Drake spooned out a large portion of crust, gravy, and meat for Elizaveta, placing it carefully on her big, pewter plate. Whereas most families ate on trenchers, big slabs of stale bread, the de Winters had pulled out their good pewter plateware for this occasion. This entire event was meant to show East Anglia just how well the de Winters lived and that meant everyone ate on pewter plates.
“I did not know that,” he said. “Why was she born there?”
Elizaveta was more focused on her food than on her reply which, in hindsight, was perhaps not the wisest thing to do. She should have been more cautious in divulging such information but her hunger won over as she collected a big hunk of bread.
“She is from Clan Maxwell,” she replied as she slopped her bread into the gravy and took a big bite. “My grandmother married into the clan long ago and lived there until my grandfather died, whereupon she returned to her home in France. My mother is half-Scots and half-French.”
Maxwell. The Clan Maxwell held Caerlaverock Castle, the one he’d been injured at and the castle that he’d eventually helped seize. He was suddenly very glad he had not told her where he’d been injured, especially since her mother was sitting on the other side of her and more than likely listening to the entire conversation. Until he could come to know Elizaveta a bit better to see just how strongly she felt about her Scottish kin, Drake would steer clear of any mention of battles in Scotland, which wouldn’t work so well when he had to leave to once again join Edward. The man was up in Scotland still and the battles were still waging, and Drake had promised to return after his marriage. He had no idea what he was going to tell Elizaveta when he left. Therefore, he eyed his new wife, somewhat nervously now, as he spooned crust and gravy and meat onto his own plate.
“And you have the beauty of all of those countries,” he said because he couldn’t really think of anything else. He wanted off the subject. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
Fortunately, Elizaveta was too hungry to realize he was shifting focus away from her roots. She was busy eating, going with the conversation and not paying much attention to it.
“I have spent the last few years in a convent and then living with my mother and grandmother,” she said, grinning. “I have not heard many compliments at all, truthfully.”
He smiled broadly. “Then you had better become accustomed to it,” he said, “for I intend to tell you every day just how beautiful you are.”
Elizaveta shook her head. “I would ask that you not.”
His brow furrowed. “Why not?”
She shrugged, now uncomfortable. “I… I would not want you to say so because you feel you have to,” she said. “I do not rely on men’s flattery. It is not something I long to hear.”
He found the statement rather interesting. “I would not say so because I felt I had to,” he clarified. “I would say so because it is the truth.”
Unsure what to say, Elizaveta spooned a big bite into her mouth and chewed simply so she wouldn’t have to say anything at all. She wasn’t sure why the subject of flattery made her so uncomfortable, only that she sensed that Drake felt that he was obligated to feed her female vanity. Elizaveta didn’t have any vanity to feed; therefore, the subject was uncomfortable for her.
So she ate, focusing on her food whilst Drake was lured into a conversation by the men seated to his right. She could tell that they were great friends simply by the conversation but she also recognized Drake’s brothers. She’d seen very early on that Drake was a twin because there was another man who looked exactly like him except that he kept his hair shorter. In fact, she found herself watching the twin across the table, who was seated next to the young blond woman. The woman was quite pretty with a lush figure and the twin was very attentive to her.
Seated on the other side of the blond woman was another de Winter brother; Denys, she thought she’d heard someone call him. He was quite tall, and light-haired unlike the dark-haired twin brothers, and he had a ready laugh and a booming voice. But there were more knights on that side of the table, men she had not been introduced to, so she turned her attention to her mother and grandmother as they quietly ate their meal.
“Is the food to your liking, Mother?” she asked softly.
Agnes had been silent throughout both the wedding and the feast. She hadn’t uttered a word. When her daughter spoke to her, however, she finally looked up.
“I shall vomit all of this food when we are finished here,” she hissed. “To fill my belly with English slop is sickening at best.”
Elizaveta frowned. “Quiet,” she whispered. “They will hear you. Do your best to be polite, Mother. Do not embarrass me in front of my new husband whom you forced me to wed.”
There was a rebuke in those words, a rebuke that Mabelle heard. She leaned across Agnes and grasped Elizaveta by the sleeve.
“Still your tongue, girl,” she muttered. “Finish your meal and go with your husband. You have a duty to complete and I will not stand for a delay, do you hear? You will do as you are told, all that you are told, or I will beat you. Do you understand me?”
Elizaveta yanked her sleeve away from her grandmother as discreetly as she could. “You cannot beat me,” she whispered angrily. “My new husband may have something to say about that.”
Fury flashed in Mabelle’s dark eyes, fury that her granddaughter was correct. The old woman no longer had such control over her granddaughter; the marriage had seen to that. But she was more than furious that Elizaveta should remind her of it. Her wrinkled jaw ticked.
“Do your duty or I shall send assassins after you,” she hissed.
Elizaveta would not be pushed around. “You have said that before.”
“Then I will send them after your father.”
There was that threat again, now a second time. Elizaveta eyed the hateful, old woman but kept her mouth shut, turning back to her food. She was about to put a piece of bread into her mouth when Mabelle spoke again.
“We leave for home on the morrow,” she said, sounding rather innocent and unconcerned now. She was known to switch moods as fast as lightning, leaving those around her unsteady and bewildered. “I will expect a missive from you by the end of next month. You will tell me how you are and how life is as Lady de Winter. You will tell me everything about the de Winters, Elizaveta. Is that clear? Everything.”
Elizaveta knew what grandedame meant. She wanted the espionage to begin immediately. She wanted information on Edward’s army from the de Winter mouths. It wasn’t the first time grandedame had spoken of her expectations since they had initially discussed them; the entire trip to England had been peppered with more discussion and more threats. The words had been hammered into Elizaveta’s brain and she was all too aware of what was expected of her and of what she had to do. Infuriated, and the least bit apprehensive, Elizaveta simply nodded as she shoved food in her mouth. She didn’t want to talk anymore; she wanted to be left alone.
As Elizaveta retreated into the culinary delights of her meal, she was unaware that someone was watching her from across the table. Cortez de Bretagne was sitting with James de Lohr and Dallan de Winter, listening to the young knights banter back and forth as his attention was riveted to the newest Lady de Winter.
Being in a profession where one’s life often depended upon being observant, Cortez had been watching the lady since the mass at the church. The wedding procession back to the castle had been uneventful and he’d lost sight of her, but now in the feasting hall of Thetford, he was seated in a perfect position to watch the woman as she grew accustomed to her new role in life.
The new Lady de Winter seemed resigned to the marriage, and was seemingly pleasant with Drake, but the interaction between her and her mother and grandmother was something curious, indeed. If Cortez didn’t know better, he would have suspected great hatred between the women simply by the expressions they were casting each other. It was quite interesting; something that he found had almost his complete attention. There were some odd dynamics going on
that he couldn’t put his finger on. But he probably never would, considering it wasn’t truly any of his concern. As he reached for his second cup of wine, he heard his name from down the table.
“Cortez!” It was Davyss, more than likely on his third or fourth cup of wine from the joviality of his tone. “I have heard you are an excellent singer. Since the minstrels I engaged have been held up in Ipswich, I am hoping you can provide us with some song.”
Cortez turned to Davyss with a grin on his face. “Alas, I cannot,” he said. “I only know songs that are inappropriate in front of ladies and if I sang them, my wife would be very displeased.”
His comment drew laughter from the group. “But the lovely Diamantha is not here,” Drake pointed out from across the table. “We will not tell her.”
Cortez cast him a long look. “The point is that I will not sing such songs because of the delicate ladies in this room, your mother and wife included,” he said, watching Drake laugh. “As much as I would love to humiliate you, I will not do it here. But I will, however, toast your union.”
He held up his cup and stood, followed by the rest of the men in the room. The knights and lords alike stood and held up their cups of wine to the bride and groom. The room suddenly grew quiet as everyone focused on the newly married couple.
“I heard my father say this toast at a marriage long ago,” Cortez said. “When his friend, Sir Kevin Hage, married the late Duke of Dorset’s widow, my father spoke these words at their wedding feast and the words have remained with me. It was a very poignant toast and I believe it is appropriate at this moment:
May your life know happiness,
May your hearts know love,
And may the de Winter name be forever honored by this union.
Remember that the world is well lost for love, but honor is not well lost for anything.”
Davyss banged a fist on the table in a gesture that supported Cortez’s words of hope and encouragement as everyone drank deeply to the couple. Drake, in fact, held his cup up for Elizaveta, who had no idea what to do when he held the cup to her. Only when he whispered for her to drink did she realize what he meant. Timidly, she allowed him to give her a sip of wine from his cup and then watched as he drank exactly where her lips touched. He drained the cup, licking his lips and grinning at her when he was done. The entire time, his eyes never left hers.
“Impressive words,” he whispered to Elizaveta. “We would do well to live by them. The part about honor, that is. Honor is not well lost for anything.”
Elizaveta cocked her head at the man who had suddenly grown serious. “What do you mean?”
He pondered her question a moment; what did he mean? He found himself verging on a confession of sorts.
“I suppose this is the appropriate time to tell you that I have not lived a celibate life,” he said quietly. “There is no shame in admitting that I appreciate a beautiful woman. I have known my share. You may as well hear this from my lips rather than someone else’s. I suppose what I mean to say to you is that honor and truth mean everything to me. The world cannot exist in beauty or glory without either. Although it is true that I have known women in the past and it is also true that this marriage was not of my choosing, I will nonetheless make this vow to you – from this moment forward, I will be true to you and only to you. You are my wife now and you bear my name. I would not dishonor that station for you are a direct reflection of me. Should I dishonor you, I dishonor myself.”
It was a very touching thing to say and Elizaveta felt her heart swell at his words, just a little. It was true that she was pleased that the husband forced upon her was at least handsome and also quite kind when he wanted to be, but she did not expect more than that. This was an arranged marriage and nothing more. Yet his words… she wondered what it would be like should they actually grow fond of one another someday. It was a silly dream, a fool’s dream even, but she wondered nonetheless. That very thought hadn’t occurred to her until now.
“I will make the same vow to you,” she said softly. “I will be true to you and no one else, as my husband. You will always have my obedience.”
He was still smiling at her but the look in his eye had turned somewhat appraising. He was studying her, scrutinizing her, and Elizaveta began to feel uncomfortable. Why was he looking at her so? Paranoia gripped her; was it possible he didn’t believe her? Was it even possible that he had heard her speaking with her mother and grandmother, and that he suspected she was not simply an obedient wife but something darker come to infiltrate his world? Elizaveta began to feel dirty and dishonorable, as if she didn’t belong. What if he knows? She thought crazily. What if he knows why I am here?
“I hope that in addition to your obedience, I at least have your friendship as well,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “My parents are… well, suffice it to say that my father and mother are quite dependent upon each other. I should like a wife with whom I can speak with and share things, as they do.”
Elizaveta struggled to shake off her guilt and paranoia. “As would I,” she said. “I will be glad to listen to you and offer my advice should you ask for it.”
Drake laughed softly. “I am sure that I will ask, many times,” he said. “You seem to be a woman worth listening to.”
It was a compliment, one she had never heard before. It made her feel torn and guilty as she had never felt in her life. As Drake helped her to sit once more, he poured her more wine as Denys and Dallan, now quite drunk, stood up from the table and began playing a game of balance while the knights at the table laughed uproariously. Tree-tall Denys would try to walk a straight line whilst holding a cup of wine over his head, steadily, and then when he walked a few feet, he was supposed to turn on one leg, balancing steady, and then walk the same straight line back again. Of course, he couldn’t do it and the wine spilled onto his head. Disgruntled, he sat down while Dallan tried to walk the same straight line.
The games and conversation and drinking went on into the night. Elizaveta sat quietly next to her husband, who eventually got pulled into the game playing and he, too, was forced to walk a straight line with a cup of wine held steady over his head. Of course, he couldn’t and then he blamed his brothers for humiliating him in front of his new wife. Good-natured insults flew as the weddings guests separated off into those who were interested in serious conversation, like Davyss and Christian and Cortez, and those who wanted to play games like Drake and his brothers and his friends.
When Drake headed off with his brothers, Devereux came to take the seat her son had vacated, making polite conversation with a young woman she had come to know briefly earlier in the day when they had colluded against her son. Devereux already liked Elizaveta, for the girl was bright and witty and not afraid to stand up to Drake. She liked that a great deal. But when she tried to include Elizaveta’s mother and grandmother in the conversation, the women made it quite clear that they had no interest in speaking with her. They conducted their conversation in the harsh Gaelic language to deliberately exclude others.
Devereux wasn’t particularly offended but she could see that the mother and grandmother’s behavior embarrassed Elizaveta quite a bit. As it was growing late, and the newly married couple would soon be retiring, Devereux took Elizaveta from the hall to help the young woman prepare for the night to come. As she left the hall, she left specific instructions with the servants to provide Mme. Mabelle and Lady Agnes with a few blankets and a corner of the hall to sleep in, and nothing more. She wasn’t going to provide the discourteous women with any more than that – if they were going to treat her so rudely, then she would reciprocate.
Leaving the groom with his brothers and friends, Devereux took Elizaveta out into the cold night. The sky was clear, with a few clouds, and the moon was nearly full. The land was bathed in a silver glow that was quite bright and moodily beautiful. Devereux had Elizaveta by the hand as they moved through the large bailey, through the maze of ancient berms, and then mounted the steps that led up the tall
motte and eventually to the keep. By the time they reached the top, there was a glorious view of the countryside.
The keep of Thetford was stone, having been rebuilt by the de Winters after Henry II destroyed the original timber keep. Now, it was four stories, with one of the stories dug down into the motte to create a vault of sorts where the servants slept. The first level consisted of two solars, one larger than the other, and the next level consisted of the master’s chamber, a tiny dressing room, and a second smaller sleeping chamber. The top level again had two chambers where the de Winter sons slept, and it was into the smaller of these two top chambers that Devereux took Elizaveta.
As Elizaveta entered the chamber, she was caught off guard by the sight. Someone had prepared it in glorious fashion, no doubt directed by Lady de Winter. The room was so small that there wasn’t much room to move around in, but there was enough room for a large four-poster bed that had heavy curtains hung around it and a luxurious coverlet draped across the mattress. There were several pillows carefully placed upon it and the floor was mostly covered with cow hides for warmth. A glance to her right showed that her trunks were neatly stacked near the wall, away from the hearth where a fire blazed and filled the room with a delicious and comforting warmth. As Elizaveta stood by the door, rather stunned by what she saw, Devereux went to the fire to tuck back some of the red-hot embers.
“Your father had your wagon brought to Thetford whilst the marriage mass took place,” Devereux said. “I had the servants bring your trunks to this room when they prepared it with as much comfort as we could provide. Truthfully, we do not stay at Thetford much. Most of our belongings and things required for living are at Norwich Castle or at Wintercroft near London. I am sure you will be seeing those properties at some point, and they are far more comfortable, but for tonight, we have endeavored to make this tiny room as comfortable as possible for you.”
Elizaveta stepped into the room, looking at the thick hides beneath her feet. “This is quite wonderful, Lady de Winter,” she said sincerely. “Your efforts are much appreciated.”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 44
