“I am sure that he loves you,” Joan said soothingly. “His family no doubt forced him to this. It is common enough when early matches are made.”
Aye, common enough. Men married women they did not love or want and amused themselves elsewhere as they pleased. She suddenly and clearly saw Stephen's wooing of her as the insincere, dishonorable thing it had been. A game of seduction to pass the time even while he knew his future wife waited back home. Had Morvan's threats made the siege more interesting, more exciting?
She thought of the letter she had sent him. Had he laughed? Her ignorance about men and women had been making her feel like a fool this evening, but that was nothing compared to the devastating desolation this news of Stephen caused. Her body shook and her heart began burning and shattering. She released Joan's hand and scooted off the bed.
“I'm so sorry, Christiana,” Joan said.
Controlling her emotions by a hairbreadth, she pushed through the drapery and rushed to her own bed. She threw herself on her stomach and, biting a pillow to muffle the sound, cried out her humiliation and bitter disappointment.
CHAPTER 8
SHE REMAINED IN bed for two days. During the first one, she wallowed in a bitter pain full of memories suddenly seen anew. Stephen's words and face had not changed in them, but different meanings now became terribly clear. The truth mortified her, and by day's end she was close to hating Stephen Percy for having used and humiliated her.
The next day she lay in a dumb stupor, floating mindlessly through time. The numb daze was soothing and she considered staying forever in it.
On Sunday she rose from her bed and dressed. She managed not to think about Stephen much at all, but on the few occasions that she did, a raw sore of pain and anger reopened before she pushed his memory out of her mind.
By Tuesday she felt much better and more herself again. She even laughed at a little joke that Isabele made while they dressed in the morning. The glances of relief that Idonia and Joan exchanged made her laugh again.
And then, right after dinner, the tailor arrived for the final fitting of her wedding gown, reminding her abruptly that in exactly one week she would marry David de Abyndon.
That reality had been neatly obscured by the violent emotions that had ripped through her upon hearing the news about Stephen. As she stood motionlessly in the silvery pink gown, however, she knew that it was time to face the facts about this marriage.
It was going to happen. In a week Morvan would literally hand her over to him. She would live in the house that she had refused to visit, and be mistress to a household whom she had refused to meet. The center of her life would move from Westminster's court to the merchant community of London. Her life would be tied to and owned by this man forever.
Nothing would be the same. She looked at Joan and Isabele. Would they remain her friends? Perhaps, but they would drift apart because her life would not be here. She thought about the animosity between Morvan and David. Would her husband let her see her brother again? It would be in his power to refuse it.
During her years at court, she had always been a little adrift, but her brother and her few friends had served as anchors for her. After she married, she would have only David for a long while. Without him she would be completely alone in that new life that awaited.
As she turned this way and that while the tailor inspected his work, she contemplated David. She desperately wanted to hate him for being right about Stephen, but she could not. If David had not pointed the way to the truth, would she have ever seen it? How much easier to make excuses for Stephen like Joan had done. How reassuring to avoid the real pain and continue the illusion of a true love thwarted.
She didn't know David very well, but she had come very close to not knowing him at all. In the face of her indifference to him and blind loyalty to Stephen, he had tried to prepare her.
She had left things badly with him. True to his word, he had not come back to Westminster. She had insulted him that day in ways that she didn't fully understand.
The tailor left, and she walked over to a window and gazed down into the courtyard. She pictured David riding in and dismounting, and imagined his steps coming toward the apartment. In her mind he kissed her and her skin awoke with the warmth of his lips. She let the memories fuse and progress, and she felt his firm hand on her breast. She clenched her teeth against the desire that phantom touch awakened. Finally she forced herself to picture the joining that Joan had described.
Her imagination failed her and the image disappeared as if a drape had dropped in front of it. Pain and blood the first time, according to Joan. Lured by pleasure into horror.
He would not come. You know where to find me, he had said. An invitation. To what, though? His company or his bed?
It surprised her what these thoughts were doing. Her heart yearned to indeed see him appear in the courtyard below. She missed him, and the knowledge that he waited for her went far to ease the pain of these last days. The fear of what he awaited could not obscure the images of his kind attention to her. Thinking of Stephen still opened hollows in her soul, but David's memory soothed the devastation.
It was whispered that he wanted her so much he had paid that bride price to have her. The idea of the marriage bed filled her with dismay, but at least David had pursued her honorably. He hadn't tried to steal what he wanted in a dusty room in a deserted passageway as Stephen had.
He had a right to know about Stephen. More importantly, she needed to explain the stupid mistake that she had made about that other thing. The world treated virginity as very important, and so she suspected that such things mattered much to men.
It would not be easy to go to him. She steeled her will. They faced a life together. She could not meet him at the wedding with what stood between them unresolved.
Tomorrow she would go and find him. She would ride her black horse and wear her red cloak. She would also deal with one other problem as well.
That evening she went down to the hall well before supper and sought out Morvan. She found him with a young widow who had recently come down from the Midlands to visit Philippa. His black eyes sparkled with their dark fire. The poor girl looked like a stunned animal caught in the light of a torch. Christiana knew well this feminine reaction to him. Now, however, she understood exactly what he was about. Marching over, she interrupted his seduction with a loud greeting and a rude dismissal of the woman.
“Later, Christiana,” he snapped.
“Now, brother,” she replied. “In the garden, where we can be alone, please.”
Fuming silently he took leave of his helpless prey and followed her through the passageways to the garden. The sun had set and twilight dimmed.
He was still annoyed. She didn't care. The stories about her brother were some of those things that made far too much sense all of a sudden. He was little better than Stephen from what she could tell, except that he didn't ruin virgins.
“Tomorrow I want to go and see David in the city,” she explained. “I want you to take me to him.”
“Send word to him and let him come here.”
“He will not come. I left things badly when last we met.”
“Then let him wait until the wedding to see you.”
“I must speak with him, Morvan. There are things that I need to discuss.”
“You will have years to talk, thanks to the King. I will not take you to him.” He turned to leave.
She stomped her foot and grabbed his arm. “He thinks that I am not a virgin, Morvan.”
That stopped him. He regarded her carefully. “Why?”
She faced him bravely. She understood her brother now, and his overbearing protection. Like David, he knew men well. He protected her from such as himself.
“Because I told him that I was not.”
“You lied about such a thing? Even to avoid this marriage, Christiana, such a lie …”
“I thought it was the truth.”
The implications sank in. “Who?” he
asked quietly. Too quietly.
“I will not say. Do not think to bully me, Morvan. It is over and done with and thanks to Idonia I am whole. It is partly your fault, brother. If you had not scared off every boy, I might have had some experience in knowing a man's intentions. As it was, I was helpless against them and, until three days ago, didn't even know what he wanted from me.”
He stood silently in the gray light. “Good God,” he finally said.
“Aye. Eighteen and as ignorant as a babe. I came close to learning the hard way, didn't I? And almost went to my marriage bed a complete innocent.”
“Hell.”
“So, I did not lie to David. What had occurred between me and this other man seemed to fit all of the requirements as I stupidly understood them.”
“And this merchant, knowing this, still took your hand?”
“Aye. I told him before the betrothal. He said that repudiation would ruin me.”
He shook his head thoughtfully. “This marriage never made any sense.”
“Nay, but I cannot worry about that now. I must see him before the wedding. I want to explain this.”
He brought his arm around her shoulders and began guiding her back toward the castle door. “It is well that you explain. He might hurt you more than he has to if he doesn't know.”
The very frank way he said this surprised her. So did this new ambiguous piece of information. Perhaps she should have talked to Morvan instead of Joan. She smiled, picturing her brother's distress as she demanded blunt descriptions with no gaps.
“If you go to him, he will misunderstand why you have come,” he said. “It is said that he wants you badly. Perhaps that is the explanation for everything after all.”
“Then I wish I had not been so unworldly. I might have traded my body for my freedom that night.”
“It doesn't work that way, Christiana.”
How does it work? she wanted to ask. “Well, I marry him in less than a week. When he hears what I have to say, he will not misunderstand why I have come. I must go, and I want you to bring me.”
A torch by the doorway illuminated his handsome face. “So you go to him before the wedding, and I take you there? Of your own will, prior to the King's command? Having just learned what this man expects from you?”
“I face a life with him, Morvan. I want to see him and start it well. And I want him to know that you accept it, so that perhaps he will not stand between us. Aye, I go of my own will and I want him to see that I do.”
He sighed with resignation. “In the morning then. Although it will kill me. Never have I brought such a precious gift to a man I disliked so much.”
They stopped their horses at the end of the lane and looked up at David's shop. A large cart stood outside laden with large cylinders wrapped in rough cloth. Sieg pulled strenuously on a rope running up to a round wheel projecting from the beam of the attic. One of the cylinders dangled from the other end of the rope while he hauled it up the side of the building, his large muscles rippling under the strain as he yanked the rope hand over hand.
The cylinder reached the open attic window. Christiana caught a brief glimpse of golden brown hair as a strong arm reached out and grabbed the rope, pulling the load in.
Her courage had been slowly leaking away since yesterday evening and now she debated turning back. If David was busy today …
“He will stop his work when you come,” Morvan said. He moved his horse forward.
She fell in beside him. “I don't know, Morvan. Perhaps.…”
“He wants you and nothing else will matter. Trust me on this, sister. I know of what I speak.” He gave her a wink.
Morvan helped her to dismount. Sieg was busy tying another cylinder to the rope and did not notice her.
“I will come back in a few hours. Early afternoon,” Morvan said.
“Maybe tomorrow would be better.”
He kissed her brow. “You made your decision with a clear head and an honest heart, Christiana. You were right. This marriage cannot be stopped and it is best that you see him. Courage now.”
She nodded and entered the shop.
Two apprentices served patrons inside. The younger, dark-haired one, a youth of perhaps fourteen years, approached her.
“My name is Michael, my lady. How can I serve you?”
“I am Christiana Fitzwaryn. I have come to see your master. He is upstairs?”
Michael nodded, his expression awestruck.
“My horse is in the lane,” she said, handing her cloak to him. “Perhaps when you are free you will move him for me.”
She marched valiantly down the passageway. She climbed the steep steps to the second level and the sounds of tailors talking and working in the front chamber. Along the wall of this passage rose another set of steps, very steep and open like a ladder. She walked down to their base and, gathering her tattered courage, lifted her skirt to mount them.
She held on to the wall to keep her balance. The treads were narrow and treacherous. Her concentration distracted her and so she was almost at the top before she realized that her way was blocked. A little sound caught her attention.
On the third step from the top perched a small black kitten. It wailed faintly and helplessly as it surveyed its precarious position. Somehow it had gotten itself here, but it knew not how to get back up or down.
She tottered on the stair. She hadn't seen many cats before. Most people were afraid of them. This one, with its puny little sounds, was adorable. And in her way.
She lifted the kitten into her arms. At first it curled against her chest as if grateful for the security. But when she tried to climb the next step, it shrieked in terror and stretched up, clawing into her chest. She gasped as tiny spikes dug into her skin.
Footsteps approached the top of the stairs. Andrew, stripped to the waist, gazed down at her.
“David,” he called over his shoulder.
David walked into view. Like Andrew he was naked to the waist, and a slight sheen of sweat glistened on his shoulders from his labors in the warm attic. She noticed with surprise the taut definition of the muscles of his broad shoulders and arms and chest. He looked lean and hard and athletic.
She was unaccustomed to seeing men undressed. In the summer, knights and soldiers stripped thus when they used the practice yards, and some of the girls made it a point to walk by, but Lady Idonia had forbidden it and lectured them about impure thoughts. David's very apparent flesh stunned her. She stared speechlessly up at that handsome face and body.
The kitten decided to move. She cried and tottered as the little paws dug their way up until the furry body straddled her shoulder.
“Steady now,” David said. He stepped down and sat on the landing, reaching toward the kitten. He pried its claws out of her skin, removing them carefully so that the fabric of her surcoat and gown would not snag. He lifted the howling animal away.
It curled up contentedly, soft and furry against his chest. He stroked it absently and turned his blue eyes to her. Those beautiful hands holding that black fur against the hard chest struck her as incredibly alluring.
“You are busy. I should have sent word first,” she said.
He twisted and placed the kitten on the floor behind him. The action made his muscles stretch with sinuous elegance. “Go find your mother,” he told the cat. The little black face closed its eyes and rubbed against his back before scampering off.
He looked at her again and smiled. “I am not so busy. I am glad that you came.”
He rose and stepped down toward her. “I will help you back down.” He squeezed past and aided her as her feet blindly sought each step. Halfway down he jumped to the floor and plucked her off by her waist, setting her beside him.
“Go downstairs and wait for me.”
There had been no greeting. No courtly pleasantries. He had not asked why she had come, and simply acted as if he knew. She scurried down to the invisibility of the lower passageway.
David watched her hurry awa
y. She had surprised him by coming here. He had underestimated her.
Andrew hopped down the steps, carrying both of their shirts. He glanced at Christiana's disappearing skirt. “She's going to bolt,” he observed casually.
David took his shirt.
Andrew gestured to the stairs. “By the time you are washed and dressed, she'll be gone.”
“Are you giving me advice on women now?”
Andrew laughed. “Women? Hell, no, I wouldn't think of it. But then, she's not a woman, is she? She's just a girl.
I wager I've had more experience with them than you have recently.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “One moment they are brave, the next they are shy. First it's aye, then nay. Remember? She used all of her courage to come, and now she is telling herself to leave. Unless, of course, your warm welcome reassured her. Smooth, that.”
David looked at the empty stairs. Andrew's sarcasm was justified. He hadn't greeted her well and it had taken a lot of courage for her to come.
He went into the counting room and grabbed Andrew's pourpoint and threw it at him. “Then get yourself down there, boy, and stall her until I come,” he said. “Block the damn door with a sword if you have to.”
Andrew grinned and pulled the garment on. “Aye. And I'll tell Sieg that we'll take a break with the last carpets. He and I can get it done before dinner without you.” He sidled to the doorway. “I assume this means that we will forget about that last nightwalking fine.”
“Go!”
He followed Andrew down the stairs and watched him head in search of Christiana. He slipped out the back to the well and began washing off the dust in the crisp air.
She had heard about Percy's betrothal, of course. Almost a week ago probably. How bad had it been for her? He didn't like to think of her hurt, but he didn't want her making excuses for the man either. A woman could fill a lifetime with excuses to avoid the truth.
His head had been full of her since he had left her last Thursday. He rarely second-guessed himself, but during the days and long into the nights as he thought about her, he had considered how he had handled this girl and whether he hadn't made some miscalculations. He wasn't used to them so young, of course. He forgot sometimes that there was still something of the child in her. Even his greeting today …an Alicia would have welcomed his frank acceptance of her arrival. But Christiana was not like Alicia.
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