As I drifted from room to room, cataloguing the preparations, I still couldn’t decide how I felt about that.
The Mountain sent Margaret to find me, ordering me to my chamber shortly after the sun went down. When I gave her a look, she said I’d want to look well in the morning and added, blushing pink, “You’ll probably not have much time for sleep tomorrow night, mistress.”
That was not a conversation I wanted to continue, so off to my bedchamber I went.
Although sleep was no closer for all that I was lying in bed in my nightgown. Flashes, snippets, ribbons of memory wove through my mind. Memories. Images. Words. Feelings.
Tomorrow, I would be married.
Tomorrow, I would escape.
True, I would have liked knowing better what I was escaping to besides a keep with a moat, but at the least I would not be here any longer. No Father, no Mountain, and, ah! No Blanche. Mistress of my own home, free to do as I pleased. Well, as long as it pleased my husband too.
But he chose me. He could have had Blanche, but he wanted me.
A memory flashed, like lightning. The crack of sound, the sting of flesh. I had slapped him.
Another flash. He held me tight against him, his palm pressed low on my back, every inch of our bodies touching.
A sleepless night tomorrow. My skin flushed, and something fluttered, low in my belly.
Tomorrow.
I wondered, that Saturday night, lying awake and watching the moon trace patterns on my walls, whether I ought to have let him in.
Chapter 9
Sunday
I woke at dawn with the cock’s crowing, the birds singing, and the church bells ringing. We were to be married at terce, several hours hence, plenty of time to get ready. Since it was Sunday, after the wedding we would attend Mass together and then return home for the wedding dinner. And since we were going to attend Mass, we could not break our fast before receiving the holy Eucharist. That was all right. I was too nervous to eat.
The house was waking up around me. Servants, already up for hours, began moving about the family rooms.
There was a knock on my door, and Margaret pushed it open a crack, not waiting for my call. “I’ve come to help you first today, mistress. Mistress Blanche can wait.”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
“What’ll you have first, mistress?”
“Some water to wash, I think.”
It took a surprisingly short time to make a bride out of me. Margaret had brought Blanche’s cosmetics, as promised, although I could not see the results. Blanche’s generosity did not extend to sharing her mirror. The last step, and the most tedious, was plaiting my long, dark hair as befit a bride.
Blanche flounced into my bedchamber without knocking, still in her nightgown.
“Margaret,” she demanded, “are you nearly done?”
“Very nearly, mistress.”
“Good. I’m tired of waiting.” She paused, looking me over. “Well, you look rather nice.”
“Thank you, Blanche.” I closed my eyes. I had vowed I would not fight with her on my wedding day no matter how she provoked me.
“Here,” she said, holding something out toward me. With my head held still for Margaret, I couldn’t see it.
“Blanche, I can’t—” I heard my voice rising and pulled it back down. “What is it?”
She dropped something in my lap. I could just see it if I strained my eyes.
“It’s a garland for your hair,” she said. “I made it for you.”
For perhaps the first time in my life, I had nothing to say to her.
“Good luck on your wedding day,” she said, “and good luck to him every day thereafter.”
I breathed in, a long, slow breath through my nose, remembering my vow. “Thank you, Blanche, for the flowers.”
She paused at the door, made a dismissive noise. “It’ll be my turn to wed soon enough. Margaret, do hurry.”
On my way out of the house’s double doors, flung wide and ribbon-decked, I had a brief moment of panic. When I come back, I will be Lady Kathryn. I will be married. I had to fight the instinct to turn around and flee back up the stairs. As though any safety, any comfort, lay there.
Still….
“Margaret,” I said. “Come with me.”
As we charged upstairs, Margaret holding my train high, Blanche called after me, “What is it now? You can’t get out of this, you know.”
The clump of wilting flowers still sat in their cup by my bed. I scooped them up, dripping muddy water on the floor.
“Mistress!” Margaret gasped, grabbing them from my hand. “What are you doing?”
“These. I’m bringing them with me.”
She stared at me as though I’d gone mad, then shook her head. “Well, you can’t take them like this.” She hurried from the room and returned with her sewing basket. Taking the flowers from me, she knelt on the floor and worked with terrible efficiency, snipping off the ragged roots and dead flowers with her scissors, then wrapping the little bundle in a plain, white ribbon.
“There,” she said, handing it over. “If you must.”
“Sweet William,” I murmured, turning the fragile blooms over in my hands. “Yes, I think I must.”
A squat building of old, dull stone, St. Bernard’s had been built in Norman times—some three hundred years ago, when this part of the country was a bulwark against the heathen Welsh—and was typically Norman: a simple rectangle with one fat, square bell tower. Two windows of precious glass adorned each side of the church, and the top of the bell tower was cut through with apertures for sound that could double as hideouts for archers in the event the village ever needed to defend itself.
We arrived at the church well before the bells were to toll the third hour. It was the Mountain’s first day out of the house in years, a special occasion if only for that. She squinted and blinked, puffed and sweated, and by the time we reached the church, her face was red as a cherry and she needed to sit down inside. Father, Blanche, and I waited just inside the doors, for the sun was strong and the morning was growing hot.
A trickle of people followed us as we walked from our house to the church, and then a crowd began to gather in front of the church, all come to witness this unthinkable event: Kathryn Mulleyn getting married. I stayed within the church, avoiding all eyes. My stomach was knotted with fear.
Master Greenwood and Master Lawry—the false Master Lawry, as I now knew, the servant in his master’s clothes—arrived together or at least at the same time. It seemed that both wanted to be sure that this wedding went forward so that one of them could claim Blanche as his prize one week hence, even though which one of them was still uncertain. They came into the shade with us. Father greeted them warmly. Blanche smiled and flashed her eyelashes at them.
“How now, Master Lawry?” Father said. “Any word from your father?”
“Not yet,” said the servant in disguise, “but it is a long road over rough country.”
“And a harsh message,” Master Greenwood said. “I think you will not like your father’s answer when it comes.”
The other remained unruffled. “And where is Master Horton?” Father asked. “Is he not coming to wish us well?”
Master Greenwood laughed, turning it into a cough. “Ah, it appears Master Horton has gone into the country to a cousin’s house for a visit. I hear there is a widow in that household of some charm and a pleasant demeanor. I do not expect to see him hereabouts for some time.”
“So quickly do men change their minds,” Blanche said, then added sweetly, “Pray, has anyone seen the groom?”
The men fell silent and all eyes went to me.
“Where did Sir William stay when last he came?” Father asked. “Was it at the inn?”
Master Greenwood and the false Master Lawry exchanged a look. “Yes,” the latter said, “but he was not there last night.”
“I will send my man,” Master Greenwood said. The fellow went off at a trot in that direction
.
I turned my back on the others. What if he does not come? What if, for all his fine words, he never meant to marry me? Perhaps I had thought him foolish, perhaps mad to seek my hand so swiftly, but I had not imagined he could be so cruel as this. The knots in my stomach cooled, froze, turned into solid stone. I struggled to breathe. Nay. I would not believe it. He would come.
The sexton rang the bell for terce, the appointed hour for the wedding—one, two, three. Master Greenwood’s man returned, whispered in his master’s ear. Master Greenwood slowly shook his head. He turned to me. “Mistress Kathryn,” he said, with more kindness than he had ever shown before, “there is no sign of Sir William at the inn. But perhaps he meant to come straight here to the church and he is but delayed.”
Father nodded, wringing his hands. “Indeed, Master Greenwood, you have it there. Perhaps he has been delayed on the road. You, Andrew, and you there, what’s your name? You fellows go to the west end of High Street and see when he comes. Make sure he is in good state and unharmed.” As the men hurried off down the road, Father turned back to the other gentlemen. “Do you think he could have run afoul of brigands? Might he be in need of help?”
False Master Lawry clapped a hand on Father’s shoulder. “My dear Master Mulleyn, the man is trained in the knightly arts, and surely he would not come unescorted. Never fear, there is just some delay. His horse threw a shoe, perhaps. Come, let us wait within.”
We waited within.
An hour passed, and the men who had been watching on High Street came back complaining of the heat. The sexton gave them ale and some bread and sent them back.
Another hour passed, and the priest brought out wine for all of us waiting in the church. The servant posing as Master Lawry was making Blanche laugh. I wished there was someone to make me laugh, someone who cared enough to try to put me at ease.
Another hour, and the priest slipped out of the vestry to talk quietly with Father. I knew what they were saying. What else could they be saying? The groom was not here. He was not coming.
I fought against the tears that burned at my eyes. Should I be surprised that he had changed his mind and decided not to marry Kathryn the shrew after all? Or perhaps he had never meant to come back. I remembered his proposal, how swept up I had been in the sensation of him, how I had nearly said “yes” before my father walked in. Had it all been a jest he indulged in at my expense? A sound—half howl, half sob—rose up in my throat, and I choked it down, pounding with my fist on my breastbone until the sensation of strangling went away. No. No tears, no anger, nothing. This is what happens when you allow yourself to hope, Kathryn.
I looked at the people waiting in the church, their faces a mixture of pity and amusement. I watched my father twisting his cap, nodding at the priest’s words, both of them looking at me as one would keep a wary eye on a coiled and venomous snake, waiting for it to strike, hoping someone else will come along and dispatch it. Blanche laughed, too loudly, and it echoed in the rafters.
I pushed myself up from my seat and made my way to Father. “Is this what you hoped for, with your grand plans? You hoped to buy me a husband, but perhaps now he is showing you what he thinks of the bargain, Master Merchant. You refused him first, and now he pays you back in kind. I must thank you for my public disgrace.”
Even for me, even for the shrew, such insult to my father in front of others was unthinkable. As he raised his hands, I flinched, but for once, he did not shake or strike me for my sharp tongue. Instead, he reached for me.
His voice was gentle. “Kathryn….”
I jerked away, my pain somehow worsened by his attempt at compassion. “Look at me, Father. Look at me!” I swept my hands the length of my body, taking in the dress, the hair, the paint on my face. “Here I am, and where is he? Everyone has seen me here today, ready to marry, and where is he?” I swept my arm out toward the open door of the church, to where the whole village had gathered earlier to witness my wedding and now had enjoyed my utter humiliation.
“For the rest of my days, Father, do you know what I will hear? ‘Look, there goes Sir William’s wife, if he would just trouble himself to come and marry her.’”
I wheeled about, lurching like a drunk. Father’s hands went out again, but I swept away from him, racing up the aisle. Blanche was staring at me, her eyes wide. I paused long enough to pull her garland of flowers off my head. The pins holding it in place ripped at my scalp, tearing at Margaret’s careful arrangement of braids, and long, dark hairs yanked free, but I spared not a thought for how I looked. I was beyond feeling mere pain. I threw the garland at her, hard. She caught it with a puzzled look.
“There. I am betrothed, if not truly wed. That ought to be enough for you and whatever grasping man wins you. I wish you joy.”
I walked out of the church. As I suspected, so many hours later, none of the villagers remained out front. The area in front of the church was empty. The village was quiet, dozing under the beaming sun. It was Sunday, after all. A day of rest and quiet contemplation.
I dropped my hopeful little bundle of blooms on the stoop of the church and crushed them under my heel. Sweet William indeed.
I went home.
It felt like hours later when Father and the others arrived, but it could not have been. The sun was still high in the sky, the air still oppressive, the shadows on my bedchamber floor barely shifted from where they lay. I stared down at my hands, clasped in my lap, and past that at the green skirt with its elaborate brocade trim. The beads winked and sparkled at the edge of my vision, taunting me. Almost married, they said. Almost. No one could want you, in the end.
But I wasn’t angry anymore. I couldn’t summon the strength. I was just… numb.
The Mountain, grumbling, heaved her way up the stairs and was put to bed. I could hear the voices of Margaret and the other housemaids in her bedchamber one floor below mine. After all this activity, it was unlikely she would arise again for weeks.
Father and Blanche stopped in the street in front of the house, saying farewell to some of the guests who had lingered until the very end. These included Blanche’s suitors, of course. I stood up to close my shutters so I wouldn’t have to listen.
“But Father!” Blanche’s voice was so clear, she could only have intended for me to hear it. “Father, there’s all that food in there, and it has all been made ready, and if we don’t eat it we shall have to throw it away. Think of the expense!” Her voice, if possible, came closer. Perhaps they had come nearer to the house or onto the steps before the door. “Think, Father. Kathryn was right. She is betrothed, even if he didn’t come to claim her, so you have done all you can for her. There is nothing now standing in my way. Allow me to celebrate my own freedom. She cannot enjoy it, but that doesn’t mean we must all suffer.”
There was silence and I waited for Father to refuse her. What she asked was wrong, it was unthinkable, it was—
“You are right, Blanche. Surely it would be a sin to discard all of this marvelous food. And after all, it will be your wedding next. Master Lawry.” He raised his voice to say the name. “Will you not join us for dinner? Though we cannot celebrate a wedding today, surely we can celebrate your betrothal?”
I fell to my knees.
If I had any food in my gut, I am sure I would have lost it.
As the sun dropped lower and lower, the front door opened and slammed with a steady stream of neighbors as word began to spread. Laughter and conversation drifted up from the courtyard at the back of the house, seeping in through windows and doors, crawling up the stairs.
Even with my head under the pillow, I could hear them. There was, after all, a great deal of very fine wine.
I don’t know what sound, what motion of air, alerted me, but suddenly I was wide awake. Sitting up in my narrow bed, I breathed in, trying to still my pounding heart.
Though it was past matins, past moon-set, deep in the watch of the night, though it was so dark I could not see the beads on my kirtle, though the stars ou
tside were so faint they illumined only the faintest outline of an open window, I knew.
I was not alone.
I could taste his sweat in the air I breathed. I could feel his presence as an alteration in the weight of it.
I knew I had not left the window open.
“Are you ready to go now?”
Fury surged. I took up my pillow and flung it in his direction. From the soft plop, I could not be sure what or where it hit, but I didn’t wait to find out. I followed it, flying out of bed in the direction of his voice. The embarrassment of having struck him the other day was gone. He had acted abominably, unforgivably, and he deserved any punishment I could wreak upon him.
I stumbled on a pile of bedclothes and reached empty air where his voice had been. Powerful hands grabbed my wrists and twisted, pinning both arms behind my back.
“Now, Kate,” he murmured, his breath pressing my hair against my ear. “Is that any way to greet your husband?”
“What husband?” I shrieked, but it came out only as a harsh, broken whisper. “I have no husband. There was a man who lied and abandoned me, humiliating me in front of my family, my entire town. Is this the one you mean?”
“What?” I could almost hear him smiling and struggled uselessly against his strength. “I thought you didn’t want to marry me.”
“I didn’t! I don’t!” I stomped down on his booted foot and he let me go, but I sensed it was only his choice and none of my doing. I spun away from him, rubbing my wrists. “What do you know of what I want and what I don’t want?”
Finding Kate Page 14
