The Countess Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Then he was there, as though her thoughts alone had conjured him, his face stern and his eyes dark with tension. Her husband stood without a cloak, heedless to the chill winds blowing around him. A second passed, or mayhap minutes, as they stared at each other. His eyes gave away nothing of his feelings to her, and sadness filled her at the breach to come. He would not bear the news well; the actions of his brother would hurt him deeply and he would think every word spoken by her about Geoffrey and Catherine was a betrayal.

  “My lady,” he said, coming closer. “You should not stay long in this chill.”

  “I was about to come in, my lord. You did not have to seek me out.” Emalie knew she must face her husband.

  “I have missed your company, Emalie. Come back to me?” The intensity in his gaze didn’t lessen, but the longing in his voice was clear, his expression more vulnerable. “I cannot tolerate this discord between us.”

  His outstretched arms weakened her intentions to stay aloof, and she ran into them. She savored the moments of unadulterated love while he held her, knowing that the night would most likely end with them apart once more.

  “Let us seek our chambers, for I must speak with you,” she finally said, after several minutes in his arms.

  He leaned back from her and she knew he was searching her face for some indication of what was to come, but she stepped from his embrace and led the way to her chambers. Once there, she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg, sat in the chair before her dressing table and waited for him to close the door.

  “I have not seen such a look of fear on your face for a very long time, wife. What have I done to deserve it again?” He stayed near the door as though he hesitated to enter her domain.

  “My lord… Christian…” she stuttered, trying to find a place to begin.

  “I know you are angry, Emalie. I know you think me wrong in sending Catherine back and in my insistence on a wife for Geoffrey other than she. But please do not dissemble in our dealings with each other, for surely we have come further than that.”

  She started to stand to face him, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Sit. Tell me, Emalie. Just tell me your news. Is it the babe?” He nodded at her and she realized he thought her pregnancy in danger.

  “Nay, Christian. I am well. The babe is well. ’Tis not that that forces me to bring you such tidings. The reverend mother has written to me…” She paused and took the folded sheets from the purse on her belt. Unfolding them, she held them out to her husband. Mayhap reading the nun’s words for himself would be better than hearing her speak them.

  “I remember no messenger from the convent this day,” he said, as he stepped close enough to take them from her. Then he moved to a lamp in a sconce on the wall. She did not bother to tell him when the letter had arrived, for it would only increase her sins against him.

  She could see him react to each bit of news in the missive, for his stance became rigid, his face flushed and his grasp on the delicate parchment tightened. It was the complete look of betrayal and pain in his eyes when he raised them to her that tore her heart in two. He held the letter out before him.

  “You knew? When did this letter arrive?”

  “Christian, please let me explain.”

  He crossed the room in three steps, and she stood to meet him, resisting the urge to back away. He would never raise a hand to her, she knew. But the dark look would have scared her senseless if she had not known.

  “When, Emalie? Simply tell me how long you have had this and not told me?” His breathing was labored and she could see his cheeks tighten as he clenched his teeth in anger.

  “It arrived yesterday morn. I only did as Mother Heloise asked.”

  “You honored her request, but not mine. Is that what you say, wife?” He forced the words out. “Hers and not mine?”

  “Please, Christian, hear me. The betrothal between them is binding. It is done. Geoffrey had the king’s permission and did not need yours.” His eyes flashed and she knew she had chosen the wrong tact in which to approach the matter.

  “Done? I think not, wife, for until he claims her as his bride there is still time to stop it.”

  He turned to leave, but she put her hand on his arm to halt him. “Is that what you want, Christian? To chase them down and stop this? Do you want to bring this family squabble to the king and have all on both sides of the Channel gaping at the antics of the Dumont brothers?”

  “A family squabble? Is that what you call it? ’Tis so much more than that, but a woman would not understand about a man’s honor.”

  Slapping her with his armor-encased hand could not have hurt her more. Gasping, she sat back down. She felt the hot tears pouring down her cheek and knew the pain in her chest was from her heart breaking.

  Women not know about honor? Who did he think took care of the broken hearts and bodies and spirits left after men fought for their honor? Who bore the marks in their souls of men’s battles for it? ’Twas always the women who picked up the pieces of the shattered lives left after men finished their games of honor. And always women who bore the cost in loss.

  However, antagonizing him with the words she wanted to scream out would do no good. Emalie searched the dressing table for a handkerchief and blotted her eyes.

  “He is a grown man. Now named count and about to be enfeoffed of the lands and people of your family. He goes to fight for his king. Christian, why can you not accept his choice and support him in this?”

  “And let the de Severin family win? Let William’s sister be named countess when ’twas his acts that nearly cost me my bride, my life and all that I hold dear?”

  So, ’twas as she suspected—the old wounds still festered within him. She recognized the struggle that surged in his conscience and in his heart. In a while, he would reconsider his words and realize that William de Severin’s acts had brought him all he held dear. For now, the anger over his younger brother’s challenge to his authority as head of the family, and the hurt over Geoff’s pursuing his own goals without consulting him, were too strong.

  Taking a risk, she stood and approached him, reaching up to touch his cheek. He flinched at the contact and moved back from her.

  “You would take their side and keep your word to another and not to me. That is the worst of this, Emalie. I thought we were of one mind and one heart. But I was wrong.”

  She closed her eyes and waited for him to leave. Nothing she could say now would matter. He saw her actions as betrayal. She could only hope that his thoughts would calm and he would see that they were of one mind on this. They both wanted the best bride for his brother, one who would support him in caring for their lands and people and in fulfilling his duties to king and country. They only differed over who they thought that woman was.

  The door closed quietly and she was alone. Giving in to the tears, she grieved for the distance between them. Mayhap she had acted incorrectly in not trusting him to do the right thing. Although his words to her said one thing, had he acted against his brother or Catherine? Had she simply not given him the chance to prove himself the man she thought he was?

  Emalie chose not to call her maid for help, but climbed into her bed and tugged a blanket over her. She did not hear his movements in the adjoining chamber, and worried long into the night.

  It seemed that no sooner had she closed her eyes than a knock came on her door, alerting her of her maid’s attendance. If Alyce thought it strange to find her fully dressed on her bed, in the same kirtle and overgown as the day before, she said nothing of it. And after the unsettled night she’d spent listening for signs of Christian’s return, Emalie did not care.

  Noises alerted her to his presence in his bedchamber. Cocking her head, she heard the sounds of several people and tried to discern what was happening there. Much activity was followed by silence, and she wondered what her husband was about this morn. She did not have to wait very long to discover the truth.

  Drawn to the window of her chamber, she found the cou
rtyard bustling with activity. Carts were being filled and harnessed to horses. Knights of the various noblemen stood waiting for their mounts, or sat on them awaiting their lords. Emalie leaned closer and watched as those who had been guests prepared to leave, and leave quickly, from what she could see.

  “Secrets are difficult to keep.”

  She turned to find Christian, dressed in his mail and carrying his helmet under his arm, standing in the doorway between their rooms. Emalie was shaking before she even realized what this meant. When she did perceive the meaning, she found it nearly impossible to breathe. Christian handed his helmet to his squire and came toward her.

  “Where do you go, Christian?” she asked as he helped her to her chair.

  “I had hoped to avoid answering the call of the king myself by sending my gold and some knights. But now, ’twould seem a good idea to present myself there.”

  Clutching at his hauberk, she whispered, “Forgive me for choosing wrongly. Please, Christian, I did not mean to hurt you by my actions. Truly,” she begged.

  “That you can hurt me says much about what is between us, Emalie. For now, know that I love you,” he said, kissing her on her forehead. “I will return as soon as is possible.”

  “Who goes with you? When do you leave?”

  “I take my four knights and two squires from Poitou and Luc. Walter remains here, charged with the protection of Greystone and its lady.”

  “What do you mean to do, Christian?” She watched as he loosened his hold on her and stepped away. He was already detaching himself from her; in spite of his words of love, she could feel the distance between them widening with each moment.

  “I have always had Luc at my back in battles small and large. I want to be there for Geoffrey as he faces his first test as vassal to the king.”

  This was a good sign, she thought. There was no anger in his voice as he spoke this morn.

  “I would come with you, husband.” She stepped toward him, but he moved away.

  “Nay. You will stay here. I need no more interference from you in this.”

  Hurt and yet enboldened by his orders, she asked what was in her thoughts. “And their betrothal? What will you do about Catherine?”

  He stared away from her for a long second and then answered without looking at her. “Press me not on that issue, lady. It is too raw for me to decide at this time how to proceed.”

  Christian turned and walked to the door. With his back still to her, she heard his words of farewell. “Be well while I am gone.”

  ’Twas some time later when the keep and courtyard had quieted after so much activity, that she realized what had happened. Christian had taken with him all those he had brought to Greystone three years ago. Only Montgomerie knights and vassals remained. And after praying so much for it to happen those years ago, Emalie knew now that she really did not want it, after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next six days of Catherine’s life were a blur of traveling in daylight, sleeping in darkness and eating meals in the saddle, at tables or by the side of the road in alcoves of shade. Too tired to do anything but hold on as Geoffrey guided her strong horse along the roads heading south through London and out to the coast, she simply existed in that twilight.

  She liked the mornings best, for that was when she and Geoffrey would have a chance at privacy. His men found inns along the way, where she and Geoff usually had a chamber to themselves, although once, just north of London, they shared it with his knights, too. For short periods of time, she would even ride with him, shamelessly sitting on his lap and wrapped in his arms as they galloped southward. Not much speech was possible between them, but in snatches of conversation she learned much about the Dumont family and Geoffrey’s life before his father’s death.

  She cautiously spoke of her own childhood and the years after her parents’ deaths, and they discovered even more things in common. Geoffrey’s mother was a second wife, as was her own. Catherine and he each had an older brother. Both their families’ histories went back many generations in the areas from whence they sprang, and both had suffered setbacks under the Plantagenet kings.

  Although they commiserated over the tyranny of older brothers, they carefully skirted speaking too candidly about either Christian or William. ’Twas fine with Catherine, for she had few clear memories of William except her childhood ones. And try as she might, nothing would penetrate the numbing blackness in her memory of her days before Greystone.

  She looked forward to seeing Geoffrey’s home, and although the thought of being his countess scared her, she considered it with some amount of pleasurable anticipation. Geoffrey assured her that she would carry out her duties competently and he would be there to support her, as she would him.

  One aspect of their upcoming marriage was not a topic for discussion between them. They had shared many hopes and dreams, but never did she broach the subject of their physical union. The truth was she only knew she dreaded it, and could not discern the reason for such feelings within her.

  Certainly Geoffrey’s kisses had been pleasurable. From soft touches to harder caresses, they incited heat and excitement through her body and left her hoping for and wanting more. She knew not what that might entail, but from overheard whispers during her visits to Greystone and the gossip of women in the solar, she sensed Geoffrey not only knew about it, but reveled in it.

  He could exercise his conjugal rights at any time he wished now that they were betrothed. The consummation would finalize their joining and make it unbreakable in the eyes of the church. Would he take her before they arrived in Caen and before he was sworn to Richard? Before the king confirmed his choice of bride?

  These strange thoughts crept into her mind at the most unexpected times, but usually when she awoke to find herself wrapped in his arms or when he held her closely as they rode together. No doubt the nearness of their bodies caused such thoughts and worries in her.

  Since he never spoke of it, she believed it was not a concern for him—until the night they spent in an inn on the Canterbury road. An inn large enough to accommodate them in Geoffrey’s request for a larger private chamber with a real bed and even a tub with enough hot water for a real bath. He had announced that they were making good time and could spend a few extra hours there, stopping well before nightfall and mayhap even getting a later start in the morn.

  At first she greeted his words with relief, then with trepidation. As they were shown to their chamber and a maid came to assist her with her bath, Catherine realized that she would not be sleeping alone this night, or sleeping with a husband who wore a mail hauberk, on a rough pallet on the floor. The luxury of the room after so many nights in much less was inviting. Clean sheets and a thick mattress over a well strung frame promised hours of comfort. Hours sleeping next to a man who had the right to take her for his pleasure. ’Twas an unnerving thought, that her body was now not her own.

  Soon she sat before a brazier and allowed the maid to towel dry her hair and then brush it with soothing strokes from her scalp to the ends. The warm chamber lulled her toward sleep, and she rested her head on her crossed arms and enjoyed the calming strokes. She did not know what made her look up, but when she did, Geoffrey was standing in the doorway, staring at her.

  The maid curtsied, handed the brush to him and, at his gesture, left. Her breath held, Catherine watched as he walked behind her and lifted his hand to her hair. Then he stopped, and she waited anxiously for his next move.

  “May I?”

  Although she sensed he meant more than simply brushing her hair, she nodded without looking back at him. Before the touch of the brush, he wrapped her hair around his hands and leaned in to smell it. His nearness, his own clean and masculine scent, the heat of his body behind hers threatened to overwhelm her. Every nerve within tensed as she waited for his next touch. Was this the time? Would he take her now? What would happen? What must she do? She could not calm the shaking that passed through her.

  Geoff felt th
e tension growing within her, first at his approach and now at his touch. Instead of being a pleasant anticipation of what could happen between them, he knew by the quaking in her that she was terrified. He stood and placed the brush on the small table near the bed. Then he turned and waited for her to look at him. It took a few minutes, but finally she raised her eyes and, as he’d suspected, they were filled with fear.

  “I will not hurt you, Catherine. I have promised to keep you from harm’s way. Yet you look at me with such terror in your eyes that I must wonder if you do not trust me as you’ve said.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and walked a few steps toward the bed without saying a word. Then she nodded to him. “I do trust you. It is just that this part is the reason why I was content to go to the convent unmarried. I never thought to give myself to a man.”

  His heart warmed with the knowledge that she had shared her deepest worry with him. “Do you fear that it will hurt, that you will not enjoy it, as some women do?”

  “Something from the time I do not remember has instilled a terror within me. I do not know the cause, but I do know it lies not with you.” She stepped closer and stretched out her hand to him. “As I told the countess, you are the only man I would consider doing this with.”

  “This?” he asked, teasing her over her words. “What is this?” He took her hand and pulled her gently to him. So she had consulted Emalie about him.

  “Carnal knowledge,” she whispered, so softly that he almost did not hear it. Her words were muffled in the tunic he wore.

  Lifting her chin so that he could see her face, he smiled. The becoming pink blush colored her cheeks and he noticed that some of the fear was gone from her eyes. But not all of it.

  “I do want carnal knowledge of you, Cate. I want to know the feel, the look, the very smell and taste of every part of you.” His own body already reacted to her nearness, tightening and pulsing. “And—” he took her hand and placed it on his chest “—I want you to know mine as well. I want there to be pleasure for both of us.”