The Countess Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Why, Geoff?”

  “Why what? Why did I take Catherine from the convent? Why did I not tell you of my plans? Which of those do you wish to know?” Anger built within him. He was tired of needing his brother’s approval and permission. Tonight he became his own man and things would be different.

  “What have I done to lose your trust?” Christian sat down on one of the cots in the chamber and put his head in his hands. “Why did you not trust me in this?” he repeated.

  “’Tis not about trust, Chris. ’Tis about claiming my inheritance, my rights.”

  “Inheritance? You have no inheritance, Geoff. Remember your place—you are the second son and by our laws and practices nothing comes to you that I do not grant.” Christian looked at him with bleak eyes before continuing. “And despite the deals I have struck with the king to regain the lands that should be mine, and give them to you, you did not trust me enough to tell me your true intentions.”

  Guilt burned Geoffrey’s gut and bile churned as he heard the accusations. He was the second son of the long-dead Guillaume Dumont who had paid for his sins of betrayal with his lands, his titles, his life and nearly the lives of his sons. If his father had lived and kept faith with King Richard, all would have gone on his death directly to Christian as his heir. Geoffrey would have received some small amount of gold or a small gift of property and been expected to marry a woman whose dower lands he would protect and pass on to their son.

  ’Twas the way of it.

  And now that he was instead receiving the rich portion of the bargain worked out by his brother, he should have looked for a bride to form alliances, one who would bring more wealth and lands that his son would inherit. Instead, he was going to marry the woman he loved. A woman who brought nothing to their union but herself.

  He loved Catherine, and he would stand by his pledge to her. But he finally understood some of his brother’s reasons for being angry over his choice.

  “I would have told you. When I heard Evesham plotting to kidnap her, I knew I must act.”

  “Pah,” Christian yelled. “That was simply an excuse on your part to ignore my objections, my valid objections, to your considering her for marriage.” He stood now and paced the cramped length of the chamber. “My men and those of the sheriff of Lincolnshire could have protected the convent from any attack. If you had told me of the threat, I would have acted immediately to bring her to safety.” He stopped and turned to face his brother. “But you saw this for the opportunity it was—you could take her from the convent on the pretext of the coming danger and, knowing the reverend mother would not allow her to leave with you under any other circumstances, you used the king’s orders and that nun to secure the betrothal to an unacceptable bride.”

  “I told you I wanted her to wife. I told you I love her. You forced my hand in this.” The words and accusation sounded false even as Geoff spoke the words, but at least he’d said them.

  “You wanted her? You love her? If that is true, you would never have brought her into this. She is not suitable for many reasons, only some of which you know, some you cannot even begin to guess at. For those of us of noble blood and standing, love and want are not reasons to marry. Honor and duty and security are. And you have turned your back on all who have gone before you by pledging yourself to her.”

  Geoff watched as his brother leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. Instead of anger, Geoff saw only exhaustion and pain in his stance.

  “I am protecting her honor now. I have made my pledge to her, and to break it would dishonor her before all.”

  “Have you slept with her?” his brother asked.

  Clenching his teeth, he did not answer at first.

  “Come, Geoff, have you consummated this betrothal or not?”

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “Why not? You had the right. You had the time and surely the opportunity, if you’ve been traveling together for the last eleven nights. Why did you not take her and seal the bargain made?”

  The words of explanation were right there waiting to be said, but his brother’s questions raised the same doubts that had plagued Geoff since London. Why had he not? What was he waiting for? What held him from acting on the betrothal?

  “You see, somewhere inside of you, in the place where you think and do not act on feelings, you know this is wrong. You know you have moved hastily or else you would have sealed this contract with her blood on the sheets.”

  “This is not wrong, Christian. Do not misunderstand my hesitation. It was for Catherine that I delayed.”

  “You delayed for her then? Mayhap she is showing the kind of levelheadedness that Emalie claims she possesses. Or mayhap it was simply maidenly fears? Did she ask for more time to accommodate herself to this? To you?” His brother became distant, as though hearing another conversation or seeing another place in his mind. Then he looked at Geoff and waited for an answer.

  “She knew you would have objections and did not want to make it impossible for us… She did not want to make things difficult between you and me.”

  Christian pushed away from the wall and pointed at him. “She did not want to make this betrothal irrevocable. Catherine was giving you a way out of this, giving both of you a way out, with your honor intact.”

  Geoff could not argue, for those were Catherine’s reasons exactly. Although he did not want to disavow their betrothal, she had given him the chance to do so if necessary.

  “I do not want a way out of our betrothal, Christian. I will marry her.”

  “All I ask is that you consider my words and consider if you are taking this path only to prove yourself in control of your life. Tonight, you become Langier. Will you bring honor to its long history or will you bring disgrace upon it? That is the question you must answer for yourself.”

  Christian moved past him to the door of the chamber. “If there is nothing else to say between us, I need some water and to find out where my clothing is.”

  “There is one thing I want to say.” Geoff stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I admit to having much to consider, and to having considered much during these last few weeks, but I have something for you to contemplate, brother. How many of the objections you raise about Catherine are truly about you and not at all about her? About your regrets at choices made? About the anger you feel at being challenged by your younger brother? About your discomfort with possibly being wrong in this?”

  His brother opened the door, and there was Luc Delacroix, followed by a line of servants carrying trays of food and drink, washing cloths and basins, as well as their bags. Christian nodded to his man and the room was filled with everything needed to make them comfortable and ready for the festivities of the night.

  “I will give you some privacy now and go to see if Catherine is settled in her room,” Geoff said.

  “Did that go as well as it seemed, my lord?”

  “Leave it be,” Christian mumbled as he dipped his hands in the basin of water and splashed it on his face. After days in the saddle and in his mail, he was anxious to get it off. Reaching for a towel, he wiped his face and glared at his friend. “You know that it did not, so why do you torment me with your questions?”

  “I had hopes that you two could settle this between you and not make it of interest to the Plantagenets. Things have a way of getting out of control when it moves into their line of sight.”

  Luc moved around the chamber, rearranging the meager furnishings and pushing the pallets into three areas. They would share this room, while their men were in the one of the common areas. At least until they left for Château Gaillard and whatever the king planned there.

  “I fear that is too late now. From Richard’s comment and the arrangements here, I surmise Catherine has already been presented to the queen and made a favorable impression.”

  Luc picked up a cup and filled it from a jug of wine. Passing it to him, he asked, “And you are certain that would be a bad thing?”

  “I cannot believe th
at you ask that of me! You know who she is, you and I both know—”

  “Suspect.”

  “We know what most likely happened to her during that year in John’s control. No matter what he may have promised her brother about her safekeeping, we know what he is capable of.”

  “What will you do now? Will you object when the time comes?”

  “Luc, I swear I do not know.” Christian walked to the small window high in one wall and peered through it. “I know that this is not about blaming the girl. Truly, ’tis not. He could have so much more than what she brings him.”

  “More? How so, Christian? More lands, more titles, more wealth? Certainly. But have you watched them together? Do you see what she truly brings to him?”

  “And what will happen when he learns the truth of her illness? Of her missing years? Of what happened to her? How will he feel about their love when he learns he was not the first? That another man or men knew her flesh before he did?”

  His friend’s face became thunderously dark and Christian knew the wrong words had been spoken. Once more he had reminded Luc of his wife Fatin’s life as a harem slave before they had married, a reminder better left unspoken. Suddenly, he could not breathe. Luc grabbed his tunic with such force that it closed the cloth and the mail under it around his throat. When he was about to lose consciousness, the grasp was loosened and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “He was right. This is more about you and your anger than about whether or not he should marry Catherine. We have traveled down this path before, my lord, and I thought you had learned the lesson along it. Do not head this way. Let the past go.” Luc whispered the words in a harsh voice, one filled with emotion.

  “That is why I seek to make him understand. I struggle with this still. At least you have no proof of past indiscretions in front of you every day when you wake.”

  At his words, Luc hissed with an indrawn breath, but a glance told him that his friend understood the pain within him.

  There. He had voiced his deepest weakness. He would never know if the daughter he raised as his own had been fathered by the man he’d killed or by the Plantagenet puppet master behind it all. For even though William de Severin had said only he bedded the countess, doubt still lingered within Christian’s mind about the extent of Prince John’s role in Emalie’s downfall.

  “I would save him this pain, this uncertainty,” Christian added bleakly.

  Luc approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “’Tis far too late for that, I fear. If you wish to save him from pain you must arm him with the truth before another disarms him with falsehoods. Make him understand.”

  “And if he still wants to marry her?”

  “He is his own man now, Christian. He would not deserve your respect if he let you make this decision for him. He would not respect himself.”

  “I will think on this. He has been like my son and I struggle to think him a man on his own.”

  “And do not fathers and sons struggle to find an accommodation of each other? Now, I do not wish to be maudlin with you, so let this go for now. Here,” he said, holding out some cold meat to him. “Eat something while I go learn the lay of this land.”

  A moment later Luc left, off to do what he did best—search out the facts and the situation and prepare Christian for whatever came his way. Luc’s attentiveness to details had saved him many missteps, aggravation and even harm in their years together. His friend’s perspective had saved Dumont many nights sleep, and even his marriage to Emalie. Out of respect for all that, and the pain in his heart over his separation from his wife, both in distance and in discord, Christian realized he must find peace with all these issues before he lost everything he held dear.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the austere conditions of the convent in Lincoln and despite her recent visit to Greystone, Catherine was not prepared for the ostentatious displays in Richard’s court. War might be in the offing—indeed, just over the next horizon—but that did not stop his nobles and knights from feasting and drinking and celebrating any event that needed merriment.

  No fabric or style or headpiece or jewel or ornament of any kind was missing among this gathering. Although Catherine wore clothing that Geoffrey had gifted her with, she felt very much a drab pigeon among festive peacocks.

  But Eleanor had done much to soothe her fears, and now Catherine was determined to enjoy this night’s festivity. She would see the man she loved ascend to his title and step out on his own, away from his brother, and become the man he was destined to be. Even if nothing else came to pass, she was thrilled to be witness to this.

  As she walked to the hall with the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, she could feel a nervousness inside her. Although she hadn’t visited the place of her birth for a number of years, she still worried that someone would recognize Catherine de Severin. ’Twas not likely, but still possible. The only people present who knew her real name were Geoffrey and the earl, and she knew neither would reveal it to anyone.

  They arrived to much fanfare as the queen made her way to the high table. From whispered instructions, Catherine understood that she herself would sit there, with Geoffrey. Following Eleanor, she climbed the steps, circled the table and found herself seated not only next to Geoffrey, but beside the Earl of Harbridge. She lost whatever appetite she had as she took her place.

  Geoffrey clasped her hand and leaned over to kiss her quickly. His honest emotions lifted her dampened spirits, and she remembered the new clothes she wore.

  “I am most grateful for your generosity, my lord,” she said, smiling at him. “I hope you are pleased with this gown as much as you liked the others?”

  “If you are happy with them, I am pleased, Catherine.”

  She realized he and his brother were both arrayed in their best, even to the chains of gold that hung around their necks. She decided to make the first attempt with his brother.

  “May I compliment you both—” she looked from one to the other “—on your appearance this evening? I do not remember seeing either of you so splendidly dressed before.”

  Geoffrey smiled widely and patted her hand. “’Tis a very special night, Cate, and I am pleased you can share it with me.” He leaned forward, looking past her at his brother. “What say you to my lady’s compliment?”

  If the truth be told, the earl appeared more prepared to vomit than to speak to her. But his years of courtly training won out over any anger on his part.

  “A new tunic,” he mumbled without any further explanation. Well, at least he had not shouted words of repudiation to those assembled. She silently thanked the Almighty for the small kindness granted.

  The earl’s attention was taken by the queen, who sat on his other side, and that gave Catherine a reprieve from having to converse with him. Geoffrey, however, devoted all of his attention to her through the meal—feeding her from the platters filled to over-flowing and carried around by the servers, drawing attention to her empty cup so it could be refilled and even including her in the conversations around him so she would not be left out.

  Soon, the subtleties and sweet wines and sugar-coated wafers and pastries were served, marking the end of the meal. Geoffrey tensed as the servants cleared away trenchers and platters. She knew the ceremony would soon begin, and she took his hand under the table to offer him her support and her love.

  The king stood and walked around the table to a high-backed chair that had been placed there for his use. Charles, Bishop of Caen, followed the king and stood at his side. When all was ready, the king’s herald called out to the assembly, demanding that the Count of Langier present himself and do homage to the Count of Poitou for the lands he held. When Catherine expected Geoffrey to stand, he did not. Instead, the earl stood and walked slowly over and knelt before the king.

  “Christian Dumont, Comte de Langier, when your lands and titles were returned to you as a reward for services rendered to the crown, you named your brother, the younger son of Guillaume Du
mont, as your heir. Do you confirm that it is still your wish to name him so?”

  The earl raised his head and stared directly at Geoffrey. Catherine could not take a breath as she watched the exchange between the two brothers. Geoffrey still clutched her hand under the table, and she felt the tremors as he heard his brother’s affirmations. This gifting of property and title was extraordinary among nobles, and Catherine recognized the importance of it.

  “Aye, sire, it is my wish.” The earl’s voice carried throughout the hall, echoing to the back.

  “Christian Dumont, when your lands and titles were returned to you, you declared that at the time of his majority or at a time designated by the crown, those lands and titles would be conferred on him. Is it your wish that it be done so now?”

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she observed the royal drama before her. There were hundreds of persons present, and yet no sound marred the silence and the majesty of the moment. Christian raised his lowered head and once more stared across the table at Geoffrey. His confidence in his brother was obvious, and tears clogged her throat as any misgivings about his motives fled.

  “Aye, sire,” he said loudly. “It is my wish.”

  “What sign do you give that this is done of your free will and with your blessing?”

  Without a word, the earl reached under the neck of his tunic and lifted out the ring she knew he always wore on a chain. She gasped as he tugged on the chain, breaking it and freeing the ring. He did not hesitate in handing it to the king. Richard closed his hand around it and nodded to the herald again.

  The herald read out all of the earl’s holdings in England, those in his name and in his wife’s. When he finished, the king spoke.

  “Christian Dumont, Earl of Harbridge, whom do you designate as heir to those lands just named?”