When no one spoke, she leapt briskly into the void. "Now with all that said, the Lady Maeve should be here shortly, and there remains only two hours before it will be time to eat. My lord felt it would be best if you, Sir John, and your intended bride might first dine together, to see if both parties find the other to their liking. Then, by the grace of God, we will celebrate a wedding after that."
Sir John, still bright red in embarrassment, cleared his throat. "You are so kind, my lady. Please accept my apologies on behalf of my daughter. If only her mother had lived longer. I have failed to teach her any manners or womanly softness."
Nicola glanced at them all. "And glad I am of it."
"I can think of several ways to impart manners," Lord Graistan muttered, but his wife's voice overrode his.
"Think no more of it," she said soothingly. "No doubt she is overwrought by the suddenness of all this. Sir John, we expected that this hasty date might leave you little time to prepare. I have taken the liberty of having clothing arranged for you. If you will deign to come with me now, I will make a bridegroom out of you."
He smiled his thanks and offered his arm. She laid her hand upon his, then looked beyond him to his unrepentant daughter. "Nicola, come along and let my maids find you something dry to wear."
After seeing the girl into Ilsa's capable hands with orders to offer her a bath and allow the girl to choose something suitable from Graistan's coffers, she escorted Sir John to her solar. As was customary for the lady of the hall, she assisted him in removing his armor and bathed him, then helped him don his new robes.
The gown was of pale gray trimmed about the cuffs and throat with a simple, embroidered pattern made rich by the use of copper silk. There was a darker gray cloak lined with fox; the rusty-colored pelt was Ashby's own, sent in tribute some years back. Rowena presented him with a fine, pliable leather belt studded with brass buttons. In Nichola's basket her maids discovered a thick gold chain and an ancient, ornate cloak pin meant to use as his adornments. For chausses he wore a gold pair of Gilliam's, their long length giving more room to his greater girth. As to shoes, there was nothing that fit him, so his boots were cleaned and buffed until they looked nearly new. At last, she pronounced the man fit to be wed. His sudden blush was charmingly boyish.
Waiting outside the door was his daughter, her hair straightened, but she still wore her awkward green garb, although it had been dried and brushed clean. "Why, Nicola, was there nothing to suit you?" Rowena asked, glancing at Ilsa. The old woman opened her eyes wide in frustration and shook her head.
The girl's jaw jutted out. "I want no borrowed riches. Ashby provides me everything I need or desire. This is my best. I'm sorry it not good enough to please your refined tastes."
Her father squeezed his eyes shut in mortification, angry color rushing into his leathery cheeks. "Nicola," he started.
"Never mind," Lady Graistan replied easily, "all that's important is that she is 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. Despite her best efforts, Rowena's heart quivered in trepidation when she saw the woman at Rannulf's side. She silently prayed that her husband was right and Maeve would not defy him.
She watched them as she and Sir John crossed the hall, for they made an attractive pair. Maeve's pearl-studded gown of pale lavender was a good complement to her husband's deep blue gown with golden embroidery at the throat and sleeves.
"Rowena, my sweet chick," the woman purred triumphantly, "how good it is to see you again." 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. "And, you, too, my lord, although I have told you that once already this day." She smiled up at him and clasped one arm about his waist. There was nothing sisterly in the curve of her body against his.
Rowena nearly stumbled when her husband drew the woman closer still and returned her smile with great warmth, too much warmth. It was a moment before she recognized her sudden surge of emotion as jealousy. Had she been wrong about them? Nay, surely Maeve would have gloated over it if he had bedded her. She carefully schooled her face to prevent anyone from finding the least evidence that she was affected by their behavior.
"My, is our little lady not stunning in that brocade." Maeve turned slightly to consider her lord's wife. "Here is a color that truly does her justice. But what is this I see? Such dark rings beneath her eyes. Brother, what had you done to this poor thing? But, then, she has this common habit of believing she must work her fingers to the bone. No doubt you could not stop her."
"Aye, that is so. I have not seen her in two days, so busy has she been." He still smiled down at his sister by marriage as he led her forward. "Maeve, here is why I asked you to dress in your finest for this day. I would like you to meet my vassal, John of Ashby. John, this is my ward, the Lady Maeve."
"Lord John." The fair woman gifted him with a brief but sultry smile as she bent her knee only a little in greeting, finding nothing whatsoever interesting in the older man.
The knight gaped. "You—you have all your teeth," he stuttered out.
"Mmm," she murmured, "how perceptive of you."
"John has made a generous offer for your hand in marriage," Rannulf said quickly, "and I have agreed. You take with you for your lifespan a part of the bridge tolls, as well as a hideage of land and the rights to the village across the river from Ashby." The volume of his voice grew to hide her sudden gasp. "Even if you cannot pass these holdings down to your heirs, it is far richer than what you took into your first marriage and will, hopefully, ease some of the hurt your relatives did to you when you lost your dower."
"Marriage," she said slowly, her eyes darting from her intended to her lord. "Why, brother, this is all so sudden." There was an ever-so-brief note of hurt in her voice. "I barely know what to say."
"Then say nothing," he replied graciously, yet with obvious relief at her calm reaction to the idea. "Now that I have remarried, there could be no place for you here. I sought only to make you lady in your own right."
"She must show she knows how to care for the keep first." Nicola's hard words startled them all. "There is much more to 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, startled into instant quiet. "Papa," she cried in a small voice.
"Nay," he barked, "you have been impossibly rude." He turned back to Maeve. "My lady, please excuse my daughter. I have 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 would accept my offer for your hand in marriage."
She studied the man's earnest face, then glanced at the girl, who was yet ghostly pale from her chastisement. Her gaze became somewhat troubled as it slipped from her lord to her lady and back once again to her suitor. Then, her brow cleared as if she'd seen the answer to a particularly difficult problem. "Oh, you poor, sweet man. I can see how it has been so hard for you. And, she is nearly past marriageable age. So here is why you are in such a hurry to find a wife." She turned gracefully to the man and drew a deep breath. Lord John's gaze wandered down to the ripe curves of her breasts outlined beneath her tightly fitted gown.
"That his daughter is a hoyden is true enough," Rannulf answered for him, his grin now wide and easy. "But, it is not his hurry by my need that has brought us all here today. Months may pass before I will be free again to see this joining completed. My lady has just come into her inheritance, and her rights to it have been challenged."
"Challenged! How awful for you, Rowena," Maeve said and smiled more widely now, as if his words confirmed her conclusions of the previous moment. "When is this wedding to be?"
Rowena looked on in wonder at the woman's sudden, buoyant happiness. Could it be true that s
he had longed for a home and hearth of her own? How- ever unlikely that seemed, here she was accepting this arranged marriage without the slightest complaint.
"Why, this very day, if you will have me," John replied, suddenly finding his voice.
"Aye, sister," Rannulf said. "Look about. We have decorated the hall in your honor. First we will dine, then, if you find you are agreed to it by the meal's end, you can be wedded. After that there will be musicians to entertain us throughout the evening. It will be a gay evening, indeed."
"But, where will we marry? Surely not here by your chaplain. He is stone-deaf. How will he know what we say? Oh, dear," she gasped prettily, "but what if Lord John and I are related?"
Lord Graistan only shook his head. "There is 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 have thought of everything," she cried to Rannulf, her happiness growing greater by the moment. "You are so kind to trouble yourself on my behalf." She turned her attention back to Lord Ashby. "My, what a big man you are," she said coyly, laying a slender hand on his arm. "Ashby must keep you well fed, my lord."
"Aye," he replied, now seeking to woo her by whatever means necessary, "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."
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 would not 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.
Rowena stared at Maeve and wondered at the woman's growing ebullience. Could it be that the stay in the convent had changed her? She fought back a wave of uneasiness. Or was that just a selfish rationalization for allowing this joining to go forward without a word to Lord John about Maeve's past? Was it not her duty to at least warn him that his wife had been an adulteress and a thief? She glanced across the two at her husband. He met her look with a smug one of his own. Since he did not believe it, she knew he'd never allow it.
Then, her gaze darted 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 was done, Lord John fell to his knees and begged that Lady Maeve 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.
But instead of leading her into the dancing, he stepped aside a bit. "My lady, it is my daughter, damn her. She is such a stubborn mule of a girl." His words caught in his throat, and she saw the pain in his eyes. "I do not know what to do with her anymore. Everything I say, she contradicts; everything I do, she criticizes. I know she is 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." She 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 have not seen her since the ceremony ended."
"She is sulking 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 gave a quick laugh. As she had guessed, it was his daughter who had ruled the roost at Ashby until this day. No doubt Nicola was deeply stung. "I'll do what I can."
"Thank you," he replied warmly, then left her to once again claim his bride. She 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 before finally asking, "Is it so bad as that?"
The girl did not move. "Thief," she declared in a voice filled with trembling anger, "you have 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."
"Had it not been for you and your lord, he would have had no success finding a woman. We were all happy as we were. We needed no interference." Her shoulders shuddered as another sob shook her.
"Happy? Your father's eagerness hardly speaks of a contented man." From beyond the hanging, they heard the muted ring of Lord John's laugh. His daughter shook at the sound. "It was you, not he, who was happy with matters as they stood."
Nicola threw back her head in pain. "All I have ever wanted was Ashby. What if she bears him sons?"
Rowena sighed. "I doubt if she will, she is far older than she might appear." Although she dared not say it, she did not think Maeve would allow herself to undergo the rigors of childbirth. "It is possible your father hopes for sons, but I would guess he meant only to find companionship for himself in his later years."
"He has me," the girl cried out, her voice filled with childish hurt.
"But, who will replace you when you have married?"
"If only you had not interfered," she cried again, turning her face toward the wall, "then the possibility of my marriage would never have arisen. So, how long will it be before my stepmother rids herself of me? As your lord so aptly pointed out, my hall has become hers."
"What a spoiled child you are," the Lady Graistan snapped. "If you truly loved your father, you would dry your eyes and not begrudge him his happiness." The girl glanced at her in shame. "As to finding you a husband, I think it will not happen quickly. Our Maeve is not one who likes to dirty her hands in order to get her daily bread. If you serve as Ashby's chatelaine and do not challenge her, she will not bother herself with you."
"Could this be true," Nicola breathed in disbelief. "I was certain she would wrest it all away from me. And if she remains barren, Ashby will still be mine alone. Mine, to keep and hold."
Rowena stared at her in shock. "You cannot mean what I think you do. Without a husband?" She was stunned when the girl nodded. "You are mad."
"Am I?" Nicola countered. "I can do it. 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."
"He let you train with his men? With a sword?" The Lady Graistan stared. "His daughter? What was he thinking?"
"Well, after a time he forbid it, but it was too late. I had learned what I needed and kept practicing where he could not see. There are many things he does not realize I know, and I can hold Ashby better than any man."
"I will allow that you believe that," Rowena replied, "but it changes nothing. Ashby is not
yours to keep. It is my lord's, held by your family only in agreement with the lords of Graistan. If there are no sons, then you will have to marry or face challenge after challenge from your neighbors or some second son looking for a quick bit of land as his own. There would be nothing left of Ashby or its folk by the time you prove your point, Nicola," Rowena laid her hand on her girl's arm for emphasis: "Your life cannot stay as it has been, it must change. And, no matter how you fight it, it will happen."
She only pulled away and pressed her hands to her ears. "Nay, I will not hear you," she cried out. "Go away, go away and leave me be."
The Lady Graistan's voice was gentle as she continued. "Believe me when I say that I know how hard it is to be shoved suddenly into a new life. You are strong and will make of it something that is yours alone." She paused. "When you are ready, ask one of the servants for Ilsa. She will see you to your bed and help you if you need it. Good night, Nicola." With that, she 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 her. 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 are squeezing the life out of me." He loosened his grip, but did not 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 are beautiful," he breathed. "My bed has been cold and lonely without you these last nights." The harsh lines of his face had softened, his gray eyes were filled with his desire for her. When he stroked her cheek, she bit her lip to keep from crying out as a rush of wanting filled her. God forgive her, she had missed him, too.
"Brother," said Maeve from just behind them, "come, have this dance with me."
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