The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series

by Claudia Dain

  "Oh, lady, 'tis as easily said as done for my lord William," Ulrich boasted happily, his hands folding across his chest with confidence to match his words.

  "So?" Cathryn prompted. It was all the prompting Ulrich needed.

  "William le Brouillard is a great warrior, my lady, though it does not surprise me that you would not be aware of it, Greneforde being not on the main path, so to speak," he explained self-importantly. "Did you not know that he saved Rowland's life? And Rowland himself is a knight of no little fame."

  "Nay," Cathryn answered softly, her smile gentle for the young squire who tutored under a knight he found so grand. "I did not know it."

  "'Tis a great tale, Lady Cathryn. Would you hear it?" he asked eagerly, the words clearly ready to spill forth from his lips.

  "Yea, I would."

  "Ah, lady, the sun was hot, as it always is in that far-off land," he began, his eyes focused on the pale shaft of light coming through the high wind hole. "The fighting had lasted many a day, but the walls of Damascus were strong, impenetrable, and high. Rowland, feared by many a Saracen for his valor and his stamina, attacked again and again, and though he could find no breach, he did not admit defeat. Nay, not even when he lay spent beneath its walls, his body wasted for lack of water. For did you not know, lady, that there is no water in the land of our Savior and that the soldiers of God found it is more precious than the most costly gem?" Ulrich did not wait for her response; indeed, none was needed. "But William did not hesitate to ride to the aid of his countryman, though they knew each other not and though the arrows of the Saracens flew about him as thick as flies on the... uh, as thick as snow," he rallied, remembering his audience. "William spurred his horse to greater speed and slipped in swift silence to the very base of the walls of defiant Damascus and lifted Rowland to his feet. With gentle care, he placed Rowland on his charger and then mounted behind, his back an easy target for the archers on the wall, and rode away as silently as he had come. The Saracens were amazed and swore aloud that their God and ours protected this man, this William le Brouillard."

  Ulrich had recited the words with fervor in his eyes. It prompted Cathryn to ask, "Did you serve William in Damascus, Ulrich?"

  Ulrich's eyes cleared and he looked in surprise at Lady Cathryn. "Nay, lady, for I was but a child at that time. 'Tis a tale well known and oft repeated by knights everywhere."

  "I see," she said, wondering how much truth was in the tale.

  Ulrich recognized her doubt for what it was and changed the topic to more recent feats of bravery, determined that William's wife would know the prowess of the man she had wed.

  "May I tell you of another battle, one in which I played a small part?" he asked with charming eagerness.

  Cathryn could not deny him his wish, he was so transparent in his desire; and she also was curious to know what she could of William le Brouillard.

  "Please continue," she prompted with a smile of encouragement.

  "I have been a squire to Lord William for three years now and have seen him perform wondrous feats of war." Cathryn had to smile at that odd word pairing. "On one occasion, we surprised a band of mercenary knights pillaging a poor village on the banks of the Rhine." And now Cathryn did not smile, for this tale pierced her heart and pricked her memory. Greneforde had been such a village, and because of lawless knights, was no more.

  "They outnumbered us three to one," Ulrich continued, his eyes glowing with the memory, "and I was but a squire newly made, my strength not as it is now, yet William and Rowland did not pause to debate whether they should ride on or stay to fight. With my lord there is but one course, and he follows it true," he said with pride. "The disgraceful band did not run at seeing us—indeed, they may have wondered if we meant to join them—but William quickly disavowed them of that thought when he unleashed his sword and urged his charger to run upon them. Rowland was at his side, as always, when they charged into the lawless band, but lawless though they were, they were fierce warriors and did not run. Nay, they returned stroke for stroke until my lord broke away to begin his charge anew. His arm was cut, lady, at the joint where arm meets shoulder, but he did not think to draw away."

  Ulrich's voice had fallen to a whisper and he seemed mesmerized by the dust motes as they swirled in the warm light that shot through the wind hole. In truth, Cathryn was also a little mesmerized at the telling of this tale.

  "My lord's eyes grew black as death itself in the whiteness of his face. He uttered no cry, no voice of battle to chill the foe and cause his blood to falter; nay, he was as silent as the grave, and the men he fought began to murmur that he was no man but a wraith sent to strike terror into their sinful hearts. But one of them saw the blood that ran in a steady course down his arm to pool on the ground and shouted that he was but a man as they were and would die that day. My lord William did not reply. Staring at the man who had pronounced his death, he gripped his shield with renewed strength in his bloodied arm and, with visor up, charged the man. There was a shout from them that all the flames of hell were burning in my lord's eyes, that he had no soul and had been sent from hell to seek and replace that holy part of man that he had lost. And my lord kept riding, his sword glinting in the weak sun, riding to hurry those knights to their appointed hour with God,"

  Cathryn's eyes were riveted on Ulrich, her breath held, waiting for him to finish this tale of bravery. In time, he did, his voice so low and soft that she strained to hear him.

  "They clashed hard, for those men were fighting not only for their lives but for their eternal souls. Never have I seen such battle," he said softly in remembered awe. "Rowland was ever at my lord's side, his sword as swiftly flying as the falcon, seeking blood and finding it. And when they could not best William, they cut his horse from beneath him, hoping to render him helpless." Ulrich smiled. "'Twas folly, for no such simple strategy as that would best my lord. He never lost his footing, not even for a moment, and fought them standing on his feet, the blood a red and ever-growing pool around the spot he would die to hold."

  Ulrich was so silent for so long that, if Cathryn had not seen William for herself and been wedded to him just yesterday, she would have sworn that he went down that day.

  "Yea," she prompted, "and?"

  Ulrich cast his eyes upon her briefly and smiled in apology.

  "And it was not long before his shield was struck from his arm, the straps torn from their mounting with the force of that blow. Yet did William stand and face them, the cry of defeat as silent upon his lips as the cry of victory had been. It was then that I played my small part," he added almost reluctantly, now that the full tale had passed his lips. "With Rowland at his back, his own armor dented and hacked by the blade, William stood firm and then looked to me in the midst of the fray. His eyes were cool, lady, and yet it seemed that he called out to me for something that only I could give."

  Ulrich looked seriously into her eyes as if pleading for understanding. "I could but obey him," he said simply.

  "With what meager strength I had at that youthful age, I ran to him and threw him a second shield with all my heart behind the throw. God Himself must have aided my arm, for he caught the shield neatly and had it upon his blood-soaked arm before my eye could take it in." He shrugged, as if to dispel the mood he had created. "They were all dead soon after that, lady. The villagers huddled behind rocks and trees, watching with wide eyes of fear, for, you see, they knew not if we were of the same caliber as the men we had just bested. We rode out and none did come forward to thank us. To William, it did not matter, for he had done what was right. But lady, it seemed to me that they should have shown us gratitude for the service we did them."

  "Yea, Ulrich," Cathryn said softly, her eyes on the ray of light piercing the darkness of the hall, but her mind's eye on that bloody road in that far-off place. "So it also seems to me."

  The sight of John crossing the far end of the hall broke the trance that Ulrich's tale had cast upon them. With a grin and a shrug of his shoulders, Ul
rich poured William's lady more wine.

  "My lord would chastise me strongly if he noted how poorly I had served a lady at table." With an elegant flourish, he presented her the tray of cold meat that he had thinly sliced. "William is much concerned with training me to be a good and chivalrous knight; he believes that too little effort is given by most to the softer side of knighthood and too much to blatant warfare." Ulrich smiled broadly into Cathryn's surprised face. "Those are his words, lady, not mine."

  But Ulrich had misread her. She had hoped, even knowing it was foolish, that her husband had told his squire to take special care of his lady. It would have meant a softening, however small. But it was just a part of Ulrich's training for knighthood and had naught to do with her.

  A quick nod of her golden head and she affirmed both the groundlessness of her hope and the wisdom of William's training. In truth, she had much to be grateful for: William could have made her humiliation public and he had clearly chosen not to do so. Ulrich had treated her with warmth and respect. If only she could hope for as much from his master.

  No, it was folly to think so. Even now, she reasoned as Ulrich kept up his happy chatter, William was surveying the land and determining what was best to be done. She had much to be grateful for; Greneforde and its welfare was of the highest importance to her, and it appeared he felt the same, regardless of what had passed between them. And if he was about the business of Greneforde, it was past time that she was, too.

  "Ulrich," she interrupted gently, "I would inspect the bag of seed that Lord William spoke of."

  Knowing Ulrich as little as she did, she still knew that he was suddenly very uncomfortable.

  She was correct, though Ulrich felt more than simple discomfort. His emotion was closer to stark fear. Those seeds were William's most cherished possession, of far greater value to him than gold or silver or the bag of jewels he carried of equal size.

  "Come, Ulrich," she insisted calmly, "they are a part of my portion now that we are wed. 'Twas in the contract."

  That was so. And so, very reluctantly, he led her to the small and sheltered room that William had found and where he had placed much of the treasure that had made up his portion. It was below, in the undercroft. Once, it had been filled with sacks of flour and sides of bacon and furs to sell. Once, before her father had robbed himself of all he owned of value to go on pilgrimage. Sitting on a trunk placed against the short wall of the room, Cathryn held the treasured bag on her lap and sifted her hands through the seeds. In her hands lay the end of hunger. It was almost with joy that she examined and experienced the wonder of so many seeds of so many different types, each safely tied in its own small bag within the larger one.

  The room was dark and poorly lit—she and Ulrich had but one taper between them—yet she asked him what he knew of the seeds. Unfortunately, he knew little. Some had been gathered before he had joined William; some had been bought in a language he could not comprehend; all were of such value to his lord that no one touched the bag save him. Still, Ulrich did his best to satisfy Lady Cathryn's curiosity, and so it was that they were head-to-head in the most isolated part of the hall when William came upon them.

  Ulrich, accustomed to William's silent approaches, knew of his lord's presence before Cathryn and looked up guiltily. He had opened the forbidden bag of seed.

  Cathryn, the memory of last night suddenly blazingly bright in her mind and of how she had looked when he left her, naked and spread out upon their bed, also looked up as if she had been caught in mischief. Her discomfort at seeing William again, before she had a chance to prepare herself, was strong.

  William saw only that they were both looking inordinately guilty. Knowing what he did about Cathryn, he suspected her of trying to seduce the boy.

  And she read the suspicion of adultery in his eyes.

  Rising, she held the bag in her hands and faced her lord, her look proud and regal and in no way penitent.

  "I am glad you are come," she stated bluntly. "I am eager to know what priceless riches I hold within my hands and would have them named for me. Ulrich has done his best, but he declares that only you have the knowledge I seek."

  Again, though he should not have expected less from her by now, he was impressed with her composure. Also, she had gained control of the situation, taking the reins of suspicion from his hands as smoothly as any expert; still, the suspicion remained. Nonetheless, she did impress him. Would there ever come a time when Cathryn of Greneforde would lose control? Yes, he reminded himself, she had lost control when she had fought him last night in their bed. It was not a pleasant reminder.

  With a curt nod and a smile to show he was not angered, William dismissed Ulrich. The boy escaped the heavy atmosphere of the room gladly, almost running in his exit. With a clatter of feet, Ulrich was gone and they stood alone in the darkness, man and wife, with two guttering tapers between them. To her credit, she looked him full in the eye. Yes, he was impressed.

  She was a beauty, even knowing what he did about her; it was most probably the cause of her downfall. A woman so lovely, with no parents to protect her, would have her pick of men, though her moral education must have been sadly lacking to be so loose with her body, the house of her soul. Still, watching her in the soft light, the shadows beneath her cheekbones deepened by the dusky light, her eyes black pools, her golden hair gleaming and shooting off warm sparks of light, he could not help wanting her.

  "Your hair speaks of Viking blood in your veins," William said softly, catching her off guard.

  "My mother's father," she answered after a lengthy pause, "but my forebears' roots in England go as deep as centuries," Cathryn finished proudly.

  She watched him watch her and sensed that he was not angry, though he did not trust her. She could hardly blame him. What man expected to find his wife breached before their wedding night? He was a man such as she had never known before: a man hard without being harsh. A man with no cruelty in him. No, there was not such a man, yet... he was fair to see, and his words fell softly on her ears. Too softly perhaps; had she not been afraid that this man would have her at his feet with the same amount of effort it took him to breathe? She must beware this man.

  "Your external parts speak to me of cold climes and ever-constant war," she said, not impolitely, but not warmly either.

  William flexed his arm, the muscle bunching for her to see even under the thick wool he wore.

  "I am of Normandy and we are ever fractious," he answered pleasantly.

  "Perhaps it is the Norse blood," Cathryn said lightly, subtly establishing a bond between them, for her ancestors and his had left the north lands for better conquest elsewhere.

  "Perhaps," he answered, "but the world is wide and a man must needs win his place in it."

  And just as quickly, he broke the bond she had hoped for.

  "And you have won yours," she noted flatly.

  "Yea," he said solemnly, his eyes glinting. "Greneforde is mine."

  "And what is won cannot be lost?"

  "I have no history of losing, lady," he answered coldly, his warning clear. "What I win, I hold."

  The urge to strike was strong in her and she yielded to it, if but slightly.

  "Yea, le Brouillard, I have learned something of your history, and mayhap you should learn something of mine."

  The cold glint of his gray eyes flared for a moment, and he took a step toward her as he spoke, the taper fluttering in his hand.

  "I would welcome that," he gritted out, "though it is hours late."

  Cathryn jerked as if struck, but she did not back away. Again, he was reluctantly impressed by her strict composure.

  "My history is one of losing, my lord," she spit out. "All that I had has been lost to me."

  "Including Greneforde?"

  "Nay," she answered quickly. "Greneforde I give to you, for she needs a knight and his battle skills to protect her. She has been without a man to defend her for too long."

  "But you have not," he choked ou
t, his anger flaring.

  Suddenly the Cathryn he had had but a glimpse of—her fire, her fight—was gone, and in her place was the Cathryn of Greneforde that he already knew so well. She stood in cool defiance, her expression blank and her eyes cold. When she spoke, her voice was soft and emotionless.

  "The air is stale. I would seek fresher."

  She moved to the stair, but he blocked her with his body. He had not meant to fuel this fire of anger and distrust between them. He had never known a man or woman who touched his emotions so strongly; it was a new experience and not a welcome one. Who was this woman he had wed?

  Trying for peace, he said, "You asked about the seed."

  "And you asked about my ancestry," she replied coolly, her breath frosting the air. "At least you are satisfied."

  "I am far from satisfied!" William burst out, angry again despite his resolve.

  "Then you may share the state with me, for I have grown quite lonely and could do with a partner," she answered, backing up to stare at him as she planted the barb.

  "I would say you have been too well partnered and too often!" William shouted.

  "So you say, and therefore it must be," she answered with cool sweetness. "You are, I have been told, the lord of Greneforde."

  "And of all within its walls," he added severely, his dark eyes narrowed.

  "That is so," she politely agreed.

  And his senses, in which he put such well-earned trust, told him that she meant it. He could not fathom her; she seemed to resent him personally, but not his lordship of her inheritance. He could make no sense of her attitude. It could not be that she had a dislike for men in general; no, he knew well enough it could not be that. Opening his mouth for another pass in this battle they fought, he was stopped by Ulrich rushing down the stairs.

  "William! Rowland has sighted a doe on the edge of the wood and he calls for a hunt! Hurry, my lord, hurry! I can taste the meat on my starved tongue and my stomach cries out its delight."