The Countess Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She should be screaming at Geoffrey now, clawing at his face or hitting him for the things he’d done, for his lack of faith, for his inability to keep his promises. Instead, she stood very composed before him, as though they were discussing the wheat crops or the noon meal.

  “I find I am still in need of your help,” he said, hoping that his plea would be successful.

  “My help? My lord, I do not know what assistance I could give you. How did you even know where I was?” Her voice shook a bit and he hoped that meant she was affected by his presence.

  “It turns out that fainting is not the lady Melissande’s only fault. She cannot ride.”

  “I do not understand. Lady Melissande cannot ride?”

  “I have also discovered that Lady Marguerite snores. Her maid confided to me that, verily, she can wake the dead with her snoring.”

  “Lady Marguerite snores? What are you saying?”

  “I asked you some months ago to help me choose a bride, and as you know, I still have not married. I thought we could discuss my possible choices and you could advise me.”

  He watched as the tremors moved through her, and hoped she would realize he was trying to goad her into feeling—and admitting that she still loved him.

  “I think not, my lord.” She nodded to him. “Good day.” Catherine turned to leave. He placed himself between her and the door and waited for her to meet his gaze.

  “I find myself in the same dilemma that brought me here once before. I will not marry a woman who I love not, and I love none of those who are being considered.”

  “Please, my lord, let me go.”

  “Cate, I was a fool. Please hear me out.” He reached for her, but she stepped away. “You were right in what you said in Caen. I would always doubt your word. I know that there will always be some doubt cast in my mind by John’s hateful words, but I beg you to give me a chance.”

  “I cannot, my lord. To look in your eyes and see the question would kill me bit by bit each day. And it would kill the love I bear you as well. And I do not deserve to suffer such a fate.” Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Even I do not deserve that much pain.”

  “Catherine, please let me do the right thing between us. Let me treat you the way you deserve and not the way that every man has done since you came to England. Let me love you.”

  “And when you cannot trust me? When the doubt about my faithfulness is raised in your mind? How can we live that way? Please, Geoffrey,” she begged, “let me go.”

  He stepped closer and took her hands in his. “I fear I cannot. For in this very room, I pledged my love and my protection to you, and I am asking for your forgiveness for my failures to you.” Lifting her chin, he wiped some of the tears from her eyes. “Be my wife.”

  “I cannot.” She pulled away from him. “That is over. The betrothal was annulled and I plan to live a quiet life here.”

  “That is not what the reverend mother told me. She spoke of displays of temper and arrogance and even, heaven forbid, annoyance.” He smiled. “That is not the Catherine who once lived here.”

  “No, ’tis not,” she said, reaching up to wipe her own tears on her sleeve. “I find that I am different now. I do not have the same tolerances I once did. I must struggle to keep control and composure when faced with challenge.”

  “I would not demand composure if you were my wife. Temper and arrogance would be acceptable to me. So long as you do not snore.” He tried to make her smile. “Cate, you could show me all that you are and I would welcome it.”

  He watched her expression as she thought on his words. He could see the part of her that wanted to accept his offer, but there was also that part that feared the disgust and reprisals when he learned of her past.

  He held out his hand to her. “Tell me your secrets, Cate. Trust me.”

  “I do not want to see the hatred in your eyes when you learn of it. I cannot.” She shook her head and would not take his hand.

  He tried again. “Tell me how he took your virginity.”

  Shaking her head more vigorously, she refused again. “You will look on me with doubt and loathing.”

  “Loathing for him. And if I have doubts, then so be it. Your love must help me past doubting, past distrust. My brother tells me that he fails Emalie more often than not and it is her love for him that makes him try again. Is your love strong enough to do that for me?”

  “I do love you, Geoffrey. But the pain of your disbelief…”

  “Hurts. It hurts you as much as your lack of trust hurts me.” She was surprised by his words, and for the first time in a long time, he thought they might have a chance. “Tell me your secrets, Cate, and let our love put them in the past where they belong. Tell me.” His hand shook as he waited for her to take it.

  She moved toward him and he pulled her into his arms. The past came tumbling out of her in words and tears, and went on and on in a torrent of emotions. Guilt. Fear. Anger. Betrayal. Acceptance. It was all there. When he heard the terrible description of her treatment by the prince, he wept with her. And when the horrible images filled his mind, he forced them out with the knowledge of his love for her.

  Then, after the storm inside her raged and was released, he simply held her. At some point, they must have sat down on the floor, for he found himself leaning against the door with Cate in his embrace. When her breathing became even and slow, he roused her with a squeeze.

  “You must leave?” she asked as she sat away from him.

  “Nay, but the reverend mother awaits us outside.”

  “How did you convince her to let you speak to me? Although she tried to hide it from me, she was very angry when I returned here.”

  “I told her the same things I told you. That I have failed you and will fail you again, but that your love will make me stronger.”

  “And what will your brother say about this course of action? This led us down a dangerous path before.”

  “He was the one who told me you were here. I suspect he will be disappointed to have missed our wedding.”

  “Wedding? Our betrothal was annulled.”

  He stood and helped her to stand. “Actually, love, we were betrothed two weeks ago with the permission of your guardian.”

  “My guardian?”

  “Eleanor. I went to see her at Fontrevault and she signed this.” He walked to the table and lifted one of the large parchments from its surface. “A betrothal agreement between the Count of Langier and the lady Catherine de Severin of Anjou.” He held it out to her and she took it with trembling hands. “You do not have to read all of the details, but do not miss this section in which the king restores the ancient title of your family to you and to our sons in perpetuity.”

  “This cannot be…” Her voice trailed off as she read more of the paper.

  “It is only with your consent. I am not permitted to browbeat you to get that approval, either, for the reverend mother has threatened bodily harm if I do so. She did not say, though, that I could not use other forms of persuasion.”

  He took Catherine in his arms and kissed her softly. Her lips were warm and, after a moment of indecision, they welcomed his. Although his body reacted to her nearness, he would wait for her consent before proceeding. “Please, Cate. Love me.”

  “I do love you,” she said, accepting another kiss.

  He stepped back and released her from his embrace. “If you would like to change your gown, I can wait.”

  “Change?” she said, frowning.

  “The reverend mother and the priest are waiting outside to hear our marriage vows. Mother Heloise swore that I would leave here a married man or a dead one, and she fetched the priest for either occasion.”

  “You jest, my lord,” Catherine said as she pulled open the door. Outside stood Mother Heloise and one of the priests.

  “What will it be, my lord?” Mother Heloise asked in a stern voice.

  “Married, I think, Mother.” He looked to Catherine and she nodded. “Married
for certain.”

  The nun and priest walked into the room and the reverend mother exchanged a knowing glance with him. “Married is much less of a mess than a funeral, my lord. ’Twould appear that you are finally learning.”

  A short while later, Catherine found herself a married woman. A countess in her own right and by her marriage to Geoffrey. She thought again on how Geoffrey placed the ring on her finger as he spoke the words that would join them in marriage.

  “I take you as mine so that you are my wife and I am your husband.” He slipped the band of gold over the first three fingers of her right hand, one at a time, and then moved it to her left hand, saying as he did, “With this ring I thee wed, with this gold I thee honor, with this dowry I thee endow.”

  With shaking hands, she slid the ring onto her finger, signifying her acceptance, and repeated his words, making her vow. “I take you as mine so that you are my husband and I am your wife. With this ring, I thee wed.”

  It could not be. Catherine stared at the gold circle now on her finger, proclaiming to one and all the vows just made, and now blessed by the priest. Shaking her head, she held her hand out in front of her, still disbelieving that it had happened.

  “Pray, tell me you are not refusing now.”

  “Oh, nay, my lord. I am checking to see that it is real.”

  Mayhap in a day or a week or a month, she would stop worrying that this was a dream. She would rest easily with the fact of her marriage and not wait on someone to take it from her.

  Geoffrey had asked for her trust and, though a difficult step to take after so many broken vows, she had given it to him. She gave him her past in exchange for their future. She gave him her love to give them both the strength to fight for it.

  The gold glittered, reflecting the flames in the hearth, as she moved her hand. She had never seen this ring before.

  He seemed to know her question. “I thought myself prepared, but found I was not. Mother Heloise was generous enough to lend me the use of her ring.”

  “Her ring?” Catherine looked at the nun, who was busy gathering all the documents together from the table.

  “Apparently, she was married once, and widowed, before answering the call to God’s work.”

  “Married? I am surprised. I never knew.”

  “I suspected it as soon as she began calling down curses on my head for what I had done to you. Only someone who has been a wife would know those words and say them with such vehemence. I believe some of them are also Emalie’s favorites when she is angry with Christian.”

  She smiled at him. “Mayhap she should teach me….” She turned toward the nun, but he stopped her.

  “No need. I am certain that I will inspire you to your own words in our life together.”

  He kissed her again and the fire within her burned for him as it had before. Although there were witnesses present, there was no doubt that he claimed her with his kiss.

  No doubt at all.

  Late in the night at the abbey at Fontrevault, the queen took a few minutes before preparing for sleep, and examined the box left for her by the Count of Langier. She thought she knew what would be inside, but something within her prayed that it was not as she suspected.

  Untying the leather cord around it, she pried the box open and stared within. There was a folded parchment and a signet ring. Her old heart pounded as she lifted the ring from the box.

  Henry had commissioned the four rings at the same time he had the fresco at the palace at Winchester completed. ’Twas not a pleasant sight, that, for it showed four eaglets attacking their parent. Although he’d made some reference to one of the biblical prophets, she knew it was a vision of his future. One by one, even to his favorite son, John, they had turned on him until they or he died. She did not excuse her own actions from those days, since she was neither unknowing or uninvolved.

  Now, the reminder sat before her. Turning the ring, she held it away and tried to read the name and date inscribed inside of the band. Although worn smooth, she could detect “Jean” and that was all she needed to see. Eleanor placed it back inside and took out the paper.

  Unfolding it, she held it up and began to read. After a few lines, she shook her head and crumpled it into a ball. She did not need to read more, recognizing it immediately as a copy of the same letter she’d received some three years ago from her son’s champion, William de Severin. She’d understood the significance of it then, but did not know of an innocent girl held as pawn to retrieve it.

  Despite the conniving, the backstabbing, the political moves and ever-changing loyalties, she could not stand by and watch her grandson be murdered. Eleanor had informed his guardian of a possible plot, and they had thwarted it, all without her son’s name coming into connection with it.

  Now, others knew of his plotting. Had the new count understood the power he had turned over to her? He’d said it was to enable him to protect Catherine. He’d used it as leverage with Eleanor, then, honorable man that he was, he’d given it to her as promised once the betrothal was approved.

  She leaned her head back against the chair and thought about the way to handle this. John was Richard’s heir, and in spite of his many shortcomings, he wanted the kingdom—badly enough to do whatever was necessary to get it. Arthur, even with his strong claim, was still a child, and more beholden to Phillip in his loyalties.

  If anything happened to Richard, the provinces would be ripe for the picking, and she would be hard-pressed to hold them together at her age. Nay, John was the one. He would remain as Richard’s heir and she would support him.

  Not willing to change a lifetime of habit, she decided the fate of the proof before her. She would inform John of its existence and her possession of it, and demand that he cease any actions against her grandson. Holding the proof over his head might make him consider his actions a bit more or keep him from acting without thought at all. Once he knew that she had it, she would destroy the letters and have the ring melted down so that no one could ever use it against her son.

  She pushed herself out of the chair and went to the storage chest in the corner. Reaching under many layers of clothing, she drew out a locked box and secured the paper and ring inside it. Going back to her bed, she called out to her maid.

  Then Eleanor Plantagenet, Queen of England, by the grace of God, went to sleep, knowing that her kingdom was safe for one more night.

  Epilogue

  The Countess of Harbridge was finishing her conversation with the brewer when the man passed her. A fleeting memory of a shape and a profile drew her attention, and she lifted her firstborn onto her hip and followed the man. It could not be, of course, but she must satisfy her curiosity about this visitor to Geoff and Catherine’s wedding.

  “Sir?” she called out from behind him. “Good sir, may I speak with you?”

  The man stopped, also drawing to a halt the woman beside him, whom Emalie had not noticed before. From the back all she could see was the man’s long hair, black streaked with a more than modest amount of gray, and his well-made cloak. From his hesitation, she did not know if he’d heard her or not. Emalie walked closer, whispering to Isabelle as she did. When she was a few paces behind, she called to him once more.

  “Are you here to celebrate the wedding of my lord’s brother?”

  A deep feeling of dread filled her as the couple turned as one toward her. The man would not meet her gaze, but there was no doubt now. She faced a dead man. A man her husband had killed on the field of honor three years before.

  “We are here but as witnesses, my lady. We wish for nothing more than that.”

  William de Severin, brother to Catherine and natural father to the daughter Emalie carried in her arms, raised his eyes and met hers now. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the truth. Somehow, her husband had not killed him in the fight, although she knew his body had been carried from the field of battle and his burial announced. He yet lived and breathed.

  “My lady, we mean to cause you no dist
ress. We will leave now,” the woman at his side said.

  The woman’s soft voice drew her attention. A thick tuft of white hair grew in the middle of the woman’s darker hair, making her appear older than her years. A scar encircled the woman’s face, from the white hair down her forehead across her left cheek to her chin. A vicious wound from the looks of it.

  Many thoughts and words came to mind, but Emalie could make nothing come out. Emalie knew she must look a fool. Her only excuse was that she had not met many men who came back from the grave and spoke to her. When she said nothing, the couple bowed respectfully and began to leave.

  They could not! There were things she needed to know. Things that must be said. Isabelle sensed her upset and whimpered, the little one’s thumb sliding into her mouth as it did when she needed comfort or soothing. Emalie began to call out his name.

  “Will—”

  He faced her faster than she thought possible and corrected her. “Royce, my lady. I am called Royce.” His gaze now settled on her daughter, his daughter, whom he had never seen. After a momentary pause he spoke again.

  “This is my wife,” William said, as he nodded in the direction of the woman. “We have traveled from the north of England to be here this day.” His gaze never left the face of the child Emalie held. His child.

  Wife? He had a new life now. This was something else to discuss with Christian when she found him. Before she did him bodily harm for never disclosing the true resolution of his battle with William.

  Emalie nodded to his wife and considered her next action. William had come to see his sister married, risking much to witness the wedding, and would not have encountered Emalie or his daughter if not for her chance sighting of him. Surely he deserved to know?