by Claudia Dain
William turned to where Cathryn had been standing. She was no longer there, but had returned to the trunk and was carefully brushing off the seeds that clung to her fingers so that they fell with graceful precision into the bag that sheltered them. With sure fingers, she pulled tight the strings of the bag.
Turning to face Ulrich, she said pleasantly, "Fear not, Ulrich, le Brouillard will encompass the doe and we shall all taste meat at today's table."
"You are confident in my skills, lady. Whence does this confidence come?" William asked, surprised.
Cathryn walked calmly to the doorway, urging Ulrich to precede her. When she turned back, the taper lit her face with an uneven glow, turning the scar upon her brow suddenly bright pink. She said with a small smile, "From your own lips, my lord. Are you not the man who has no history of losing?"
* * *
"Good shot, William!" Kendall shouted joyfully.
"Your lady was right," Ulrich chimed in with a laugh. "You have succeeded as you always do."
"What is this?" Kendall demanded playfully. "What said Lady Cathryn to William? I demand a full and complete telling of this tale, Ulrich, with no poetic additions."
Ulrich fought a blush at that and hurried to answer. "It is just that Lady Cathryn assured me that we would have fresh meat on our table if Lord William was on the hunt."
"Come, there is more to it than that," Rowland pressed, looking askance at William, who was pointedly ignoring them all.
"She gave me her assurance of success, and when William questioned her confidence in his skill, she answered that he had told her from his own lips that he has no history of losing. Is that not just as a wife should look upon her husband? I tell you," Ulrich continued enthusiastically, "I spoke with her this mom and she was most impressed with William's fighting skill."
"What did you do, pup," Kendall said with a laugh, "bore your lady with tales of knightly valor? Know you not that women much prefer to pass the time in hearing of their own skill at engendering love than of a man's skill at hacking flesh?"
Ulrich looked uncertain for a moment and then rallied. "Nay, she was impressed! Why, she could scarce think to eat when I—"
Kendall burst out laughing. "And you require more proof than that?"
Ulrich could not stop the reddening of his cheeks and turned to William in horror.
"What did you tell her, boy, to make her think me so indomitable?" William asked with a rueful smile.
"I cannot think that it was so bad," he stammered, "and she did, in truth, seem caught on every word... I but told her of the battle at the village on the Rhine..." Ulrich's voice trailed away.
"No harm was done," William assured him, ignoring Kendall's rising laughter, "but since you were set to tell the Lady Cathryn a story of knightly bravery, could you not have picked a story in which I was not blooded?"
"I thought that it would arouse her womanly sympathies..." He did not dare admit that he had chosen that tale because of the small part that he had played in the victory.
Kendall laughed the harder, bent over and clutching his belly. Ulrich found himself wishing that he would choke for lack of air.
Rowland sidled close to William and, keeping his dark eyes on the laughing Kendall, asked, "Her words seemed more designed to prick than soothe, or am I misreading her?"
"Nay, 'twas her intent, I am certain, but she did not betray herself with either smile or glint of eye. 'Tis only that I have come to know her better that I can more quickly feel the bite of that smooth tongue she keeps so well guarded. Yet, also, she seemed sincere." William sighed noisily. "I must admit to being perplexed by her."
Rowland smiled slowly and looked at the dirt at his feet. "I do believe that God designed women to be perplexing to men, else we would become bored and stray away."
Kendall had stopped laughing and called to William, "A man of Greneforde informed me that the forests have never been short of game, but they have tasted little of it since Cathryn's father left, and none at all for the last few months." Smiling broadly, he added, "You are the master of a lazy bunch, William."
William answered automatically, "No man is lazy in filling his own stomach, man." He pondered this news of meat that was not taken and not eaten though it was within arrow shot of Greneforde's walls.
William did not ponder alone. Rowland scowled, his eyes trained on the dirt, his mind engaged in heavy speculation. William knew that look—knew that it meant Rowland knew something that he did not.
"What is it?"
Rowland looked up at William, his brown eyes serious. "I cannot say. I have nothing but a sense of it." Clasping William's upper arm, he assured him, "I will come to you before the day is done and give you something more substantial."
William nodded and put the matter from his mind. Rowland was and had ever been as good as his word.
The serfs of Geneforder had finished loading the deer onto Father Godfrey's mule, the carcass quickly stiffening in the cold winter air. The gutting and bloodletting would wait until they were within Greneforde's walls, which were close.
The news of their success must have preceded them, for the whole of Greneforde was there to greet them as they passed through the gate. Eager hands pulled the carcass from the mule and laid it upon the chill ground. Truly they could not delay much longer or the beast would be frozen and impossible to handle. William watched the people of Greneforde as they handled the deer, more closely than he had yet done.
Their movements were furtive, especially when close to William and his knights, and he thought of Rowland's words that they were a beaten lot. Yet the farther they were from him and his men, the more comfortable they appeared, and when they were with John the Steward, their manner was actually easy. They looked to John before making any move, and William saw that John could direct them with just a shifting of his eyes.
And to a man, they were still filthy.
William looked at Rowland, and Rowland turned immediately to meet his eye. With a glance, he indicated John and then looked down again at the carcass, but not before he had seen Rowland's nod of understanding. John would be carefully watched.
Cathryn appeared in the shadow of the stair tower and all activity slowed, all chatter ceased. William noted it, as did Rowland, and they shared the look of experienced warriors facing an unknown enemy. She was the anchor of this place, the hub of the wheel on which all of them sped, and she had betrayed his trust. He could not trust her, and if they all looked to her for guidance, then he could not trust them. It was a coil. How could he be lord here in such a state of perpetual suspicion and imminent betrayal? He could not be. He had voiced both the problem and the solution: Cathryn was the hub. He had but to best her, subdue her, and all would fall into line behind her.
The sun struggled through just then and lit her hair to vibrant gold with filigreed strands of silver running through it. William no longer thought of John or Rowland or strategy; he thought only of his wife and how she looked to him just then. She stood for a moment in the portal and then proceeded gracefully, her movements almost fluid, to stand closer to the cause of the excitement. Long before she reached the deer, William had reached her, though he had no memory of deciding to go to her.
"History need not be rewritten," Cathryn said lightly, to eyeing the deer carcass. Her manner was pleasant, as was her expression, yet she did not smile.
"Would you like it to be?" he asked impulsively.
Cathryn's pleasant demeanor vanished and her guard was fully in place before she answered her husband's unlikely question.
"Would not every man like the chance to rewrite even a small portion of history?"
"And every woman?" he pursued.
With a curt nod, she answered, "Just so."
Her answer soothed him. Perhaps, he thought, she regretted the ill-conceived choices of her youth and would change them if she could. Waywardness was not the sole domain of men, he reasoned. If she felt guilt, if she could but repent... Eyeing her, he was perplexed by her
, mayhap bewitched. For all her warm beauty, she was chilly in her actions, and the contradiction drew him on, despite his better judgment. Then the memory choked him. He was not the first man to be bewitched by her, and if not the first, then perhaps not the last. She had spoken of wanting to rewrite history, and he had jumped to the conclusion that she would rewrite her own; it was more likely, knowing her as he did, that she would choose to rewrite the portion that included him.
Past caring if he was subtle, he asked, "What portion of your history would you alter, had you the means?"
Cathryn folded her hands neatly and would not look at him, yet her answer, when it came, was softly spoken.
"I have not the means so 'tis pointless to think upon."
And with his lightning changes of mood, unknown to him before he entered Greneforde just yesterday, William turned her answer back upon her, his own momentary vulnerability well shielded.
"You speak true," he said with gentle fierceness. "The history of Greneforde will record my possession of it."
"That is so," she responded simply, not meeting his eyes.
"And my holding it," he pressed, leaning over her.
"So you have said," she agreed, as cool to him as she had ever been.
"You do not argue the point," he could not help noting.
"To what purpose, when we have readily agreed that history cannot be altered?"
William writhed on the hook he had set and baited for her. He was brewing for a fight, would have loved to clear the air between them and know her thoughts, no matter how bitter. But she was as cool as mist and as hard to strike.
Yet he gave it one further effort.
"Yea, we are agreed," he said, his voice throaty in its intensity. Gripping her chin between his thumb and finger, he added, "The past cannot be changed, just as a vessel that is broken cannot be made whole again."
This time she could not hide the fact that he had struck, and struck true and hard. Cathryn paled and seemed almost to shrink in stature, appearing less a woman and more a child. Yet he had been pushed so far that he could not feel pity for her.
John, as well as the entire population of the enclosure, had heard the exchange of verbal blows between the lord and lady of Greneforde. John moved to stand with his lady—to stand as her shield before her husband, if need be. Rowland had understood only the charged and warlike atmosphere between the newly wedded pair. He did not fathom the cause. He did not need to. If William had a quarrel with his wife, his cause was just, and William would not be hindered in his treatment of her. He would see to it. He marked John's intent and placed his hand upon his sword hilt, his look heavy with meaning. John paused, considering whether there was not another way.
"Just so," Cathryn managed to whisper in answer, her carriage erect even after that mortal blow. "It is also true of broken vows," she parried, trying to remind him of the vow of love and protection he had made to her so recently.
"And broken trust," he coldly added, the light of victory flickering in his gray eyes.
John moved toward his lady, uncaring of the consequences, as Rowland moved to slide his sword free of restraint.
Father Godfrey hurried into the midst of them, his frock pulling at his feet.
"Burned fields and broken homes I have noted here, not broken vows or broken trust," he said to William, stepping to stand beside Cathryn. "Can you do aught to heal Greneforde?"
William heard Father Godfrey's words and knew that he sought to turn him from his path. He answered him in truth, but he did not take his eyes from Cathryn of Greneforde.
"Greneforde I can heal, with men and seed and God's good will. Greneforde will have my care."
Cathryn met his look, her dark eyes of brown absorbing the cold gray metal of his and responding as little as the changeless earth when a sword is thrust into it. Lifting her chin, she said curtly, "'Tis well, for 'tis Greneforde that needs it."
John stood on her other side and gently touched her arm, ignoring both Rowland and William.
"Lady Cathryn," he said in a voice of profound respect, "I ask that you supervise the quartering of the venison."
"Nay," William cut in, "'tis my right, as mine was the killing shaft."
"As you will, Lord William," Cathryn quickly and softly agreed, her eyes holding his. "'Tis bloody work, and you are welcome to it."
"Yea, lady," he answered as she turned to walk away, still protected between Godfrey and John, "you have said it aright, and bloody work requires water. Heat water, lady; there will be many baths taken before the day is done."
Cathryn paused, but did not look back. She nodded once, firmly, and continued on.
William did not hesitate in his task; he looked forward to it with relish. If he could not take out his anger and frustration on his icy wife, then he would find release on the carcass of an already defeated foe. Taking up his knife, he slit the skin from neck to tail. The entrails spilled out upon the ground in a red, steamy mass, and he reached in to cut out the heart and lungs and liver before he cut the neck to allow the blood to drain.
He looked up, his arms and chest and legs coated and spattered with blood, to find that Cathryn had paused on the threshold to the stair tower. He had known she was watching him somehow, and so there was no surprise in his eyes as he looked at her.
The look he gave her was chilling, and Cathryn read his thoughts easily, which was his wish: he stood covered in the blood of the deer as he had not been covered in hers. And he never would be.
Chapter 8
Cathryn walked up the stairs calmly, though she wanted to surge up them and into the relative privacy of her own chamber as the tide wanted to rush upon the shore. Her husband might not have drawn her virgin's blood, but he had drawn the blood of her heart during their most recent exchange of words. Verily, William le Brouillard wielded words as adeptly and as ruthlessly as he ever did a sword. Did his reputation extend beyond the standard weapons of warfare to include the slicing he did with his tongue? Or was she the only one to have felt its razor edge? It was hardly something she could ask Ulrich.
So deep in thought was she that when Marie softly appeared out of the shadow that hid the entrance to the hall, she almost gasped in surprise. As it was, she nearly lost her footing, and so her immediate response to Marie was a trifle harsh.
"Marie! You should be hidden away at this hour. The tower is overrun with men."
"Yea, Lady Cathryn, I do know it, but I had heard that a deer had been slain by Lord William and I wanted to know the truth of it. Is it true, lady? Will we eat fresh venison this day?" she asked eagerly, her blue eyes alight with hope.
An image of William, his hands covered in blood, his eyes as cold as stone-sharpened steel, flooded her thoughts. Again she felt that she was losing her footing, yet both feet were planted firmly upon the stone.
"Yea," she answered simply, her mind drowning in the ice of William's eyes.
"Oh, lady, you spoke true when you declared that a knight would bring life to Greneforde!"
Marie's words almost made her laugh. Again she saw him as she had last seen him, and the vision was as welcome as a sword thrust. How long would it be before she could escape the picture in her mind of le Brouillard standing over the dead animal, covered in its life-giving blood?
But there was no time to answer. There was a wild clattering on the step, and then Ulrich burst upon them, intent upon some errand for his lord. He rushed against Cathryn, who jostled Marie, who softly cried out in shock and fear and what else, Cathryn could not say. But Marie had been seen. And by William's squire.
In a swirl of frenzied skirts, Marie was gone, disappearing much more silently than Ulrich had arrived. But Ulrich, his eye ever trained to find and pursue young women, had not missed her. He had seen her clearly enough to be enchanted by her vivid blue eyes and her ample bosom. He was as a hound on the scent and he would not easily be put off, though Cathryn did try.
"Ulrich," she called sharply as he made to move past her in the directio
n in which Marie had fled. "For what purpose do you careen through the stair tower?" And when that failed to gain his attention, "Has your lord sent you on some errand of urgency?"
At the mention of William, Ulrich paused and breathed out heavily. Whether it was in frustration or anticipation, Cathryn could not determine.
"Yea, Lady Cathryn. Lord William asked that I find a special soap that was made for him in Flanders; it has a most pleasing aroma, and he is eager to wash the scent of blood from his body."
Cathryn tried to resist the urge to comment on William's fastidiousness, but she could not help the raising of her eyebrows or the look of amusement that entered her eyes. And since it was not William himself whom she faced, she did not much try.
"Your lord seems to be ever about his bath, Ulrich. Is this penchant common amongst the knights of France?"
"Nay, lady," he said in exasperation. "My lord alone, of all the knights I have known, is determined to be clean and to have those around him clean as well."
"Yea, it has come to my attention," she said dryly.
"And, lady, do you know he requires me to bathe once every week?" he blurted out, wanting to share the scandalous news with anyone who would sympathize with him.
"Truly, your knight's training is most rigorous," Cathryn murmured with a half-swallowed smile.
"It is something that he learned of in the land of our Savior, and the practice appealed to him so strongly, and, I do confess, to many other of our Christian knights, but in none so religiously as my lord, that he will bathe near every day..."
"And so today," she reminded him, certain that Marie was once again well hidden.
"Yea, lady," he said in a rush, "and I must find that soap or he will have my head! Your pardon."
And, with a bound of youthful speed, he was gone.
Cathryn, suspecting that Ulrich had made for the lord's chamber, changed direction and proceeded to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the knot of people who surrounded the now unrecognizable deer. But it was William she wanted to avoid.
John was there, and Alys and Lan and half a dozen others. It was clear that they had been waiting for her.
