentative brushing, but a growing fierceness which instantly ignited that flame once more except this time it didn’t fade, but grew in strength, consuming the cold and dark, and sending tingles of desire along her skin and deeper, shooting inside of her, stirring her like echoes of long ago.

  All her nerves were forgotten—everything was swept away under the intensity of his mouth upon hers. She felt him groan against her lips as she opened her mouth against his, wanting more. Then suddenly, she was aware of a change around her. It slowly filtered through her senses, and as William pulled away, she realized what it was. There was silence. She twisted around to find everyone was looking at them—some with open-mouthed astonishment, others with big grins. It was Celestria who broke the spell.

  ‘Come, musicians!’ she called out. ‘Why have you stopped playing? Have you never seen a couple in love before?’

  Everyone laughed, and the dancing began. But Alice was horrified. She felt humiliated and let down, not by anyone else, but by herself. She looked back at William, who appeared indifferent to his sister’s words or the attention of the others. He was looking at her with a frown. He shook his head and held firmly onto her hand.

  “Alice! Ignore Celestria. Ignore them all. It was only a kiss.”

  “Only a kiss?” she whispered. She doubted he would have heard over the din of the music and whoops and shouts of the dancers as they spun around them. “Only a kiss?” she repeated, more loudly. She felt naked, exposed to the world, and he thought it was only a kiss?

  “To them, it was only a kiss. But for me?” He shook his head.

  Rather than making her feel better, it made her feel worse—trapped by the intensity he conveyed through his hand. She shook her head and pulled her hand away as if it were being burned.

  “I can’t…” She looked around for an escape. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this, William.” She hurried outside to the cold courtyard, lit by bright braziers. Rain had begun to fall, and she welcomed its dousing effect on her heated skin. She sucked in a deep chill breath, wanting to snuff out the fire which had been lit inside her by the kiss. But she feared it wasn’t working, for her heart still quickened, and her lips tingled, reminding her of the kiss which had begun something she had no intention of finishing.

  The sound of a door closing behind her made her turn around. William walked over to her. But he didn’t keep his distance as he had before. Instead, he gripped her hands and talked to her fiercely.

  “You cannot deny it, Alice—what passed between us in there. You cannot.”

  “And I do not. But I also cannot deny another truth.”

  His frown darkened. “And what is that?”

  “That despite what…” She hesitated as she tried to frame words to describe what happened in the Hall. But she could not. “What happened in there, there can be nothing more.”

  “But we will marry,” William said firmly. “I would not dream of anything other than marriage to you.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes at how honorable he was, and how it made no difference.

  “Listen to me, William. I cannot marry you. I cannot live with you. I cannot give you the life you want.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am not the person you think I am.”

  He hadn’t expected that answer. He opened his mouth to speak but shook his head instead. William was always so sure of everything: his land, his family, and, he obviously believed, her. She’d turned his world upside down. And, while she regretted it deeply, he had to understand that marriage wasn’t something she could inflict upon him. He thought he knew her, but he knew little of what had happened in the intervening years when communication between their families had ceased. And she wanted it kept that way. William believed the best in people. She didn’t want to be the one to open his eyes to the worst in people.

  She backed away. “It has to be this way,” she said more gently, her heart breaking. “I will not marry you, William.”

  “Until you tell me why, I will not believe you. We were meant to be together, Alice. You cannot deny that.”

  And she couldn’t.

  “I take your silence as agreement. Then what stands between us?”

  Everything, she wanted to scream. Instead, she drew in a level breath. “I cannot give you what you want.”

  “All I want is you, and a family.”

  “And that, dear William, is what I cannot give you.”

  He looked stunned. “What do you mean?’

  “I’m not the woman you think me to be.”

  “For the sake of the blessed virgin, would you please tell me what you are speaking of!”

&
nbsp; She bit her lip and fixed her eyes on him, willing the courage to flow. “I am not like other women. The thought of lying with a man, even you, fills me with dread. I am not meant for marriage.”

  Chapter 8

  William tried to stem the panic, to focus on the words which she’d wielded to such devastating effect. “What are you saying, Alice? I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  He wasn’t aware of his hands tightening around her arms, only noticed it when she tried to pull away from him. He dropped his hands and stepped away as if he’d been forced, not by mere words, but by an iron fist, such was her sudden chill expression. He shook his head.

  “Don’t you do this, Alice,” he said with a quiet rumble. But her cool look didn’t leave her. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t you do this to me, or yourself, Alice!” His voice was louder now, but it still appeared to make no impact on her frozen features. He backed away. He could no more lay hands upon her than clutch at the sky. He clenched his fists instead, trying to contain the growing sense of frustration and panic which filled him as he sensed Alice moving away from him. “Alice!”

  She gave a small, controlled shake of the head.

  She’d gone inward, turned into that cool being that others saw. Now, for the first time, he saw that woman—a stranger. His Alice, the real woman behind that beautiful exterior, was hidden from him. She’d done that. Retreated behind the curtain, which she used to keep open for him. It hurt him more than a knife to his body.

  “I don’t understand,” he repeated.

  “I’ve said the words, William. You must understand them.” She calmly drew in a breath, quite unlike his own labored breathing. “I cannot have children.”

  “But why should you believe such a thing? How can you know such a thing?”

  “Because…” She trailed off, and that chill exterior disappeared in an instant, and tears sprung to her eyes. She gave a cry like a caged animal and ran off across the courtyard and out through the gatehouse.

  He glanced briefly at the open Hall from which music, heat and singing and stamping emerged. It seemed a different world, a lifetime since he and Alice had danced as carefree as any of the other partners in the Hall, and yet in a few moments everything had changed. He headed out the gatehouse to find her.