The Countess Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Before the nun could respond, Geoffrey interrupted. “I spoke with him at length yesterday and again this morn after receiving the king’s orders, Catherine. I named my bride and he did not object.”

  “But my lord—” she began.

  “Geoffrey. You must call me Geoffrey.”

  “Geoffrey, surely the other women are more suitable for you. I bring nothing to you in marriage. We cannot do this.”

  He stepped closer and took her hand once more. “Do you love me, Cate?”

  She could not speak, so she simply nodded.

  “Do you promise to obey me and live with me and give me children if God grants them to us?” He pulled her closer to him until their mouths almost touched. “Do you, Catherine?”

  “Geoffrey, we must not,” she said, shaking her head at his impossible request. “You do not know—”

  “I know that I love you, Cate. I know that I have the king’s permission to take you as my wife. If you love me as I think you do, you will give me the words I need to make us one.”

  Her love for him overwhelmed whatever vestige of sense and foreboding she had, and she let the words come. “I do promise, my lord…Geoffrey. If you would have me as wife, I would have you as husband.” He tilted his head down until she felt the heat of his mouth on hers. His lips moved over hers in a gentle kiss.

  “Are you satisfied, Mother?” he asked, turning to the nun who was observing their every move.

  “Catherine, is it your free choice to join with Geoffrey Dumont in marriage?”

  Unable to understand how this was coming to pass, yet unwilling to give up the hope that it was indeed happening, she nodded to the nun. “Aye, Mother,” she sighed, “’tis my choice.”

  “Then, child, come, for we must sign the betrothal documents so that you can be on your way.”

  “Betrothal?” she asked, as Geoffrey opened the door and spoke an order to his man. “Now?”

  “Catherine, you cannot accompany the count unless there is a formal agreement, one that offers you the protection of his name and provides for you in the event of his death. I will not permit you to leave here in his care and custody until this is settled and the count has agreed. Here, now, is the priest who will bless your betrothal, and I will stand witness to it.” The nun’s tone left no room for disagreement, and in a way Catherine was comforted that the reverend mother still acted to protect and care for her.

  Feeling as though she moved through a dream, Catherine watched as the room filled with not one, but three priests, a clerk who took a seat at the table and began to write, the reverend mother’s assistant abbess and two of Geoffrey’s men. Words were spoken in Latin, and if she could have paid attention she would have understood them. Looking from person to person, she noticed every face wore a different expression, from happy to complacent to accepting to questioning to…only Geoffrey smiled as she turned to him.

  “Trust me, Cate. All will be well,” he whispered as the priest droned on.

  “I do trust you, Geoffrey. I trust you completely.” She answered him in a whisper so as to not disturb the words being spoken over them. She knew in her heart that she could trust him with her life. At her statement, his smile slipped slightly, but he squeezed the hand he held.

  Soon, a quill was held out to them and Geoffrey took it, signing his name with a flourish. Catherine’s hand shook when she reached for the sharpened feather pen, but he wrapped his fingers around hers and helped her. Then the reverend mother and the priests and other witnesses followed them in marking the contract. Still in a daze, she felt the touch of Geoffrey’s lips once more to seal the bargain, and then they were announced as man and wife in the eyes of the church.

  Another knight entered the now crowded room and waved to Geoffrey. “A quarter hour at most, my lord,” he called out. At his words, everyone in the room moved, scurrying in different directions, until they were alone once more with the reverend mother.

  “Catherine, would you check to see if Sister Anne has brought your belongings for the trip to your husband’s home?”

  Determined to enjoy this dream until the very moment she awakened from it, she nodded in agreement. She did not understand how this had come to be, but she would accept this intervention in her life as a gift.

  Geoffrey released her hand and guided her to the door. As she reached to turn the knob, she realized that she had never washed her hands, and had gone through the most important moment of her life covered in dirt.

  Chapter Ten

  “Do not disappoint me, my lord.” The reverend mother’s expression turned from warm to sternly cold as soon as Catherine left the room.

  “I do not plan to, Mother,” he answered. Not happy that she questioned his integrity, he continued, “I will guard her from all dangers.”

  “Ah, but can you guard her from yourself and the damage you can do to her?” The nun moved from her place by the hearth and approached him. “Neither of you know her past, and yet you would gamble on her future. I fear she will be caught between when the truth comes out.”

  Without the luxury of time, he could not engage in a long conversation, and yet he wanted to know the past that haunted Catherine. She had been a victim of the prince’s machinations, he knew. What more was there?

  “Then tell me quickly what I must know to protect her.” He moved to the door and reached for the knob, intent on leaving at once before the prince’s men could arrive and capture her.

  “Will you stand up to your brother for her?”

  He let out an exasperated breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I have done that.”

  “Nay, my lord. So far you have used subterfuge and some lies to gain her hand. When the truth is known, will you stand with her against your brother and the king?”

  “I have not lied in this, Mother. You saw the documents that give me title and power and the choice of wife. The king’s word—”

  “What name did you give your brother this morn as the woman you would marry?” The reverend mother’s words were whispered, but they carried the force of a shout.

  He had not lied; he had simply omitted the truth.

  “Does not the end justify the means we use to get to it if ’tis an honorable one? I will marry her. I will stand by her, no matter who or what appears in our way.” A stab of fear and doubt and foreboding struck his heart as he said the words. He drew a deep breath and changed the direction of their words. “John’s men are on their way here and I must get her away now.”

  “I allowed this to go forward because I believe your intentions are good and that your love for her is true. But my son,” she said, placing her hand on his, “the powers of evil can be strong, and overwhelm even the best of intentions. In spite of all that she has seen and lived through, she comes to you pure of spirit and heart. Do not use her as the weapon others have. Do not destroy her in your quest to prove yourself against others.”

  A loud banging on the door interrupted whatever else they might say. “I must go, Mother, but you have my word that she will be safe.”

  “Go with God, then.” She made the sign of the cross in front of him and followed him out of the building into the small courtyard. Catherine already sat on a large horse, looking very fragile and yet undaunted. The nun went to her and whispered some words as Geoffrey gave his last orders to his men. He knew well the three knights who stayed with him to bring Catherine to safety.

  Their route had changed now, and instead of traveling down the coast and across to La Rochelle and home, the men escorting the gold would meet them in Oakham, so that they would journey with a larger force of knights to the southeast coast of England, across the Channel to Cherbourg or Barfleur. ’Twould be on to Caen and through Rouen to his formidable Château Gaillard and the king. Since even the reverend mother knew not of the changes to their route, they should be safe from any intervention until they reached Normandy.

  He mounted and took the reins from the boy holding Catherine’s horse. She would need all her con
centration staying on the animal she rode, since it was no lady’s mount, but a knight’s solid mount. Moving closer to her, Geoffrey leaned in his saddle and kissed her, wanting to remove the fear from her eyes.

  “All will be well, Catherine. I swear it.”

  A tremulous smile was his reward, and with a nod to the reverend mother, he followed his knights into the forest, away from the convent.

  They traveled toward the coast, turning eastward and southward. Geoffrey knew that this part of England close to Nottinghamshire was filled with John’s cronies, and they could not afford to be found. Dressed plainly as they were, such a small group as theirs would not draw much attention. He knew of some smaller inns where they could stay unaccosted by thieves or outlaws or princes. Once they reached the Cinque Ports, he would take his place as Comte de Langier, seek transport across the Channel from the king’s men and report to Richard as ordered.

  Hours passed as he pushed them along their chosen route. Finally, he saw that Catherine could hardly sit aright, and called them to a stop. Leading her horse off the road and into a clearing, he dismounted and removed his helm and coif. Then he held his arms up to her. Without hesitation she leaned into his embrace and he lifted her to the ground. Feeling her unstable legs shaking, he kept her in his embrace, even as the other knights took the horses away to rest.

  A day ago, nay, even this morn, holding her so would have been unthinkable, but now she was his. The betrothal gave him all rights to her; the wedding was simply a formality that could be accomplished at some convenient time. By her word and her signature, she’d given herself to him. But doubts at his own manipulation of her plagued him.

  “Come, sit you down over here and rest a bit.”

  “There is no feeling in my legs. Can you help me walk?” she asked instead.

  He wrapped one arm around her waist and waited for her to take the first step. Catherine held on to his arm until her legs began to move on their own. Gritting her teeth, she grimaced in pain as, step by step, the muscles awakened. Searing cramps pulsed through her until the blood finally started flowing again and her legs were her own once more.

  “My thanks, my lord. I can walk now,” she said, letting go of his arm.

  “Mayhap I do not wish to release you,” he said, his voice teasing and lighter than she had heard it today.

  She searched his face for some sign of his meaning. Everything between them had changed the instant he had arrived at the convent, and she did not feel as confident in knowing his meaning as she would have just days before. But when he turned her toward him and tilted his face to hers, she knew he meant to kiss her.

  His lips were soft and warm on hers at first, then pressed more ardently against her. The touch of his tongue sent shivers through her, and as she gasped, he slipped it inside her mouth and touched hers. Tremors rocked her and heat built from within as he tasted her and she tasted him. Grasping his tunic, she held tightly as his kiss went on and on, touching and tasting and licking until she could not breathe. His hand slipped behind her head so that she could not move away, and she opened wider for his heated touch.

  Then she could think of nothing, feel nothing but the heaviness of his hand on her head. She was trapped against his mouth and could not breathe. When she attempted to pull away, his hand held her in place and she began to panic and struggle against his hold. The enticement of his kiss had been replaced by something else, something darker she could not identify, but something she feared in some deep place within her soul.

  Geoffrey must have realized his kiss was no longer welcome, for he removed his hand and released her lips. His gaze ran over her face and she knew he was confused. As was she.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, stepping back and examining her. “I forgot that I wore my mail when I held you so tightly.”

  “No, my lord, you hurt me not.”

  “Cate, I ask too much of you in one short day.” He paused as one of his knights approached and spoke only to him. “Jean has discovered a small stream not far from here, if you would like to wash?”

  Between the work in the garden, the heat, the effort of riding miles as they had, and the sheer excitement of the day, Catherine knew she must appear unkempt and smell atrocious. “I would welcome that, my lord.”

  “Come, let us take advantage of it, for I would like to put many more miles between us and Lincoln before nightfall.”

  He guided her along a beaten path behind Sir Jean. Her legs felt better with each step, though part of her dreaded the thought of getting back up on that horse. They reached the rapidly flowing brook and the water looked so appealing she was tempted to walk right into it. She paused on its banks and savored the sound of the water rushing over stones and roots as it passed.

  “There are some bushes there,” Geoffrey began. “So that you may…take care…of your needs.” His stammer, combined with the reddening of his cheeks, told her of his discomfort in discussing the subject with her. How could men be so earthy one moment and such tongue-tied mumblers the next?

  She laughed and nodded, leaving without a word. Although maneuvering was difficult, she made quick work of it, for she longed to dip her hands in the cool stream and wash her face. It was as she pushed back through the shrubbery that the reality of her situation struck her.

  She was betrothed to Geoffrey Dumont.

  She was traveling to the Continent with her betrothed husband.

  They were together.

  Catherine stumbled as the truths struck her. This morning she’d been determined to enter the convent, and by nightfall she was a wife to Geoffrey. If it had not happened at the convent with Mother Heloise as witness, she might not have believed it real.

  “Cate? Are you well?” he called out to her as she lurched from the trees.

  “I…” She stopped, not knowing what to say. The shock of the day’s event was wearing off and she felt waves of emotion coming through now. “We…” she said, but she could not finish the thought behind the words. He was at her side and holding her before she could try to walk.

  “Come, love,” he said, guiding her steps and giving her some of his strength. “Refresh yourself and I am certain you will feel better.”

  Instead of fighting his advice, she went along with it. There would be a time when she could form coherent thoughts and ask the questions ruminating within her. He knelt down and drew her to the water’s edge. Holding her waist, he helped her lean forward until she could cup her hands in the water and bring it to her face. Catherine spent several minutes simply enjoying the coolness of it. Pulling a linen square from her sleeve, she dipped it into the water and wiped her neck.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  Before she knew his intent, he lifted the heavy coil of her hair and the scarf from her neck and, taking the linen from her, wiped her skin with the cool cloth. It was a heavenly relief. Then she caught sight of their reflection in the small pool at her knees and realized the personal nature of such a touch.

  Sitting back on her heels, Catherine met his gaze. “I have many questions, my lord. Questions that cannot be ignored.”

  He did not look away, but let her hair drop down on her shoulders. “Yes, my lady. I am certain you have many.”

  My lady? Had he just called her “my lady”?

  “I fear there is not time or adequate privacy now to discuss the many issues we must settle between us.” A smile tugged at his lips as he looked over at their escorts. “If you can continue, I promise that your questions will be answered this night.”

  “As you wish, my lord. But would you answer one for me now?”

  One question had been burning in her thoughts. Everything had seemed to be impossible between them. The objections of his brother, her lack of status, his value in land and wealth, and many more. So how had this happened?

  “Why me? Why did you choose me, and why now?”

  Geoffrey aided her in standing before he answered her. He did not seem to be searching for words, or unsure of what t
o say. He took in a deep breath and let it out. Reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his mouth, turned it and kissed the inside of her wrist in a way that sent chills inching down her spine. She looked up and their eyes met. His love was plain to see there.

  “Now…because it had to be,” he said. “You…because for me there is no other.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Later than he would have liked, they entered the yard of a small inn. One of his knights awaited them near the gate, motioning them toward the stable. Geoffrey was disappointed to learn that in spite of his gold, only one chamber could be had for the night. Although his men grumbled a bit, sleeping in the stables or even out in the open was not unfamiliar to them while traveling.

  He assisted Catherine from her horse, and once their mounts were taken by boys who identified themselves as sons of the innkeeper, his group moved inside to find food.

  It took longer for her to regain her strength this time, so he knew she was exhausted. She had not said as much, but he saw the signs in her face and in the slowness of her movements. As they walked into the inn, Aymer told him of the arrangements. Taking her to a table in the common room, Geoff sat at her side while the food, plain but filling, was placed before them.

  Never once did she complain, but when her eyes closed as she spooned the thick stew into her mouth, he knew she needed sleep even more than sustenance. Without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the short flight of steps to the room that Aymer led him to. Not as spacious as his ante-chamber at Greystone, the chamber did appear clean and free of rodents, and he saw a pallet in one corner.

  Gently, for she was already asleep in his arms, he laid her down on the rough bed. Taking a blanket from one of their sacks, he covered her with it. After confirming his plans with Aymer, Geoff closed the door, dropped the bar in the brackets and moved to where she slept. In the light of one candle, he sat and watched her.