Everlasting

by Charlene Cross

  Her eyes widened. She sputtered several times before she managed to blurt out, “You must be mad! After what just occurred, do you really believe my people will allow the two of us to wed? Think twice, Norman. The dissension today was but a mere sampling of what is in store for you and your men if you decide to force the issue. There will never again be any harmony and accord among us.”

  “That’s only if you continue to act as though you hate me. If you were to pretend to love me, even just a little, and if you were to convince them that I’d always be fair and honest with everyone here, I’m certain they’ll eventually come around.”

  “I doubt it.”

  He shrugged. “Then I will chase them all away into the wood.”

  “And I’ll go with them.”

  “Nay. You will stay here.” His gaze settled on the mattress, and he ran his hand over the cover near her hip. “Imagine, Alana. In the not so distant future, our children will be conceived here in this very spot.” He looked up to see she’d turned her head aside. “What’s wrong?”

  “If you are desiring heirs, then you’ve chosen the wrong woman. I’m barren.”

  The last word seemed to be said with a mixture of relief and heartbreak. The relief was obvious, for she’d hoped he’d now reject her. The heartbreak was also obvious, for she did want children, just not his.

  “Why do you think you’re barren?” he asked.

  Her head swung back on the pillow so fast that she squinted her eyes against the pain. “Why do I think…? Because Gilbert and I… well, after all the times we… Do you see me attending any children who affectionately call me Mother? Nay. I’m barren,” she repeated.

  Paxton smiled. “If you are without issue, Alana, it is because of Gilbert and not because of you.”

  “How do you know that to be true?”

  “Because I have personal knowledge that it is true… or at least, that it is possible.”

  “Explain.”

  He inclined his head and surveyed her. “’Tis obvious Gilbert never told you this, but years ago, as squires, he and I were practicing at jousting. As we lumbered along toward each other on the old geldings we rode, the tip of my lance was aimed too low. It glanced off his shield, striking him in the groin. He was in agony for nearly a fortnight afterward. ’Twas almost a fortnight more before he could walk with any indication that his legs were not actually bowed nor that his back wasn’t permanently hunched over. For a man, the injury he suffered was devastating. I think Gilbert wished he had died. He recovered, but the incident may have rendered him incapable of producing an heir.”

  “He never told me.” She nibbled at her lip. “Even so, you could be wrong. I might be the one who is unable to bear a child.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand why you would want to marry me. I’m aware that you don’t love me. We come from two different worlds, therefore we have nothing in common. This whole affair will bring nothing but unhappiness to us both. Why do you persist in seeing that the wedding goes forth?”

  Paxton held his tongue as he studied Alana. So, Gwenifer had carried his words to her cousin’s ears. Was that why Alana hadn’t ended this supposed friendship between Gwenifer and him? Because she was searching for answers the same as he?

  He wanted to laugh with uproarious glee. Poor Gwenifer had been caught in the middle of them both. Wisely Paxton remained sober.

  “Marriages have been built on even less than what we have, Alana. At least we share something that many couples lack altogether.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Mutual desire. It will be the magic elixir for us both.” He rose, for he heard someone moving along the gallery. “Rest now. I’ll check in on you later.”

  “I won’t marry you,” she said when he was halfway to the door. “I swear I won’t.”

  At the threshold, Paxton turned back to her. “You will, Alana. The instant you are able to be up and around, I suggest you start making the necessary preparations for our wedding feast.”

  She opened her mouth to initiate her words of protest, but he curtly ordered her to be silent.

  “Know this, milady,” he continued as her jaw snapped to. “Whether the plans for such are complete or not, whether you’re still lying in that bed pretending your injury has kept you there, our nuptials will take place in one week. Stand in opposition to me on anything I’ve just said and your kin across the river will suffer. This I swear.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  It was noon the next day when Alana marched into the chapel in search of Father Jevon. It was no surprise that she found him on his knees before the altar, his hands clasped and head bowed in prayer.

  Alana was not one to be purposely rude, but her patience had worn thin. There were questions she wanted answered, and his petitions could very well take all day.

  “I want a word with you,” she announced, her tone brusque.

  The priest did not move. Nor did he acknowledge her.

  The moments stretched in endless succession; the continued silence became unnerving to her. Alana was tempted to poke his shoulder, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard her, when he crossed himself and came to his feet.

  “I presume it is about your wedding,” he said.

  “Then he informed you about it?” she returned.

  Father Jevon nodded. “Sir Paxton came to me early this morning and told me to prepare for the nuptials. I must confess that I was gladdened by his news. Despite my prayers, my past endeavors have all ended in failure. With Sir Paxton’s and your union, I now feel as though there is once again hope.”

  His past endeavors, Alana understood, were his frustrated attempts at saving what he thought were her kinsmen’s beleaguered heathen souls.

  Only a handful of her people had ever attended the daily masses that were held in the chapel. In fact, since their inception, the sums had dwindled until now there were none.

  It never occurred to the priest that, if he’d also been of Welsh blood, the chapel walls might have threatened to burst. Instead he laid their disinterest on their inherent link to Satan, which was accredited to Adam’s sin and Eve’s deceit.

  Conversely though, since many of the Normans attended mass with regularity, Paxton going on occasion, Father Jevon felt that their souls were in no peril.

  The man was a fool if he believed that were true, for in reality, the transgressions of his ilk were as numerous and as grave as those that he ascribed to the Welsh. But she doubted Father Jevon would ever comprehend that. He was too pompous by far.

  “I want to know what is expected of me in this marriage,” she said, getting back to why she’d approached him. “I’d also like to know what sort of protection the Church might offer me if I find myself to be exceptionally unhappy.”

  The priest inclined his head. “Do you foresee that you will be unhappy?” he asked.

  “It has nothing to do with my foreseeing such.” A lie, Alana thought, but it could not be helped. “Paxton and I come from different backgrounds, which will, in all likelihood, cause us problems. I was unable to give Gilbert children. It may be the same with Paxton. If I continually disappoint him, he could become angry with me… so angry that he might strike me.”

  Father Jevon frowned. “I have seen nothing in his temperament that says he’s predisposed to beating a woman.”

  Alana stared at the man. “You were there when I was tied to the post. He would have whipped me—and without a shred of mercy, I’ll wager!—if the call hadn’t come announcing Sir Graham’s return.”

  Father Jevon smiled. “You are wrong, my child.”

  Was the man daft? Alana wondered. “I am not wrong. He would have beaten me if the group hadn’t showed when they did.”

  “Since you were facing the post, you may have every reason to believe such. But I was in a position to see something that you were not. Sir Paxton had released the whip, my child. It was on its way to the ground when the call cam
e about Sir Graham and the others. And yesterday, he was most angered and distressed by what had happened to you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because his blasphemy was heard throughout the yard. I saw him charge from his position at the hall’s entry the instant the stone struck you. He was almost at your side when you hit the earth. He knelt beside you and turned you over with care. Afterward he smoothed the side of your face, then lifted you into his arms. From where I watched, there at the chapel door,” he said, nodding at the place, “he appeared quite concerned and very protective of you. Considering these things, I doubt, my child, he would ever strike you for any reason.”

  The priest was of no help to her. She was searching for confirmation about something she thought was true. Rather than giving her the answer she sought, he was extolling Paxton’s qualities and lauding his character. Perhaps she needed to try a different tact.

  “I wasn’t aware he had dropped the whip,” she said.

  In fact, the news had surprised and dismayed her. She’d been quick to accuse and to berate him for nearly beating her. Why hadn’t he defended himself and set her straight? By what the priest had said, it was clear that she could no longer hold the incident against him.

  “And I had not an inkling that he was so troubled by what occurred yesterday,” she announced. “I suppose I have misjudged him.”

  “I’m glad I was able to ease your worries about his nature. As I’ve said: I doubt he’d ever be abusive to you.”

  “Theoretically speaking, Father,” Alana said after she’d assessed him at length. “Let’s say a man and a woman marry. Even though there is no love between the couple, the wife intends to be obedient to her husband, assisting him in whatever way he asks.

  “At first, things go well, but after a while the husband becomes disinterested in his wife. As time passes, the husband finds he is most unhappy, thus he seeks to put his wife aside.

  “Let’s say there are no grounds for the dissolution of their marriage, but he wishes to be rid of her anyway, mayhap even to the point that he entertains thoughts of murdering her. What protection does the Church offer for the wife who has always served her husband well but discovers she is no longer wanted by her mate?”

  “There have been instances where a woman has sought the security of a convent,” Father Jevon replied.

  “Even if she is married?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Might she do this even if her husband has proved himself to be loving and kind?”

  “If her heart is such that she feels that serving God is more important than serving her husband, she may indeed sequester herself. In doing so she must remain chaste and pure, for she is no longer her husband’s possession but has placed herself under the dominion of the Church. In effect, she has made herself the bride of Christ.

  “In any event, my child, if you’re asking this for yourself, I would hope you’d at least see what your marriage is like before you place yourself in a convent.”

  The last of the priest’s words were called out to Alana since she was now heading toward the chapel door. She had found the answer she’d wanted, therefore, in her opinion, nothing more needed to be said.

  “’Twould benefit you if you were to quit your pacing,” Graham commented.

  Paxton halted in midstride and spun toward his friend. “’Tis the day of my wedding,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I pace?”

  “Because the Welsh will think that their valorous Norman overlord is suffering from an attack of the jitters. Is that the impression you want to give?”

  Paxton looked around the hall to see most eyes were upon him. “Nay, that is not what I want.”

  “Then find a spot and stand there. At least give the appearance that you have your wits about you, even if you don’t.”

  Releasing a long breath, Paxton did as Graham bade, but his nerves were no less jumpy, his thoughts no less muddled.

  He prayed he’d made the right decision in forcing Alana to marry him. He’d barely seen her over the past week since he’d given his proclamation. When he did come upon her, she’d been pleasant and, amazingly, docile.

  Paxton wondered at her change in mood. He’d expected her to fight him at every turn on this. But since the hour he’d told her they would be married, using the threat of retribution against Rhys and the others as leverage, she had offered no opposition. He knew she’d seen the priest. Perhaps Father Jevon had convinced her that her fate was sealed. Maybe she had at last accepted that it was.

  Scanning the faces of her kinsmen, who were gathered in anticipation of seeing the bride, Paxton remembered how he’d called them together, just four days ago, and announced the impending nuptials.

  The Welsh were not approving at first, not until Alana had spoken to them. In a calm voice, she told them that she was going into this marriage willingly, said she did so with their interests at heart, asked that they would offer their blessings and put their past hatreds aside so that they could all live in peace.

  If her words had had any effect on them, Paxton was unable to tell. Their grumblings had stopped… for the time being at least. The question was whether or not her kin would one day give their allegiance to Henry. That done, all this would be his. Alana as well. Though he desired to have his own fiefdom, in the end, Paxton believed she might be the greatest prize of all.

  An elbow met his ribs, and Paxton looked to its owner.

  “I suggest you cast your attention on the stairs,” Graham said, nodding in that direction.

  Paxton swung his gaze to the steps. What he saw made his heart trip in the oddest fashion; his breath was suspended in his chest.

  Beautiful was the only way he could describe her. The word was paltry at best.

  Since this would be her second marriage, she presented herself unveiled. It was as though he saw her for the very first time.

  In the light that streamed through the high window above the stairs, her sable brown hair, which was swept away from her face and secured by jeweled combs, the long tresses flowing down her back to her waist, shimmered like rich samite silk.

  Dressed in a snow-white chainse and a soft yellow bliaud, its hem and sleeves embroidered with threads of gold, she carried herself proudly down to the hall, looking like a luminous ray of sunshine.

  If just a particle of the radiance that presently enveloped her were to insert itself into their lives, their future together promised to be forever bright. Paxton basked in the thought, hoping it would soon come true.

  The instant her feet hit the floor of the hall, he stepped forward and extended his hand. She had no father, brother, or close relative to offer her to him as was the custom, so it was agreed they would walk to the chapel door together.

  “Are you ready to begin the procession?” he asked, seeing there was only a hint of a bruise still on her cheek.

  She said not a word but gave her assent with a nod. Paxton then guided her through the hall, out across the yard, to the chapel door, where the priest awaited them.

  Sir Graham and Gwenifer followed directly behind them, the others trailing them. Glancing over his shoulder, Paxton noticed the Welsh stood to one side, the Normans to the other. It was evident their long held prejudices remained.

  When Father Jevon began the ceremony, he excluded the part about the bride being given away and went straight to the ritual where the ring, which had been blessed earlier, was presented.

  Paxton lifted Alana’s uncovered right hand, its bareness denoting she was a widow. As he slipped the ring, a family heirloom given to him by his grandmother, on and off the first three fingers of her hand, he said, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

  Afterward he placed the ring on her left hand and made the pledge, “With this ring I thee wed, with this gold I thee honor, and with this dowry I thee endow.” Once the words were said, Alana prostrated herself at his feet, showing her submission.

  Seeing her thus, Paxton wanted to pull her to her fe
et. But the Church, and most men, expected a woman to honor her new husband in this manner, the act stating he was her superior. Though he allowed the display now, he vowed she would never again bow to him. He desired that she be his equal, not his subordinate in life.

  When she rose, he directed her through the doors into the chapel, where Father Jevon gave the blessing. Mass followed, and when it was over, Paxton came from his knees to his feet, bringing Alana with him.

  As he looked into her upturned face, his heart swelled. She was his wife. And tonight, he would at last bed her.

  Remembering how she’d sworn she would not marry him, he grinned, gladdened that he’d won. “The deed is done, Alana. Your kin are safe and you are forever mine,” he whispered before he kissed her soundly.

  Alana’s face beamed with satisfaction when he pulled back. But it was not his show of affection that had brought the smug expression to life. Of this Paxton was aware.

  Cocking his head, he studied her, then asked, “Why do you appear so triumphant, my wife?”

  She smiled. “You are my husband, ’tis true. But the designation you bear is forever in name only.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “As of this moment, I have decided to take the veil.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  “Like hell you will!”

  Paxton’s voice thundered through the chapel to shake the very rafters.

  The onlookers grew still, stunned by his profanity. He was furious, and Alana thought to cower, but she stood her ground.

  “What madness is this?” he asked, gripping her shoulders. Then his blazing eyes turned on Father Jevon. “You! What sort of nonsense did you put into her head?”

  Having been wide-eyed and speechless, the priest quickly found his tongue. “W-why none,” he insisted, his pale face showing even more ashen.

  “She came to you the day after she was injured,” Paxton snarled. “Why?”