Mead and ale were served to those below the salt and a cask of red wine tapped for the noble folk. Beneath the harrying rod of Maud, the cook had outdone himself. The breads had been formed into special shapes and made fragrant with herbs. The earliest greens growing around the streams had been plucked and minced and added to the thick Charlette, adding the longed-for taste of vegetable to the curded beef soup. Maud’s recipe for farced fesaunt brought sighs of satisfaction as the birds, stuffed with oats and dried apples, disappeared from the chargers, and luce wafers added the dainty flavor of fish to the meal. A sweet pudding sprinkled with gilly flowers completed their repast.
When they had finished, Kimball poured water first over Lord Peter’s hands and then over William’s and Saura’s and Clare followed after, offering a towel. Glancing at William, Lord Peter received a nod and stood as if this were a prearranged signal. Pounding his fists on the table, he shouted, “Silence!” The song of replete voices calmed as neighbor shushed neighbor and the loudly drunk were quieted with a simple knock against the chin. A hundred curious pairs of eyes strained to see through the smoke, a hundred curious pairs of ears strained to hear the story that promised to be the stuff of legends.
When everyone’s attention was focused on him, Lord Peter proclaimed in a booming voice, “My son William, Lord of Miraval and Brunbrook, heir to Burke and Stenton, the greatest knight on the isle of England and the duchy of Normandy, has returned to us unharmed, thanks to the intervention of the saints and the Blessed Virgin on the side of right and honor.”
He paused for the cheer that boomed from every throat. “The tale of his going and his return is one fraught with treachery and warmed with a sign of God’s grace. He comes before us tonight to tell us the tale.”
Beside him, William rose to his full height, a height emphasized by the dais on which he stood. Lord Peter moved to the other side of Saura, and William stepped to the place before the salt. As the eager crowd transferred their attention, his father sank down and smiled at Saura, an amused, impudent smile that would have disturbed her had she seen it.
“My friends,” William began. He pitched his great voice lower than Saura expected; loud enough everyone could hear and low enough they had to strain to capture every syllable. “The tale I will tell you is not so much the story of myself, as the story of my Lady Saura and the miracle worked through her.”
Saura’s spine sprang straight up, like an arrow shot to the skies. What was William saying?
“An evildoer captured us both, submitting us to the greatest indignities and cruelties, and I found myself stimulated to a fury. In my blinded state, I fought the army of the malefactor, and lost.” He sighed in a mighty gust, and all the hall sighed with him. “A giant warrior beat me until I no longer knew my surroundings, and then took us and threw us into a dungeon.”
Saura’s lips twitched to hear Bronnie characterized as a “giant warrior.” But what was William saying?
“If not for my Lady Saura, I would have died. She shamed them with her kindness and amazed them with her beauty, and these outlaws brought her food and drink and blankets. She bandaged my wounds, mending them with her touch. She protected me from the demons of death with the flaming sword of her righteousness. And as she lay in my bed, she healed my eyes with her virtuous kiss.”
Like a great weight, Saura felt the attention of the entire room shift from William. Every eye bore into her as she sat with her mouth slightly open and a dazed amazement on her features. What was William saying? What was he insinuating? How were the folk in the great hall understanding his story?
“The night of our captivity, Lady Saura folded me in her arms and roused my passions and became my bride. Although the Church has not yet blessed our union, although I have no bloodied sheets to display as proof, I bear witness now that she was a virgin. My eyes bear witness, for all know of the curative power of a virgin bride.”
Well! That spelled it out!
“And I declare now, in front of all witnesses, I will take Lady Saura of Roget as my wife in the eyes of the Church and honor her for the rest of our days together.”
A large, firm hand gripped Saura’s as she was pulled to her feet, and the mightiest hurrah of all shook the rafters. As the sound ebbed around them, and he held her hand aloft, fingers entwined, William said in her ear, “You’ll not escape me easily, dearling.”
nine
Lord Peter stood up beside them and shouted, “A toast! A toast to Lady Saura, the wife of my son, Lord William!”
Eager hands grasped the goblets, raised them high, and drank.
“A toast!” Alden shouted. “A toast to Lord William, the greatest warrior in all England!”
Eager hands grasped the goblets, raised them high, and drank.
“A toast!” Maud shouted, and the hall quieted, for women didn’t usually propose a toast. “A toast to their churching!”
A roar of laughter greeted her toast, but eager hands grasped the goblets, raised them high, and drank.
Ale and mead sloshed freely from the pitchers to the cups, and satisfied with his ruse, William sat down. The folk of the castle and the tenants from beyond erupted in a spontaneous babble, convinced by his logic, entertained by his wit, overjoyed by the telling of such a love story and its pretty ending. If they had any doubts, they had been firmly squashed by the message from God, the message that cured their master.
Now they sat back to visit with their friends in a rare evening of leisure, to discuss the exciting events of the past few days and to plan for the eminent wedding. They failed to hear the quiet beginnings of the quarrel at the head table.
Watching Saura gather her weapons to assault his resolve, William noted with pleasure that her pale and forlorn delicacy of the afternoon had fled. Maud’s cosseting had restored her self-assurance and her color. And if she were still just a little subdued, well, so much the better. Dealing with a woman of Saura’s stamina required all the advantages he could obtain. Now he fortified himself with patience, knowing Saura would never let their tale end so conveniently.
She sipped her wine, and turned to William, sitting close against her thigh. “A pretty bit of fable, my lord. Do you not feel a weight on your soul for telling such lies?”
“Not lies, but as much truth as they wanted, or needed. My father knows the whole truth, as do you, as do I. Who else matters?”
“You must reconsider. ’Twas not my body that brought you sight, but the end of Bronnie’s stick.”
“I’m not going to marry Bronnie,” William replied acerbically. “And I am not so bold as to determine which cure God has granted.”
“Perhaps you’ve never slept with a blind woman before, and I’m just a novelty.” Saura chewed over that idea and found it unconvincing, and he destroyed its credibility.
“God’s teeth, I’ve never slept with a man before, but I have no desire to sleep with my father.”
Lord Peter blew a mouthful of ale across the table in surprise. “Damn, ’tis thankful I am to hear that.”
“Aye, but that’s incest, too,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.
William grinned. How easily she was misled.
“You’d grow tired of having to be so gentle with me,” she said.
The grin disappeared. How promptly she returned to the argument. “Gentle?”
“Aye. You treat me as if I’m some rare form of glass. You’d come to resent me, feeling obligated to treat me with endless courtesy.”
William’s annoyance faded and a genuine smile wrapped his face. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. In my experience, dearling, the early time of tenderness dissipates under the influence of the day-to-day irritations of marriage. Tenderness is simply one of the early stages of love.”
Saura mulled that over. “You mean, as you got used to me you’d grow out of the tenderness?”
“Not completely, we hope.”
“I am durable.”
“Is that supposed to convince me not to wed you?”
> “No. I didn’t mean it that way, but….” She hesitated, aware her desire to marry warred with her good sense. “I still say ’tis infatuation.”
“So you think I’m not astute enough to know whether or not I wish to marry you?”
His voice sounded light and amused to her, but an under-current of something she couldn’t define made her uneasy. Not uneasy enough to cure her of wanting to help him overcome his odd obsession, but uneasy. “I think you’re sagacious enough to do aught. I also think you’re feeling grateful to the wrong person for the return of your sight. You should be lighting candles in the chapel.”
“I already have.”
“Instead of feeling honor bound to marry me. You’re doing everything as an honorable knight should, but I tell you, I release you from your obligation.”
“You seem to be more than pleased to release me. As my wife used to say, ‘love teaches even asses to dance,’” he said even more pleasantly. “Is that what you mean?”
Her hands trembled for just one moment, and she wished he hadn’t mentioned his wife. Her surprise at the stab of emotion made her disregard the extraordinary sweetness in his tone when relating such an insolent statement. “I don’t know if I’d put it so rudely. Not that your wife was rude,” she corrected herself.
“Anne was unerringly rude,” Lord Peter interjected, the fondness in his tone belying the insult. “My daughters-in-law, for all their differences, have one thing in common.”
Startled, Saura asked, “How many daughters-in-law have you had?”
“Only two,” Lord Peter replied promptly. “Anne and you.”
“I’m not—”
Lord Peter swept on, ignoring her objection. “Both of you seem to have an unerring penchant for arguing the wrong points for the most idiotic of reasons. Brimful of intelligence and not a drop of horse sense between either one of you.”
“Saura,” said William, solemn and projecting his voice for the knights to hear. “I love you.”
With a wave of her hand, she discounted his declaration. “I certainly don’t think ’tis love, and I’m sure with a little distance between us and a little time, your infatuation will fade.”
“Do you advise me what I shall do?”
That thing in his tone strengthened, grown from a wisp of warning to a blatant token from this man who refused to take logical advice. As she had told him earlier in the day, she did everything a woman of her status was required to do, and so she proceeded with the pacification of her man. “I would never be so bold, Lord William. ’Tis simply my lowly belief I should not aspire to be the summit of your household.”
“The summit of my—”
“Your wife. Yet, in my own way, I believe I could fill a position here, at least until the time comes for you to marry again.”
The noise of chatter was fading, distracted by the scene on the dais.
“What kind of position?”
No doubt about it, irritation vibrated in his voice, but Saura had faith in her ability to soothe her savage lord. “I could tend your household and take care of your son and if the evenings stretched too long, you and I might—”
“You want to be my whore.” Saura couldn’t see his face, but the others in the great hall could. Benches scraped back, grown men picked up their eating knives and migrated in a slow exodus toward the back of the room.
No one left. No one could resist the drama foretold by William’s reddening cheeks and clenched fists, and they observed avidly the struggle between the master they adored and the woman he would wed.
“That’s not the word I would use,” Saura began, hurt by the word, but still seeking to soothe.
“’Tis the word everyone else will use,” he interrupted brutally.
For the first time she labeled that thing in his voice as anger. Belated caution made her suggest, “My lord, perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow.”
“A paramour usually has more experience, more talents than you have.”
The hurt washed away with a rush of humiliation. “You thought me talented enough this morning.”
“Tenderness, of course, has no part in an arrangement between a lord and his harlot. When a lord wants to be served, his meretrix strips down and services him.”
Saura felt him start to rise from the table, and the intensity of his fury colored every word with fire. For the first time since she had known William, the fear of him touched her mind. It wasn’t the kind of fear her stepfather instilled in her; this was the kind of fear that dampened her palms and made her breath catch and urged her to push back her bench and prepare to flee. She stood slowly, grasping the table for support and hoping she’d misread his tone, but his next blast dispelled her expectation and fed her alarm.
“When a man—a man who is bigger and stronger and obviously smarter than his little, weak, damned stupid woman—demands attention for his body, that woman had better bow her head meekly and say, ‘Aye, my lord.’” His feet stomped as he spoke, his voice amplified as he towered over her.
Determined not to be intimidated, Saura straightened her spine, lifted her chin. “I’m not stupid.”
“I hadn’t thought so previously, but events have proved me wrong.” He stripped the veil from her head and tossed it aside, grasped her braid and tilted her head back. “Say it. Say ‘Aye, my lord, I’ll service you as you demand.’”
The foundation of her determination weakened, undermined by the sheer bulk of him above her and around her. “I won’t service you,” she faltered. “Not without respect and a mutual regard.”
“Respect?” He roared it so loud the rafters trembled and a few of the more cowardly villeins scooted out the doors.
Saura wanted to clasp her hands over her ears, but he held them to her sides with one massive arm around her waist.
“Respect for a harlot? If you want respect, you’ll never prosper as my meretrix. My dear, resign yourself. ’Tis marriage for you. But let me reassure you about that tenderness. No need to worry I’ll treat you like glass tonight. Tonight I find all my tenderness dissolved in a brew of boiling frustration!” His mouth found hers without the subtlety or care he’d shown before.
A brew of frustration, indeed, as he ground his lips against hers. “Open,” he ordered, and when she tried to shake her head, his grip on her braid tightened and he caught her lower lip between his teeth. His nip was quick and almost painless, but the threat of his anger overcame her reluctance. She parted her lips, but only a bit. What had been a tiny concession became, beneath his plundering tongue, a full-fledged surrender. With his mouth he imitated the surge of love, opening her and arousing her for all to see. When her hands were curled into his waist, when her face blushed with the flush that bore no relationship to embarrassment, when her body sought his with the unreasoning urge to mate, then he released her to announce, “You, my Lady Saura, are the woman who’s going to purge me of my frustration. Right. Now.”
He tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a bundle of reeds, and a cheer from the men washed over her as she hung face down across his back. She found relief by seeking the bare flesh beneath his shirt with her nails. His immediate retaliation brought a mortifying sting to that part of her that sat highest on his shoulder, and again the men cheered. It wasn’t his hard hand that convinced her to pull her nails away, but the tremor of rage that developed in the body beneath her. Caution blossomed and grew as he swung around and bounded toward the door of the solar.
Maud spoke in front of them, and William skidded to a halt.
“Ye can’t do this, my lord,” the maid scolded, standing with solid tenacity before the door. “The Lady Saura is a sweet and gentle woman, and I’m responsible for her reputation. Ye cannot take her to your bed.”
“Woman!” William spoke through his teeth, and the tremor in his body grew in intensity. “Get out of my way.”
“Damn, Maud, have you lost all your senses?” Lord Peter shouted. He raced from the table to the older woman. “Get out of the way!”
“I won’t!” Maud said, and Saura heard a scuffle before them, heard Maud exclaim, “You dare!” and the shouts of the crowd as it surged forward to obtain a view.
William strode forward, slamming the door behind him with a backward kick of his foot.
“Maud?” she insisted as he strode forward.
His hand grasped her thigh under her skirt as he rolled her onto the bed. “My father,” William said clearly, “treats his women as they deserve to be treated. As I do.”
“You dunce! As if women deserved more obstacles than are already furnished them by simpleminded men!” She sat up on her elbows and he pushed down with one hand on her breastbone.
The hand on her thigh flexed in warning, and her quick inhalation told him of the tingle that burst deep into her body. “You don’t know when to shut up, but I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you a lot of things tonight.”
William eased off the bed and stared at the disgracefully satisfied woman asleep on the bed. Asleep! He laughed. A weak word for the total exhaustion that blotted out that too-active brain. He had allayed at least one of her fears tonight, he knew, even as he allayed his own indignation. There were no obstacles to their marriage, except those she erected in her mind. And those, he knew from personal experience with the Lady Saura, were as sturdy as the cliffs that lined the coast of England.
One person could help him tonight, and so with quiet care he slipped into his clothes and opened the door. The fire burned in the center of the great hall, and most of the servants lay in the rushes on the floor, wrapped in their blankets or with their lovers. Stepping over the bodies, William sought the few hardy souls still gathered around one table to drink to the health of their lord. “Here’s the bridegroom,” they hailed.
He grinned at their mellow intoxication. “Where’s Maud?”
“Maud?” One of the women gave an amused, lopsided smile, numb with ale. “Last we saw of Maud, she still lay on your father’s shoulder.”
Candle in the Window: Castles #1 Page 16
