Cloistered Bride

by Ling, Maria

  Richard swallowed. The only way he could get at that money was if he actually...

  He didn't want to get married.

  "Move, boy," the portly baron said. "Pack up your things and we'll go fetch your wife."

  Richard withdrew, pulled his hood up and stamped out into the foul downpour. Ralph slammed the door shut behind them.

  "You're crazy," Ralph growled. "You really are, do you know that?"

  "Come on." Richard grabbed him by the arm, already cold and slick with rain. "Let's vanish."

  "We could escape to the Continent," Ralph said. "Normandy. Flanders. How much ready coin do you have on you?"

  "None to speak of."

  Ralph groaned. "And I let you drag me into this."

  "Listen," Richard said. "It's not as bad as you think." In an undertone, with suspicious glances at the dripping thatch on either side, he told Ralph of his commission. "I want you with me," he finished up.

  "I'll have to be, to keep you out of trouble," Ralph said with a snort, but he sounded a touch more cheerful. "You're really going to marry her, then?"

  "Of course not," Richard said. "I'll go and do what I've been told to do, then come back high in favour and sell her on to anyone who wants her. It'll all have died down by then." The earl wouldn't be pleased, but he could hold on to a hundred marks and be quits. Richard should still be up by a small fortune.

  "What about her guardian?" Ralph asked.

  "He's too sodden with drink to move. I doubt he'll remember by morning."

  At that point, the portly baron emerged, wrapped in a rich fur-trimmed cloak and flanked by attendants. "We'll travel together," he said, and Richard heard the ring of iron in that voice. No hint of drunkenness, either.

  "Travelling in this foul weather -- " Richard began.

  "Nonsense, boy. You'll have a wife to warm you at the end of the journey. Besides, I want to see what kind of home you offer her."

  Richard cringed. This was turning into a nightmare.

  "Lodgings," the baron said. "We leave now."

  His former drinking companion strode out from the inn and caught the baron by the arm. "The earl wants you."

  "Dear me," the baron burbled. "It's harsh to be so much in demand. Go on then, young man. I'll come to see you when I'm disengaged." He went back inside, leaving Richard aglow with relief.

  "We're clear," Richard said. "Pack up fast and get out within the hour. If we ride hard, we can keep ahead of them."

  "The king won't like that," Ralph objected. "If you're supposed to marry this girl -- "

  "The king doesn't care whether I marry her or not," Richard argued. "As long as I get this task done, I'll have favour enough. Once her guardian catches up with me, I'll have sold her already. To one of the earl's men, maybe. He can sell her back to his master and everyone will be happy."

  "Hard on the girl," Ralph said.

  "She won't know a thing about it," Richard said. "It's not as if she's been told."

  They hurried through the rain, drops cold but no longer half frozen and hard on the skin. Richard's boots squelched with every step, icy water drenched his toes. He pulled his hood forward and ran, shivering, until he reached the taproom of the inn they lodged at and barged through to the narrow room he and Ralph had secured.

  Where the earl's men waited, impassive.

  Ralph made a strangled sound that might have been a groan. Richard fought to bring his frozen face into the semblance of urbane courtesy.

  "I'm in no hurry to leave," Richard said. "With the weather as it is -- "

  "Earl says now. Pack up and get your horses."

  Richard exchanged a glance with Ralph, then studied the pair. Solidly built, confident, better dressed than himself by a long distance. And armed.

  He didn't want a fight. Certainly not with these two. And definitely not with an earl.

  "We'd be glad of your company part of the way," he said. "Since you're in a hurry, we'll oblige you. Ralph?"

  "I'll come," his friend said with staunch loyalty, then muttered in an aside: "You owe me."

  "Always," Richard said. They were in each other's debt a thousand times over, from jousts and battles and wagers and meals. It was impossible, now, to reckon up who owed the other more. He was glad to have such a friend. They were rare.

  They had made it several hours out along the dismal churn of mud that was the road, when a cloaked messenger tore past them on a mount worth ten of their own. Richard watched the man disappear in the murk, and cursed his ill luck.

  But he had a chance for redemption, now. All he needed to do was betray his past allegiance, and kill the empress' own son.

  ***

  CHAPTER 2

  Clarice read the letter for the third time. She knit her fingers together in her lap, held on tight so she would not betray the crash of emotions within her. All at once the convent felt less like a trap and more like safety.

  "I am most grateful for the earl's interest in me," she said. "But I do not quite understand why he writes on behalf of my guardian. Nor on what grounds they have chosen this man for my husband."

  "I gather he obtained the king's blessing," the messenger said with careful courtesy. "How or why, I do not know."

  "But you may trust your uncle and the earl his overlord to choose a suitable husband," her tutor reprimanded, pale and stern in the habit of a nun. "Any doubt is an affront to God."

  Easy enough to say, for a woman who'd never face this herself. Clarice bit down on a sharp reply. Disrespect or disobedience would get her whipped, she knew that.

  "He says you are to make ready," her tutor continued. "You will first go to the chapel and give thanks to God. After that you will confess and be shriven, and then take a bath. Next, we shall prepare your clothes."

  Clarice shivered a little in delighted anticipation. She would get to wear colours again, vivid reds and blues instead of the drab brown she must carry through the cloisters, fine light linen instead of coarse sackcloth underneath. It was good to discipline the body, her tutor said, and no doubt that was so. But she did enjoy her pretty clothes, every Sunday and feast day when she was allowed to wear them.

  "When will he be here?" she asked the messenger.

  "In God's own time," the nun said.

  Clarice resisted the urge to slap her. She didn't dare ask what he looked like, either. "What manner of man is he?"

  "Polite," the messenger said.

  Well, that was something. "I meant to ask about his spiritual devotion." Clarice threw a sly glance at her tutor, who had begun to bristle but now settled down again.

  "I believe I have seen him at prayers," the messenger said in the same careful tone, "while waiting for admittance to the king's presence."

  "That sounds very suitable." The nun almost glowed by now. "Many men might well forget their soul's salvation in such exalted company."

  "I doubt he ever forgets that," the messenger said.

  Clarice felt a touch of cautious optimism. At least a man of such strong religious bent might not drink and whore and gamble away a fortune. She could not be angry with her uncle, he'd at least seen her well provided for, but she did not wish to deal with such matters in the world outside these walls. And she had the land still, her father had settled it on her in such terms that no man could get at it. Income from the estates was all her uncle had taken from her, and she acknowledged that he'd used at least a share of it to pay the nuns. Paid for her clothes, too, such pretty fabrics...she felt excited as a child. And this Richard Kelscott, he might at least be a safe kind of man, who would take little interest in her provided he had free use of her money.

  Apart from the marriage sacrifice, of course, which did make her wince. That would be the worst part, she hated the idea. But it must be so. She'd always known she'd have to marry one day.

  "He should arrive by tomorrow," the messenger added. "It is his wish that you be married at once. After that, I believe he has some business to attend to elsewhere. But on his return, he has t
he king's gracious permission to introduce you at court."

  Clarice caught her breath. She would leave this dreary place and see some excitement at last. Although -- she looked around, felt a pang of grief. She would have to leave this home of hers, which she had known so well for so many years. Bid goodbye to her friends, to the chapel, to the cell she had inhabited for most of her life. Oh, it was not to be borne.

  "Come," her tutor said, and rose. Clarice rose likewise, obediently. "Let us give thanks at once. And then make you ready."

  ***

  "I'd prefer to visit my own estate first," Richard said. "See that all is in order. I am master there once more, now that it has been restored to me. A lord should take a close personal interest in all the doings of his servants."

  "Right," said the earl's man. "But you have a commission from my own lord, too. Convent first."

  Richard cursed under his breath. "I can easily marry her on the way back," he said aloud. "Why should the earl care either way?"

  "He wagered a hundred marks she'd be married before the week is out. Remember?"

  Richard did, only too well. Though it was hard to have it thrown in his face by these -- damn it, he had to call them guards.

  "Of course, the sum may have gone up after," the man conceded.

  That was a thought. Or else the earl had simply spotted a neat cover for taking an interest in the affair. Quick thinking, if so. Richard admitted to a grudging respect for the earl.

  "I wish he'd cut me a share," Richard said. "Seeing as I'm the man who's for it."

  "Dare say she's pretty enough," the man said indifferently. "One woman or another, what does it matter?"

  "You married yourself?" Richard challenged.

  The earl's man gave him a cold look. "Not stupid enough for that."

  "Thanks," Richard growled, and rode on a little faster.

  ***

  Clarice waited by the closed door. The smell of wood drifted around her, reassuring. But she quivered inside, her heart beat so fast she began to feel faint. He was here, right on the other side of these planks. Her future.

  She felt, all of a sudden, afraid.

  The nun beside her opened the door. Clarice followed her tutor into the visitors' room.

  Four men waited. Clarice flinched at that, she had expected only one. To her embarrassment, she had no idea which among them was to be her husband. The handsome one she discounted at once, with a pang of regret, for his clothes were by far the most worn. The one next to him looked similar enough in wealth and rank, they must both be attendants. One of the others, then, who wore neat fur trim and jaunty boots, and regarded her with indifference.

  "Madam?" The handsome but threadbare one took a step forward. She didn't dare look at him, not in front of the man she was to marry. "I am Richard Kelscott."

  She started, so violently that she banged against her tutor's arm. "You are? I thought -- " But she wouldn't tell him what she'd thought, it could only serve to embarrass her further. A good-looking husband, she ought to rejoice, except that she saw at a glance what he married her for. Money. He needed it, that much was plain. So he'd make sure of her lands, take her to bed she did not doubt, just so no one could deny he'd done it, and then find other women better worth his time, while she sat alone in a cold chamber, waiting.

  It was God's will. So her tutor would have said. Clarice composed herself to accept this fate, too. It could be worse, she reminded herself. A lot worse.

  "I am honoured to meet you, sir." At least she was looking her best, such as it was. If he saw only the fine wool dress with its gold-embroidered borders, he might not mind too much about the dull face with its insipid eyes. She wished, with a sudden sting, that she might have had a plain husband after all.

  "I don't suppose the priest is ready." He looked past her, spoke to her tutor instead, as if she were of no account. No, she didn't have the means to hold any man's attention, she knew that. All her life, nuns had told her she was ugly. "I have urgent business elsewhere, but I can easily return here on my way back to the king's court."

  "Everything is ready," the nun replied, coolly collected. "We wait only for your pleasure."

  "Yes, well." He shifted where he stood, seemed if anything embarrassed. Uncomfortable, Clarice thought, as she was, except she hid it better. At least she hoped she did, she blushed to think she might appear so obviously discomposed. To a Christian, the nuns would say, God's will can never come as a surprise.

  He glanced around now, at the man beside him who shrugged, at the other two who stared him down with cold eyes. Clarice didn't know who they were, didn't understand their presence here, but it was clear to her that they held some power over him.

  At that moment she caught sight of the ring one of them wore, and kicked herself. Of course. They must be the earl's men, come to see her safely handed off to this reluctant groom.

  "This way," her tutor said, and led the way to the outer entrance to the chapel. Clarice had never come through that door since she was first accepted into the convent for schooling. She realised with a clenching of the heart that she would leave by it, too, that she would never again see the convent from within. The pain of it stunned her, she wished she'd touched every door and surface, stood for a moment in those familiar rooms, said goodbye.

  But the sisters were all here, nuns and servants and girls alike, gathered in silence to hear mass. And how clearly those words rang out, how resonant they soared under the arched ceiling, how the Latin chants stirred her as never before. She could devote herself to God this way, she thought, it was a pure life and a blessed one, she could take her vows and remain here forever.

  Except that she couldn't. She'd need her uncle's permission for that, and he the earl's. A hefty payment to the nuns as well, they took no one on for charity. Only for the highest did the fee work out cheaper than a dowry. They'd talked that over at length, the girls, calculated who was likely to marry and who would remain to take vows. Her own name had been among the former, no one had doubted she would go to some husband or other, though they'd frowned together over what took so long. Her uncle, the wealthier girls would say with a sniff, would be in no hurry to hand off the money from her estates. But he'd found the right man at last, one who was worth the price.

  So now she was about to be married to a man she'd only just met, who knelt beside her as the priest moved on to long new Latin phrases that she barely understood. But the tying together of their wrists was clear enough, she shivered a little at the warm steady arm under hers. The blessing she recognised too, in the name of the Father and of the Son, those words she knew well.

  Richard raised her up, kissed her briefly, led her past the assembled sisters. They kept their heads bowed, all of them, in prayer or in deference to God. She met no one's eyes, she received neither smile nor word, she stepped out of the chapel and into brilliant sunshine sharp and harsh. Married, a wife now, and in the care of a man she did not know at all.

  "I think this is everything," Richard said. "You'd better check."

  Clarice climbed up into the waiting cart, laid her hands briefly on the chest and trunk she'd packed yesterday. "It is," she said.

  Richard patted a swathe of worn leather that lay slung over the hard boards. "I'm sorry it's not very comfortable," he said. "This was all a bit rushed. I'll try to get some cushions for the journey back."

  Clarice slumped onto the material. Stray tufts, what she'd taken for dust, showed that the thing had once been covered with fur. Now it was worn almost smooth, old and mangy like everything he wore. No wonder he'd married her, he must be desperate for coin. And this was to be her lot, then, a cow to be milked and nothing more. She wanted to cry.

  "Drive," Richard said. He mounted and rode beside her, on a small but sturdy horse with gentle eyes. She drew some hope from that, it was the first kind glance she'd had as a wife.

  The driver steered the cart down the lane and into the town, then on and through into open countryside. On and on, while the sunshin
e faded and dark clouds massed.

  "You might want to fetch your cloak out." Richard pulled his hood up to shadow his face. "It's going to rain."

  So it did, a torrent that lashed down and soaked through her pretty cloak, soaked the boards and streamed up under her skirt. She was drenched long before it passed, sat hunched and miserable as the rain poured over her and obliterated all vision.

  "Sorry about this," Richard said. "I would have been happy to wait until I could convey you better."

  As if he wasn't a man, free to dispose of himself as he chose. He should try being a woman, a mere chattel to be passed from one man's care to another, without regard for her wishes or feelings or needs.

  "I am content," Clarice said, because she could win nothing by grumbling, and God would have His own way. He was a man too, after all.

  "Are you?" Richard replied. "Bloody hell. I wouldn't be."

  Clarice stifled a laugh, and then was shocked that she found such a remark amusing. "A true Christian is always content with God's will."

  "Right," her husband said. "Of course." And then added, so quietly that she guessed he thought she couldn't hear: "Christ. I married a nun."

  Which he hadn't done, of course. She thought for a moment of correcting him, of pointing out that she had not taken vows and couldn't do so without her guardian's permission, and that if she had truly been accepted into the convent no earthly force could have removed her. But she didn't. He must know that well enough. Or if he did not, he was no true Christian and she could not expect him to understand.

  Perhaps that was God's will in this matter, after all. She'd thought of her uncle, and the earl, and how money lay at the root of everything. But that was itself a sinful thought. God lay at the root of everything, and all the matters of this world were only illusions. If He wanted her married, so be it. She must obey His command.

  And given what manner of man her uncle was, and perhaps the earl as well, she could not wonder that Richard Kelscott knew so little of religion. He had never been taught. And as God made use of men as His instruments, so He made use of women too. It might be her task to rescue her husband's soul from eternal damnation.