"Never mind," Rowena replied easily, "it’s only important that she be comfortable. Come downstairs. My nose tells me that our meal is ready and I for one am starving."
As they descended into the hall, Maeve's silvery laugh rang out. Rowena’s jaw tightened. She prayed that her husband was right and Maeve would not defy him.
She and Sir John reached the hall floor and turned toward the two nobles at the hearth. Rowena’s heart quirked. Maeve and her husband made an attractive pair, the woman’s pearl-studded gown of pale lavender a good complement to her husband's deep-blue gown with golden embroidery at the throat and sleeves.
Maeve’s face took light in triumph as she saw Rowena. Her hair gleamed golden-red from beneath the wisp of silk she wore as a wimple. The jeweled band that held it in place sparkled in the torchlight.
"Here is Lady Graistan at last, my lord," she purred to Graistan’s master. "My, isn’t she stunning in that brocade." "That color truly does her justice. But what is this I see? Such dark rings beneath her eyes. Brother, you work this poor thing too hard. Or, perhaps it’s not you. She has this strange belief that she must work her fingers to the bone."
As she spoke, Maeve shifted slightly, sliding one arm around Rannulf’s waist as if to turn him toward his wife. There was nothing sisterly in the curve of her body against his. Rather than step back from her Rannulf drew the woman a step closer and returned her smile with what seemed too much warmth. Rowena nearly stumbled, so great was the surge of emotion that rushed through her. It was a moment before she recognized it as jealousy. Was she wrong about them? Impossible. Maeve would have gloated if Rannulf had bedded her. Rowena carefully schooled her face to prevent anyone from finding the least evidence that she was affected by their behavior.
"Aye, I’ve not seen her in two days, so busy has she been," he said, still smiling at his sister-by-marriage.
"Two days?" Maeve asked, her question breathless. "Whatever for?"
"Why for you," Rannulf said to his ward. "Here is why I requested that you to dress in your finest for this day. I’d have you to meet my vassal, Sir John of Ashby. Sir John, my ward, the Lady Maeve."
"Sir John." The fair woman gifted her future husband with a dismissive smile, bending her knees only a little in greeting. It was apparent that she found nothing whatsoever interesting in the older man.
Sir John stopped so suddenly that Rowena nearly slipped. The knight gaped at his bride to be. "You-you have all your teeth," he stuttered out.
"Mmm," Maeve murmured, "how perceptive of you."
"My lady, Sir John has made a generous offer for your hand in marriage," Rannulf offered quickly, "and I agreed. You take with you for your life’s span a part of the bridge tolls, as well as a hideage of land and the rights to the village across the river from Ashby."
Maeve made a startled sound. Rannulf’s face tensed as he continued. "While it’s true you won’t be able to pass these holdings to your heirs, you’ll have the dower from this marriage and your first to support you should you outlive Sir John."
"Marriage," Maeve said slowly, her eyes darting from her intended to her lord. "Brother, this is all so sudden." There was an ever-so-faint note of hurt in her voice. "I hardly know what to say."
"Then say nothing," Rannulf replied, his growing relief obvious. "Now that I’ve remarried there is no place for you here. I sought only to make you lady in your own right."
"She must show that she knows how to care for our home first." Nicola's hard words rang out over the hall. "There is much more to managing Ashby than embroidery and fine gowns."
Her father whirled on her, his fist held high. "Nicola, hold your tongue," he bellowed.
The girl whitened in shocked surprise. "Papa," she cried in a small voice.
"Nay," he barked, "you’ve been impossibly rude." Sir John turned back to Maeve. "My lady, please excuse my daughter. I’ve done a poor job raising her. What she needs can only be taught to her by a woman of quality. It would do her, nay, nay, it would do this old war-horse good if you accept my offer for your hand in marriage."
Maeve studied the man's earnest face, then glanced at the girl. Nicola remained ghostly pale after her chastisement. Maeve’s gaze darkened a little as she looked to her warden, then to Graistan’s lady, then returned to her suitor. A moment later her brow cleared as if she'd found the answer to a particularly difficult problem.
"Oh, you poor, sweet man. No wonder you’re in such a hurry to find a wife. I can see how hard it’s been for you, saddled with so many responsibilities. Have no fear. Your daughter isn’t yet past marriageable age. Don’t worry. Together, we’ll find her a husband."
Nicola made a sound of protest only to have her father whirl toward her once again. The sound died into silence.
Maeve released her warden. Rowena swallowed in disgust as she watched the woman fair slither to her intended’s side. She stopped beside Sir John and drew a deep breath. Her bridegroom’s gaze dropped to the ripe curves of her breasts outlined beneath her tightly fitted gown.
"That his daughter is a hoyden is true enough," Rannulf laughed, his tone easy now, his grin wide. "But it’s not his hurry but my need that has brought us all here today. Months may pass before I’ll again be free to see this joining completed. My lady has just come into her inheritance, and her rights to it have been challenged."
"Challenged!" Maeve turned a little to look at her lady. "How awful for you, sweetling." Happiness and not a little triumph glowed in her face. "When is this wedding of ours to be held?"
Rowena fought the urge to frown over the woman’s strange reaction to this arranged marriage. Could it be true that all Maeve ever wanted was a home and hearth of her own?
"Why, this very day if you’ll have me," John replied, suddenly finding his voice.
"Aye, sister," Rannulf said. "Look about. The hall is decorated in your honor. First we will dine, then, if you find you are agreed by the meal's end, you can be wedded. After that there will be musicians to entertain us throughout the day, to make this a gay event."
"But who will marry us here? Surely not your chaplain, since he’s stone-deaf. How will he know what we say? Oh, dear," Maeve gasped prettily, "but what if Sir John and I are related?"
Lord Graistan only shook his head. "There’s no impediment in your lineage to prevent this joining, and the abbot has graciously lent us his chaplain for the service." He pointed toward the robed priest already seated near the head of the lord's table. The man nodded to them all the while eagerly eyeing the door as he awaited the arrival of dinner.
"You thought of everything," Maeve said to Rannulf, her pleasure seeming to grow greater by the moment. "That you should so trouble yourself on my behalf."
She turned her attention back to Ashby’s master. "My, what a big man you are," she said coyly, laying a slender hand on his arm. "Ashby must keep you well fed."
"Aye," Sir John replied, "that is does. Our forest supplies us game for every meal, and the furs it produces are of the highest quality. Ah, Lady Maeve, you will soon love Ashby as I do, for there is no place like it in all this realm." It seemed John now sought to woo her by whatever means necessary.
Lord John couldn't take his eyes off his bride throughout the rich meal. He doted on her every word, sought for her the most tender morsels of flesh and fish. He wouldn’t even let her lift her own glass from the table. On Maeve's part, she often leaned toward him, brushing her breasts against his arm as she commented on the various dishes and prettily thanked him for his care of her. Her laugh rang out again and again at even his most feeble attempt at a jest. She seductively stroked the fur trim of his cloak, marveling at the softness of the fox. A brief sweep of her fingers against his cheek brought a boyish color to his leathery skin, as she asked extremely detailed questions about Ashby.
Thoroughly confused, Rowena studied Maeve, astounded by the woman's ebullience. Had the stay in the convent changed her, or was that just a selfish rationalization for allowing this joining to go forward wi
thout a word to Lord John about Maeve's past? She fought back a wave of uneasiness. Surely it was her duty to warn him that his wife had been a fornicator and a thief? She glanced past the couple to her husband. Rannulf met her look with a smug one of his own.
Her gaze shifted to Nicola. The tall girl sat slumped in her seat, ignoring the food before her despite the efforts of the chaplain to be polite. Her expression was one of despair.
Rowena laughed a little. The girl was obviously unused to such harsh treatment from her father. Not that she hadn't heartily deserved it.
When the meal ended, Lord John fell to his knees and begged Lady Maeve to accept his offer. She did so with a warm, sweet laugh. The ceremony at the chapel door before the watching eyes of all of Graistan's folk was simple and direct as befitted a widow and a widower of little consequence. After an abbreviated mass the musicians piped them back into the hall, then began to play in earnest.
The servants quickly cleared the room so the dancing could begin. In moments, the open area between the hearths was filled with folk, whirling and stamping to the tune. After a first dance with his bride, the bridegroom offered Rowena his hand. She smiled and accepted. Rather than lead her into the dancing, Sir John stepped aside a bit.
"My lady, if I could beg a favor of you. It’s my daughter, damn her. She’s such a stubborn mule of a girl." His words caught in his throat as pain filled his eyes. "I don’t know what to do with her anymore. Everything I say she contradicts; everything I do she criticizes. I know she’s hurt, but—could you speak with her? You seem so kind and wise for one so young."
"When you flatter me that way, Lord John, how can I possibly refuse." Rowena laughed. "I suppose it might be said I've had some experience dealing with women being so long at a convent. But where is she? I haven’t seen her since the ceremony ended."
"She sulks behind yon wall hanging," Sir John said his voice low and shamed. "I fear she might become destructive if she broods over this long enough. She has that habit at home. Not that she's ever hurt anyone," he hastened to add at his lady's startled look. "Just broken pots and torn things and such." His voice died away. "Please?"
Rowena freed another quick laugh. It was no surprise to her that Sir John’s daughter ruled the roost at Ashby, at least not until this day. Aye, Nicola was indeed deeply stung. "I'll do what I can."
"Thank you," Sir John replied warmly, then left her to once again claim his bride.
Rowena made her way to the wall and pulled aside the embroidered material to slip into the darkened, narrow alcove behind it. Nicola leaned against one wall. Tears trickled down her face. Rowena stood beside her in silence for a long moment.
"Is it truly so bad as that?"
The girl didn’t even look toward her. "Thief," she declared in a voice filled with trembling anger, "you’ve stolen my home from me."
"Selfish girl," Rowena retorted swiftly. "I did no such thing. Your father wished to wed and spoke to my husband about it months ago."
"If not for you and your lord, my father wouldn’t have found a woman. We were all happy as we were." Her shoulders shuddered as another sob shook her as from beyond the hanging they heard the muted ring of Lord John's laugh.
"Happy?" Rowena chided. "Your father's eagerness hardly speaks of a contented man. I think it was you, not he, who was happy with matters as they stood."
Nicola threw back her head in pain. "Everything will change. What if she bears him sons? How long will it be before she forces me into a marriage I don’t want?"
"What a spoiled child you are," Rowena snapped. "If you truly love your father you’ll dry your eyes and not begrudge him his happiness. Moreover, you worry over what has yet to happen. The lady bore her first husband no children at all." Although she dared not say it Rowena didn’t think Maeve would allow herself to undergo the rigors of childbirth. "Nor will she hurry to find you a husband, not if she knows you don’t intend to challenge her, and you supply her with her daily bread."
"Could this be true?" Nicola eyed her hostess, hope blossoming on her face. "If she remains barren and I remain at Ashby, then when my sire is gone Ashby will still be mine to keep and hold."
"Not yours, but your husband’s," Rowena corrected.
Nicola snorted at that. "Nay, mine alone. I won’t marry."
Rowena stared at her in shock. "Are you mad?!"
"Nay, I’m saner than anyone I know," Nicola countered. "I can do it," she assured her overlord’s wife. "I know Ashby's folk and field better than anyone. And, when I was eight, I told my father I wished to be a knight. He thought it was quite a jest to let me train with his men."
Disgust and astonishment tangled in Rowena. No wonder Sir John had such trouble with his daughter. He’d not only given the girl her head, but let her run unchecked for all her life. "What was your father thinking," she breathed.
"That I can hold Ashby better than any man," Nicola retorted sharply.
"I allow you believe that," Rowena replied, "but it changes nothing. Ashby isn’t yours to keep, but my lord husband’s, being held by your family only in agreement with Graistan. If your sire dies without sons, then you’ll be married, will you nill you, either by your overlord’s decree or because some second son looking for a quick bit of land takes you as his own. Try to prove your ability and there’ll be nothing left of Ashby or its folk by the time all is said and done.
“Nicola," Rowena laid her hand on her girl's arm for emphasis, "your life cannot stay as it’s been. It must change. It will change, no matter how you fight it. Believe me when I say that I know how hard it is to be shoved suddenly into a new life, but you’re strong and can make of it something that’s yours alone."
The tall girl only pulled back her arm to press hands to her ears. "Go away, go away and leave me be," she cried out.
"As you will," Rowena let her voice gentle. "When you’re ready ask one of the servants for Ilsa. She’ll see you to your bed and help you if you need it. Good night, Nicola." With that, Rowena stepped back into the hall and the merriment of the celebration.
"Ah, there you are," her husband said with a smile as he caught her arm and drew her to his side.
After so long a time of public avoidance his open approach startled Rowena. A moment later she understood. His face glowed with the warmth that could only be found in a cup. Drink, not desire, had driven away his usual reserve. When she said nothing, he lifted her from her feet and whirled her around in time to the music.
She yelped in surprise. "My lord! You’re squeezing the life out of me." He loosened his grip, but didn’t completely release her, and she slid down against him. Her eyes flew open wide. The drink had awakened more than just his humor.
"My God, but you’re beautiful," he breathed. "My bed has been cold and lonely without you these last nights." The harsh lines of his face softened. His gray eyes filled with his need for her. When he stroked her cheek, she bit her lip, trying to still the rush of wanting that filled her. God forgive her, she had missed him, too.
"Brother," said Maeve from just behind them, "come, have this dance with me."
Startled, Rowena stepped back, then watched in angry dismay as her husband set his cup on a table and offered Maeve his hands. With neither a word nor a glance at his wife, her husband stepped away to join his ward. From over his shoulder Lady Maeve shot her a brief and triumphant glance.
Jealousy and pain exploded in Rowena. Oh, she was beautiful to Lord Graistan, the way a copse was beautiful to a woodcutter. She was only good enough to share his bed and breed him sons.
"My lady?" Sir John offered her his hands. "Would you dance with me?"
"I’d be honored," Rowena replied with a warmth she didn’t feel. Putting her hand into his callused palm, she struggled to present her best face to her husband's vassal. To her surprise, she enjoyed herself. Sir John’s size belied his agility, for he was a competent dancer, spry and light on his feet. Only when they were well into their third tune did he mention his daughter.
"So,
it went well?"
"Aye, at least I believe so. Your daughter has some strange notions, but I think she’s now better reconciled to your marriage. Don’t expect her to attend your bedding, though."
New light took fire in the man's brown eyes. "Excuse me, there’s something I forgot to say to Lord Graistan."
He released her and left, mid-step, to stride across the room to Rannulf. Rowena backed out of the way as the dancers broke apart around her then wove back into two lines, one all male, the other female.
A servant appeared at her right. "My lady, Lord Rannulf says that it’s time to make the bride ready and quickly so, for he doesn’t think he can restrain the groom for longer than a quarter hour."
Rowena glanced around the room to find her husband. He was refilling his cup from the ewer at the far table. Why send a servant to tell her, why not tell her himself? Because she wasn’t worthy of his notice.
With a sour taste in her mouth, she announced to the room that the time for the bedding had come. The bride bid a fond farewell to her husband and happily climbed the stairs. When Maeve was led through the solar to the master's chamber, she cried, "Why sister, you have given me your own room. I’m honored."
While the priest blessed the bed five of Graistan's most stout-hearted maids encircled the bride to remove her finery. "How kind your lord has been to do all this for me," Maeve called from over their shoulders. "Surely, I can find some way to repay him for the care and effort he’s made on my behalf this day." The happiness in her voice only fed Rowena’s roiling emotions.
"To think," Maeve went on as she wrapped a blanket around herself to shield her nakedness and ward off the room’s persistent chill, "that if you hadn’t banished me from Graistan none of this would be happening. John is such a simple man that I’m certain I won’t have any marital discord. We’ll have a cozy, little hall with but two villages to provide for us. No doubt we'll have many long, bucolic years between us."
That confusion returned, leaving Rowena frowning anew. These were all things that should have enraged Maeve. Yet, she seemed completely content.
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 18
