Cloistered Bride

by Ling, Maria

  "With his friends and attendants?"

  "Bought me off," Richard said. "For the promise of Stephen's indulgence. I gave my word he'd forget they were ever involved. We settled it all yesterday. They brought him to his death."

  The earl's men exchanged looks. "I want to see the place," one of them said, with a glance towards the main door through which Ralph had disappeared.

  "I can take you if you wish," Richard said, feigning reluctance. "Though I don't know if you'd want to be associated with the event. That may set tongues jangling." He shrugged.

  "What about the cottager?" the man asked.

  "He was suffering with an infected wound anyway," Ralph said. "No one will be surprised that he's dead. Likely enough he fell over carrying the candle to bed, and couldn't get up." He shivered at that thought, it was too close to the truth. But murder, at least, he did not have on his conscience.

  "Two bodies in the wreckage," the man observed.

  Richard shook his head. "Only one. The other's been buried elsewhere. I'll have his bones dug up and reburied in sacred ground later. Quietly."

  "Neat work," the man said, with new respect in his eyes. "You've thought this through."

  "I don't think the king wants to make much of it," Richard pointed out. "I certainly don't. This way, all anyone knows is that he disappeared somewhere along the way. Plenty of men living rough these days, and used to killing. He might have been pulled down for his purse or his fine clothes."

  "Apart from his friends talking," the man mused.

  "They won't," Richard said with certainty. "They'll swear he dismissed them and rode off by himself, hale and hearty, and never came back. None of them want to be known as the killer of royal kin, either. Or as help to a murder. That's excommunication, which can only be a political embarrassment." He'd lifted that last phrase from Clarice's uncle, it sounded false in his own mouth. But the earl's men didn't seem to notice.

  "If it even becomes known he was ever here," one observed. "I don't think he was noising it about either. Didn't want the king to get wind of it and waylay him. As happened anyway, but that was thanks to the king's watchfulness. And the earl's, too."

  "Makes sense," Richard conceded. "I'd have kept the whole affair discreet, if it were me. So, do you want to see the place?"

  "Might as well," the man said. "I'll have a report to make back at court."

  ***

  The flames had been mostly put out by the time Richard and the hounds reached the cottage. That was a wise precaution, for he didn't want other farms threatened, and had said as much. But the fire had done plenty to obscure the traces. Amid the charred remains, the fragment of a boot and a strip of clothing that might once have been maroon in colour remained as testament to richer clothes than those of the average cottager. Beyond that, there was no telling that the corpse was not what it seemed.

  Nor what it really was. Richard studied it surreptitiously. The face had been beaten in before the burning, but he doubted it would have been recognised for an impostor. He begged the man's forgiveness in his heart, vowed to make all possible amends. Masses for his soul, alms to his sister and other relatives, and in time confession and penance too. But not yet. Not until Richard was secure in his own domain, and past disloyalty forgotten. Clarice would claim that the secrecy of the confessional was sacred, but Richard knew men better than she did.

  "That'll do," the earl's man said. "I've seen all I need to. You can bury him now."

  There was that, at least, Richard thought. The corpse would rest in hallowed ground, as it ought to do, right from the start. No secret burial elsewhere, to be dug up and removed at some later date. He had the lie on his conscience, but not the deed. That was something.

  "The king will be pleased," Clarice's uncle said. "I think I'll come to court with you and get a share of that favour. If I may."

  "Gladly," Richard said. He could do with friends about him, and wealth too. Though he wondered how much of that remained.

  Now that he had control of Clarice's lands, and the income from them had passed to him, he'd best start making plans for that money. For collecting it, too. "You can talk to me about who manages my wife's estate. I'll want a full accounting."

  "You'd best talk to the steward about that," Clarice's uncle said.

  "I will," Richard said. "At this moment, I'm talking to you."

  "Yes, well." The other man avoided his questioning eyes. All gone, Richard suspected, every penny. Though not on drink and gambling and whores, as he made out. No. He'd found better uses for it, this man. Richard couldn't think the worse of him for that.

  Thank God for an end to war. Now they could use such money to rebuild, to repair and maintain and grow a strong and healthy country for the people of today and the people of tomorrow. They could look forward again, to a future that was not all pain and death. He wanted that, fervently.

  And Clarice would stand beside him as he worked. He liked that idea, too. The vision of it sustained him, all the way back home.

  ***

  "So," Clarice said. "You've done it."

  He'd watched her in silence as she kneeled beside the bed. Studied the gilding of her hair where the sparse last rays of evening sun touched it, the smooth folds of her dress over the curves of her body, the gold cord that ran crisscross at her waist. He could sit here forever, he thought, at ease in shirt and hose, with the knowledge of matters settled and the young heir to Matilda's claim on the kingdom safely out of his own realm. Just sit here and watch his wife at her prayers. Which wasn't what he'd thought to gain from marriage, no. But it was quiet, and peaceful, and contented. He liked all three.

  But she rose now, with the small sigh he'd grown accustomed to. A deep breath and release, as if to ready herself for the transition from the spiritual to the physical world. Stood before him, lavish in her fine dress, beautiful as when he first saw her.

  It hadn't been the best of courtships. His mind had been elsewhere, most of the time. And he hadn't told her where, nor why. Not until this morning, and then under duress. She already knew too much by then, she must be told the rest, or she might take it into her head to seek advice from the earl's men.

  But she hadn't. She'd heard him out, listened closely, understood his reasoning although she did not agree with it. And kept silence since, remained composed and discreet, a worthy partner in this conspiracy.

  He should have trusted her from the start. Then there need not have been this barrier between them.

  But he couldn't have done that, not without endangering her and himself and all the others too. Whereas now every life had been saved, and a man's body had been put to use to serve the cause he'd chosen in life and never wavered from

  It wasn't so bad an evening, this.

  "I owe you thanks," Richard said. "For keeping my secret."

  A light shrug, he watched her breasts move under the gold-embroidered cloth. "Your secrets are mine to keep, if you trust me with them."

  He couldn't have got himself a better wife, not if he'd searched for her. "I was lucky to find you."

  "To win me." Her lips moved in small smile, that comforted him. "Didn't you tell me it was a gambling matter?"

  "I lost," Richard confessed.

  That clouded her face, and drove away the smile. "You gambled over who could avoid marrying me?"

  "No," Richard said. "It doesn't matter now. We're here, and we're married, and the rest is not important."

  Clarice set her chin forward. "It is to me."

  Richard sighed. "If you must know," he said, "I was prevailed on to carry another man's losses, which meant cashing the king's permission to marry you for a clear one hundred and fifty marks. Which I paid, or rather caused to be paid. A debt of honour, as it were. But the earl deemed it expedient that I actually marry you, to provide me with an excuse for my absence from court. And your uncle, as I realise now, thought me a sound bet as a man to draw into his own plans for ensuring the prince's safety. He's in the earl's favour, he plies th
e earl's men with drink and coins, he poses as a man to trust. Then makes his own arrangements. Of which, this time, I was a part."

  Clarice sat down on the bed, shoulders slumped. "And the earl sent his own men to make sure you really did marry me. With my uncle's blessing."

  "Partly that, perhaps," Richard admitted. "Partly also for the other matter. Which has been concluded to their satisfaction, or so I hope. All is well."

  It didn't sound well to her, to judge by the expression on her face. "And do you feel it is indeed so irksome, being married to me?"

  Saints in heaven, she did pick her moments. "Not so very," Richard said. "I'd enjoy it a deal more if you'd get out of that dress."

  She just stared at him. Then began to remove it, so slowly and reluctantly that he started to feel sick.

  "Unless you really don't want to," he amended. "In which case I'll gladly entertain myself elsewhere." He considered, while her hand waited by a pin. "Well, not gladly. But I can make do without. Managed it for a good long while before you came along." And upended his thoughts and all the wishes of his heart, but he didn't add that. It was embarrassing enough, the way the memory of her underneath him and around him, soft and wet and yielding, returned again and again. Got him ready, too, he could take a leap at her from here. The thought amused him, he quelled a smile.

  "You weren't exactly praying to get me as a husband," he pointed out. "A minor knight of no family and no importance, with the least of manors at his disposal. No wealth either, I'm sorry to say. I spent all I had in the wrong cause."

  "You have my wealth now," Clarice said coldly, and turned her shoulder towards him.

  "And I'm grateful for it," Richard said. "Do you know if it's been well managed? Your uncle was not forthcoming. Of course, we had the earl's men in attendance all day."

  "I know nothing about it," Clarice admitted. "It was not considered necessary for me to be told."

  "Then we're both in the dark," Richard said with half a grin.

  The last rays faded, and gloom settled over the chamber. He got up, pulled the shutters closed, turned back towards her. She just sat there, staring at the lone candle he'd brought to bed.

  "Listen." Richard walked around to join her, knelt at her feet. Took her hand and kissed it. "I know we didn't exactly choose each other. But had I known the least thing about you, I would have chosen you."

  "Really?" She raised her head, startled, and turned shadowy eyes on him. "Why?"

  "Because you are everything I would have dreamed of," Richard said simply. "If I'd dared to dream. A beautiful woman who cares for me and understands me, hears me, keeps my confidence even when she disagrees. Who can be both a companion and a lover to me, who takes thought for my welfare, who -- " He broke off.

  Clarice's fingers caressed his own. "Who what?"

  "Who can join with me," Richard said. This frightened him, he was opening himself too far, she could hurt him now if she chose. "Help me rebuild this place, help me do what needs to be done. And not turn against me if through ignorance or misfortune I get things wrong." Too close, now, to what he really yearned to say. He swallowed, and gave his soul over to God. "Who won't laugh at me, or ridicule me, if I fail to please her."

  Clarice just watched him, stunned. "Why would I do that?"

  "I don't know," Richard said. He couldn't look at her now, he dropped his gaze to where their fingers intertwined. "Some women might. Some already did."

  She leaned over then, and laid her lips light on his forehead, the most sacred kiss he'd ever received. "That I will never do," she whispered.

  "I know." He clutched her fingers in sudden urgency, felt like a drowning man seizing hold of a rope. A gold cord, unexpectedly floating amid rough waves. "That's why I love you." And he hadn't expected to say that either, hadn't wanted her to know. Because it left him exposed and vulnerable, which he desperately did not want.

  Her lips touched his hair, she leaned so close to him that he could smell her skin under the dress. The cloth over her breasts brushed his face. Richard swallowed. He desired her now, with a strength that surged through him and took possession of his mind, blotted out every other thought.

  "Come to bed," Clarice whispered. And he did, leaned on the mattress with one shaking arm, eased her up and back until she lay beneath him, stroked her skirts up with his hands. Swallowed hard, because this was it, now, she would expect him to perform. To do better than last time, that thought chilled him, enough that the first threatened burst receded.

  He slid inside her, she was warm and wet around him, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close. He kissed her then, at last, dug deep into her lush giving mouth and heard her breath catch, almost a whimper, he thought for a panicked moment that he'd hurt her. But he hadn't, there was no note of pain or fear. Her tongue answered his, her lips answered his, and he rode deeper inside her, thrust his way towards oblivion. Which crashed over him at last, hard as he fought to keep it off, and then he didn't want to fight any more, he let himself submerge and felt the clear cold ecstasy of release. Which went on and on, wave after wave, he'd never imagined it could be like this. Gradually he realised that she rode it with him, that she held to him all the way, shook and spasmed under and around him.

  He'd given her that. The knowledge came to him like a call from afar. He'd done this, and it was glorious.

  Clarice subsided, sank back against the mattress with a sigh, she'd arched against him with fierce strength. Held him tight, kissed his jaw and the side of his neck, nibbled his ear. Which tickled, he stifled a laugh at that, wanted to stay in this moment of warmth and clarity and truth.

  "That was wonderful," Clarice whispered.

  "You're telling me." He let himself laugh after all, quietly, and she laughed too, light and soft on an inbreath. "I'm improving, at least."

  "You're marvellous." She meant it, he thought with dizzy gratitude, honesty rang in her voice. And he knew her well enough by now to be certain that she would not lie.

  "I had some help," Richard said, and cuddled her to him. "You really are a wife to dream of."

  She eased him back, just enough to look up at him and smile. The candle flickered beside the bed, its warm light touched her skin and eyes and made them glow. He kissed the curve of her cheekbone, rounded and firm under his lips, and her forehead and her nose, and then her mouth again. Which tasted delicious, like spiced wine. She'd drunk that, he thought, it mingled with the sweetness that was her own, he'd order the kitchen to keep that exact choice of spice. Which made him smile, and her lips curved in answer, as she followed his lead in all things.

  He rolled off her, slumped on his back with the mattress yielding beneath him, stared up at the candlelit ceiling. Smiled still, with satisfaction and contentment and sheer joy. Clarice rolled over too, settled against his shoulder, fiddled with her skirts.

  "I'll need to clean this tomorrow," she murmured, laughter bubbling under her voice.

  "You have a maid to help you," Richard said. "Anything I can do, let me know."

  "You've done enough."

  He laughed aloud at that. Hugged her, then let her go, sat up to watch as she rose and undressed and clicked her tongue at some stain invisible to him. She hung the dress neatly on a hook, fetched a rag and dampened it in the bowl that stood ready for the morning, began to smooth the stain away. Her shift fell in gentle folds around her body, let the full glory of her flesh shine through as she passed between him and the light.

  He could watch her for hours. But she didn't keep him there for long, she was soon satisfied or at least resigned, left the dress on its hook and came back to him. He caught her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap, and held her close while they kissed. She tasted so sweet, he thought dreamily, he could just lick her tongue for hours -- but then she pulled away, shook her head at him with a smile that curved her cheek into a dimple.

  "What?" Richard demanded, feigning outrage. "I'm not allowed to kiss my own wife?"

  "Kiss her, yes
," Clarice said. "Leave some of me for the morning, though."

  "Waste of delicious flavour," Richard said, but he let her clamber onto the bed and snuggle in under the blanket. And then he joined her, pleasure still bubbling through his body and drawing a smile to his face.

  Clarice nuzzled his shoulder, lay so close to him that she warmed him like sunshine. "I am worried," she said, and from her tone he knew she was serious. "About the things you've done and the state of your soul."

  "Don't be." Richard slid his arm underneath her and hugged her to him. "I'll take it up with my confessor. But I don't think either of you need be too concerned." And he told her everything about himself, in detail, while the candle burned steadily in its grip.

  ***

  CHAPTER 7

  "So," the king said. "We are to have the pleasure of your attendance at court, Kelscott. With your charming wife, too." He directed a gracious smile at Clarice, who curtseyed.

  Richard surveyed her with boundless pride. She looked utterly lovely, decked out in that splendid dress of deep red and shining gold. He couldn't wait to get it off her. But they had hours to cross first, plenty of tedious manoeuvring and dangerous high stakes.

  "We are both most honoured to be here," Richard said.

  Ralph, at his shoulder, gave a discreet cough.

  "All three of us," Richard amended. "My steward also wishes to pay his respects. That is, if I am to retain the lordship of my own manor."

  "You might as well," Stephen conceded. "Since you've served me well in that little errand I sent you on. Pity it was all wasted."

  Richard's limbs chilled. "How?" he asked, and risked a glance at Clarice's uncle, who stood a little to one side with the earl. There were only the six of them in the room. Even the king's own attendants had been sent out on some pretence or others.

  Stephen gave Clarice a long and thoughtful look.

  "My wife is entirely in my confidence," Richard said. "And loyal to her king."

  Stephen nodded to the earl.

  "It appears," the earl said, "that the party sent through your lands was a decoy. The prince reached Hereford in safety. We have men watching the roads out of there."