by Maura Seger
Brenna woke on the morning of her marriage to Guyon D'Arcy to the song of larks perched outside her window. She sat up slowly in the bed, stretching luxuriously. For a moment her mind refused to register anything except that she was well rested and curiously happy. Then memory flooded back and she frowned. Had Guyon actually meant what he said about marrying her? In light of what she had done, that seemed impossible. Yet the suspicion lingered that he was serious.
Intent on discovering the truth as quickly as she could, Brenna jumped from the bed. She hastily pulled on a robe before opening the door of her chamber. It was her plan to send a serving woman for Edythe. Surely her sister would tell her what had happened after she left the Earl's quarters.
The sight of the burly thegn standing stoically outside her room brought Brenna to an abrupt halt. She had no need to ask what he was doing there. It was only too clear. There would be no opportunity for her to escape a second time. Fuming, Brenna retreated back inside her room, slamming the door behind her. Her fists clenched as she heard the thegn's chuckle. He was certain of what was going on, even if she wasn't!
Brenna was still sitting in stiff fury on the bed when the serving woman entered. She glanced at the young girl sympathetically. Never mind that she had won a few pence in the servant's hall by wagering this one would be quickly wed. The girl appeared pale and ill, she needed looking after. Gently, the woman said, "I've brought a bath for you, my lady."
"I don't want it," Brenna snapped. She'd be damned if she'd clean and perfume herself for Guyon D'Arcy!
"A nice, warm bath," the woman repeated soothingly, "then breakfast. And my lady, I've brought the most beautiful clothes you've ever seen." Her eyes glowed. "Such fine fabric and the colors! They're not to be believed." Gently easing the girl from the bed, she chattered on, "You'll be the most beautiful bride ever, believe me! This wedding will be talked about at Thorney for a long time to come."
Grimly, Brenna wondered if she dared to make the woman's prediction an ironic reality. Did she have the courage to stage a scene no one at the court or anywhere else would ever forget? She knew that nothing was required of her at the marriage ceremony except to stand passively while the priest blessed the union. But if she were to voice her objections, make it clear she was an unwilling participant...
No sooner did the idea occur to Brenna than she rejected it. Innate good sense told her she would be hurting herself far worse than anyone else. Moreover, she would betray her sister, who deserved far better from her. Resignedly, Brenna allowed the serving woman to lead her to the tub. She lowered herself into the warm water obediently, but balked when the woman began to wash her. That she would do for herself.
The pleasure of the bath temporarily eased Brenna's anxiety. She relaxed enough to enjoy the interlude. Only as the serving woman toweled her dry did her tension return. Though she managed to stand quietly under the maid's ministrations, inwardly she trembled. The next time she stood naked in a room it would not be women who saw her. She would be alone with Guyon, her husband, who would have the right to do anything he chose with her.
Fighting down the taste of bile in her throat, Brenna allowed herself to be dressed. She was only dimly aware that the saffron tunic the maid slipped over her head was of the most finely spun linen she had ever seen. Every part of the tunic that would be left bare by the covering mantle was delicately embroidered in shimmering gold thread. The mantle itself, made of luxurious indigo silk, was as elaborately ornamented. Many highly skilled needlewomen must have labored long hours to achieve such remarkable effects. As she moved, the garments seemed to come alive, molding to her delicate curves and heightening the alabaster sheen of her skin.
The brooches used to hold the mantle in place were beaten gold set with pearls and rare sapphires brought from the East. On her small feet went fragile slippers dyed to match the saffron tunic. Through her hair, the serving women wove silk ribbons of indigo and saffron before adding the bride's traditional fresh flowers. Oil of jasmine was touched to the pulse points of her throat and wrists, the scent surrounding and dazing her.
A maid held the mirror for Brenna. She gazed into it unseeingly. Nor did she hear the admiring comments of the serving women or note their envying glances. When Edythe entered, she found her sister standing silently in the center of the room. The younger girl's blank look, arms held limply at her side and eyes unfocused, filled her with concern. Anxiously, she said, "Are you all right, Brenna? Have you eaten? It will be a long day, you really should eat."
Edythe relaxed slightly as her sister calmly assured her, "I'm fine. No, I didn't eat, but I did have some milk. That was plenty. Thank you for the beautiful garments. I could never have imagined any so lovely."
Smiling now as she became more convinced that Brenna was in full control of herself, Edythe nodded warmly. "They were made for me, as you might guess. There was no time to have special garments done for you, but these suit you perfectly." Generously, she added, "They would not do me half as well."
"You're too kind to give them to me," Brenna said. "I will return them to you afterward...."
"Certainly not!" Edythe insisted. "Every woman should keep the robes in which she is wed. You will wear them again on particularly happy occasions." Touching the younger girl's arm gently, she added, "I know you will, Brenna. There will be many happy times with Guyon."
Brenna didn't want to think about the Norman. It was all too easy to conjure up his handsome, rugged features and powerful body, all too tempting to remember what it felt like to be pressed against his hardness, to feel the thirsty demand of his mouth on hers. Such thoughts led inevitably to images of the coming night, and that Brenna could not bear. Quickly, she asked, "Are we to go now?"
Edythe nodded slowly. She had the strong feeling that her sister was holding herself severely in check, as though fighting against some almost irresistible urge to panic. Taking her arm gently, Edythe could only pray the younger girl's self-control would last. There was the wedding mass and dinner to get through, not to mention the bedding itself. Wishing fervently that it was all over and done with, Edythe led the way down the corridor.
The royal chapel was crowded. Edward and his Queen heard mass every day, and more often than not at least a part of the court joined them. But this day every inch of space within the small stone sanctuary was taken. Lords and ladies jostled one another good-naturedly. Word of what was to occur had spread rapidly and no one wanted to miss it. When Brenna entered, a murmur went up from the crowd. The men could not suppress their admiration for her beauty, just as the women could not stifle a sigh of envy for one so fortunate.
Brenna didn't hear them. All her attention was focused on the task of following Edythe to the front of the chapel. She kept her eyes lowered, fastened onto her sister's swaying skirt just ahead of her. Some portion of her mind registered the presence of the Earl and his close scrutiny of her. Far more acutely she felt Guyon's nearness, knew that his eyes moved over her slowly, missing nothing.
Not daring to look at him, Brenna stood numbly throughout the mass. Behind her, the lords and ladies waited for the liturgical finale with poor patience. Mass they could hear anytime. The union of two great families was something else again. Eagerly, they anticipated the moment when the priest would step forward to bless the marriage.
All too soon, it seemed to Brenna, the Earl was taking her hand in his. She was led, gently but implacably, to stand before the altar. Guyon joined her there. He was magnificently dressed in a crimson tunic and doublet, finely spun chausses, dark leather boots, and a dress sword even more elaborate than that which she had seen him wear before. Heavy gold bands glinted at his wrists, evoking memories of the ancient Norse heritage shared by both English and Norman. Across his chest stretched a gold chain pierced at the center by a single blood-red stone that looked, to Brenna's tremulous glance, like the eye of a fierce beast. Shivering, she turned away, glad of the distraction offered by the priest.
Well aware of the importance of the
occasion, the priest made a good job of it. His blessing was lengthy and eloquent. He reminded his audience of Christ's role at the marriage at Cana, and went on for some considerable time about the holiness of such unions. Brenna could not help but recall the very brief blessings of other marriages which, tacked on almost as an after-thought to a regular mass, were deemed sufficient to the Church's sensibilities and purposes. If nothing else, she reflected ruefully, she and Guyon would be well and truly wed. The priest left no turn undone before at long last joining their hands and sprinkling holy water above their heads.
Engulfed in the congratulations of the court, Brenna managed to keep her thoughts from the tall, rather somber man at her side. Although he did not touch her again, Guyon remained close at hand throughout the procession from the chapel to the Great Hall where a celebration dinner waited.
Seated next to him at the royal table, Brenna listened to a seemingly endless round of toasts wishing the new couple well. She relaxed slightly when attention was finally diverted from them by the arrival of jugglers, musicians, and food. Some indication of just how much King Edward approved this marriage came through in the elaborate presentation of dishes. Each of the palace's many cooks had clearly vied to surpass the others. Brenna quickly lost count of the different versions of beef, fowl, game, seafood, vegetables, cheeses, eggs, and bread paraded before her. She accepted only the smallest servings of a few dishes and ignored her wine goblet altogether. Guyon, she couldn't help but notice, also ate and drank sparingly. He spoke to her from time to time, always some perfectly ordinary remark about the meal or the entertainment, and Brenna managed to answer sensibly. But she could not deny the rapid pounding of her heart or the trembling in her limbs as the day began to fade and the moment she would be left alone with Guyon drew inevitably nearer.
When Edythe caught her eye, signaling that it was time to leave, Brenna froze in her seat. For a moment, she truly doubted the ability of her legs to hold her should she try to stand. Then pride came to her rescue and she rose quickly, turning a deaf ear to the ribald shouts that accompanied her exit.
Once outside the Great Hall, habit caused her to turn in the direction of her own room. Edythe's hand on her arm stopped her. Brenna flushed at the silent reminder that she would be sharing Guyon's chamber. Not trusting herself to speak, she followed Edythe and two of her ladies down the corridor.
The accommodations given to Guyon D'Arcy were every bit as luxurious as those shared by Edythe and her Earl. Easily three times the size of Brenna's room, the chamber was richly furnished with vibrant tapestries, intricately carved tables and chairs, and an immense bed hung with a brocaded canopy and curtains.
A single chest of clothes and some writing materials left out on one of the tables were the only signs of Guyon's occupancy. Otherwise, the chamber was meticulously clean and neat. Fresh rushes lay on the flagstone floor, interspersed with fragrant herbs and dried flowers. Highly polished braziers stood ready with untouched charcoal which, in view of the warm weather and most probable activity of the room's occupants, was not likely to be used. Smooth linen covered the down-filled mattress and bolster. Across the foot of the bed lay a lace-trimmed gown, the transparency of which made Brenna whiten.
Obeying Edythe's gently murmured instructions, she lifted her arms to ease the removal of her mantle and tunic. The ribbons and flowers were plucked from Brenna's hair and the thick ebony tresses brushed smooth. Shivering slightly, she washed her hands and face in a basin of warm water. Edythe dropped the gown over her head as the ladies turned back the bed covers.
Sliding into the huge bed, Brenna pulled the covers up to her chin. Huddled with her knees bent and her eyes luminous with unshed tears, she looked like a frightened child. Edythe's throat clenched painfully as she sought in vain for some way to reassure her sister. At least, she thought gratefully, this wasn't Normandy with its atrocious custom of publicly bedding the bride. Brenna's precarious self-control would undoubtedly have snapped had she been forced to stand naked before not only Guyon but members of the court as well. It would be bad enough in the morning, when the delegation arrived to confirm that the marriage was in fact consummated. Pray God that it would be, Edythe breathed silently, and that Brenna would not find the experience too distressing.
Noises in the corridor alerted her to the approach of Guyon and his escort. The door was flung open, allowing the boisterous lords to enter with much shouting and laughter. Few had been as abstemious as Guyon in their enjoyment of the ale and wine. Even the King was flushed and jovial, and the Earl had a positively devilish look in his eye which told Edythe plainly that she for one would get little sleep that night.
Smiling ruefully, she patted the covers around Brenna, leaning close enough to whisper, "Do everything that he says, and I am certain Guyon will not hurt you." She had to be satisfied with the merest flicker of a response from the young girl, who stiffened further and did not speak.
Sighing, Edythe stepped aside to allow the lords a clear view of the bed. They had just enough time for a few sincere comments about the willingness of any man there to take Guyon's place before he was quietly but firmly ushering them out.
Brenna was never quite sure how he managed it but within minutes the door closed on the last of the escort and she was alone with her husband.
Chapter Seven
Guyon turned away from the door to regard his wife. He was vividly aware that she had never looked more beautiful or more frightened. Crouched as she was in the center of the huge bed, she reminded him of a cornered doe awaiting the death-stab of the hunter.
For a brief moment, Guyon considered telling her she had nothing to fear, that he would not touch her. But he could not say the words. On the one hand, he had no confidence that time alone would ease the problem and on the other, he was vividly aware that the rigid control he was exercising over his own rampant desire would snap before very much longer. The best he could hope for was to proceed slowly and do everything he could to win her trust.
On a nearby table, a thoughtful servant had left a pitcher of wine and two goblets. Guyon filled both before approaching the bed. Brenna shook her head, trying to refuse the wine, but her husband insisted. "You ate and drank almost nothing at dinner," Guyon pointed out gently. "This will not harm you."
As he spoke, he sat down on the edge of the bed, near to her but not touching. For several minutes he sipped his wine silently, considering whether or not to tell Brenna right then about what he had learned from her sister and the Earl the previous day. At last he decided against that. She had enough to think about as it was without forcing her to relive horrifying memories.
Setting his goblet beside the bed, Guyon asked matter-of-factly, "Did the Lady Edythe give you any advice about tonight?"
Embarrassed by the suggestion that she might have discussed such intimate matters with her sister, Brenna looked away. She had been surreptitiously studying him as Guyon drank his wine. He was so compelling masculine that it was difficult to tear her eyes from him. Over and over, her mind kept repeating the astonishing fact that this man was her husband. They belonged to each other. She had every right, in fact she was expected, to be alone with him like this.
Softly, Brenna murmured, "She told me to do as you say."
He glanced up, meeting her eyes. "And will you?"
Brenna swallowed hard. Her nod was so slight as to be almost imperceptible. "I don't want to be hurt any more than I can avoid."
Staring into her goblet, she didn't see Guyon wince. But she was well aware when he took the wine from her, placing it beside his own, before recapturing her hands in his. "Brenna," Guyon murmured gently, "I have no intention of hurting you at all. Believe me."
Gray-green eyes widened in surprise. How could he possibly do what was supposed to happen that night without hurting her? "Y-you mean you're going to... leave me alone?" she stumbled.
Moving just a bit closer to her, Guyon held her gaze firmly as he asked, "Do you want me to?"
Brenn
a breathed in sharply. The idea that she might have a choice had not occurred to her. With the failure of her escape attempt, and Guyon's startling insistence that the marriage go on, she had given up all hope of remaining untouched. The suggestion that what she had regarded as inevitable might in fact not occur forced her to confront some very surprising sensations.
For long moments, during which Guyon silently agonized, Brenna said nothing. As he watched, delicate color suffused her pale cheeks. She bit her lip unconsciously, her eyes darting from his face to the lean, brown hands holding hers and back again. Finally her blush darkened further as, very softly, Brenna whispered, "Guyon, I know it isn't natural to be as afraid as I am... too scared to be a wife and mother... I feel shut off from so much. I-I don't want to stay like that...." The instant the words were said, she dropped her head, overcome by her own brazenness.
Guyon's breath left him in a long sigh of pure relief. He gazed tenderly at his wife's bent head. If she had said she didn't want him under any circumstances, he would not have known what to do. She was his, he had every right to her, but knowing what he did now he could not imagine forcing her to accept him. Her timidly whispered admission made it clear he would not have to.
Brenna looked up in surprise when Guyon suddenly left her. He crossed the room to pull the shutters closed. Soft gray twilight flowed through the cracks, suffusing the bridal chamber with gentle warmth. In the shadowy darkness, he loomed even larger and broader than before. Her throat clenched as, returning to the bed, Guyon began matter-of-factly to strip off his clothes.
Unable to look at him, Brenna wiggled further down in the bed and kept her eyes firmly shut. But she could not still her other senses. The sound each item of apparel made as it was dropped to the floor echoed in Brenna's mind. Her skin tingled to the sudden rush of warmth as the mattress beside her was depressed. Her breath filled with the clean, male scent of him.
