Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection
Page 6
Grier was about to reply to what she thought was a serious subject, but something told her that Dane was teasing her. She didn’t know the man at all, but the twinkle in his pale eyes told her that, perhaps, he had a bit of mischief in him. Impish, even. Taking a chance, she played along.
“And why not?” she said. “Why should you not have a wife that all men fear? It would make you seem like quite the brave and bold man if you could stand up to my temper.”
Dane looked at her, surprised she was teasing in return, but it made him warm to her faster than anything else could have. A woman with a sense of humor, or at least his sense of humor, was a rare thing, indeed.
“Good God, do you have a temper?” he said, pretending he was disgusted. “Why did no one tell me this? That settles the issue; I will have this marriage annulled tomorrow. No wife of mine shall have an unruly temper.”
She leaned on the table, eyeing him. “Do you truly think the church will annul the union on those grounds?” she said. “By all means, let me throw a few things around and threaten you with a fork. Let us build a case, shall we?”
Dane began to laugh. “A fork? That is the best you can do?”
Grier bit her lip to keep from laughing. “A spoon?”
His laughter grew. “What do you intend to do? Scoop me to death?”
“I can but try, my lord.”
He liked that answer but was prevented from replying when there was a knock on the door. He quickly moved to the panel and unbolted it, allowing two servant women in with trays of food and drink. When they set it all on the table and fled the chamber, Dane bolted the door back up again. He turned to find Grier sitting there with two spoons in her hands. When their eyes met, she held them both up.
“Well?” she said. “Shall I start scooping?”
He rubbed at his chin, chuckling. “Can we postpone this battle to the death until after we eat?”
Grier lowered the spoons, setting them both down. “As you wish,” she said. Then, she seemed to sober a great deal, looking over the lavish affair on the table as if astonished by it all. “It was very kind of you to order the food. As I said, I have already eaten for the day, but it has been a long day and the ride was rather… taxing.”
The jovial mood of the room eased as he went to sit at the table next to her. She was staring at the food but not touching any of it, as if fearful to. He picked one of the heavy metal spoons up and handed it to her.
“Eat to your heart’s content,” he said quietly. “You’ve mentioned twice that you have eaten for the day. To break your fast?”
“Aye.”
“But what about supper?”
She shook her head. “There is no supper.”
He frowned. “Were you only allowed one meal at St. Idloes, then?”
Grier cleared her throat softly as she took the spoon from him, watching as he took the cloths off the bowls that were on the tray. In addition to a hunk of boiled beef, there were beans and peas, carrots in brine, and bread with butter. She could smell it all and her mouth began to water.
“It was not that we were only allowed one meal,” she said, “but sometimes there simply was not enough food to go around. St. Idloes is not a rich abbey.”
Dane suspected there was more to it, a situation she spoke of with casual regard, as if it were nothing unusual. “And there were days that you did not eat at all?”
Grier hesitated before nodding her head, once. Then, to Dane’s surprise, her eyes grew moist.
“I… I do not remember when I last had meat,” she said, sounding choked up. “We have been existing on oat gruel for a very long time. Sometimes, we would eat berries that grew wild near the abbey, but our vegetable garden was ruined by a blight and the sacks of oats were given to us by another church in Newtown. Were it not for those oats, we would have starved.”
Dane listened to her, feeling a good deal of pity for the woman. He would not have suspected such hardship at an abbey. Reaching out, he cut a big hunk of meat from the bone and put it on a trencher at the edge of the tray, the one closest to her.
“I thought St. Idloes was a wealthy parish,” he said. “It is supported by Shrewsbury, after all.”
She eyed the meat as if eyeing a pot of gold. “Nay,” she said. “When my father sent me there, he forgot about me. If he sent them money whilst I was there, I did not know about it. But we did what we could to make money and sustain ourselves. I was taught to sew lace shawls that we would sell at market in Newtown and other villages, and it was some money coming in, but not enough. Not for what we really needed.”
Dane’s pity was deepening. He didn’t want to ask her any more questions because he was fairly certain he wouldn’t like the answers. She painted a bleak picture and he found himself wondering why Garreth hadn’t supported his daughter. He couldn’t imagine the old duke knew what she was going through. Surely if he had, he would have sent both food and money to sustain her. He wouldn’t have let his daughter starve. At least, he hoped so, but that was a question he would never have an answer for now with the old man dead and buried. He pointed to the food.
“Go ahead,” he said. “It should be cooled sufficiently.”
Blinking away whatever tears she might be feeling, Grier reached out timidly and began to tear the stringy beef apart with her fingers. Timidly, she pushed it into her mouth and chewed once, twice, before realizing that it was very good.
Suddenly, her restraint was gone. More meat went into her mouth, followed by spoonfuls of peas. In fact, Dane didn’t even eat. He found himself watching her as she ate with the fervor of a starving person, and he tore off a hunk of bread and put butter on it for her. When he handed it to her, she took it gratefully and shoved that into her mouth, too.
Dane had never seen anything like it. He poured her a cup of wine, placing it by her right hand, and she gulped it down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before plowing into the carrots. He thought to tell her to slow down, but he didn’t have the heart, so he poured himself a cup of wine and let her eat her fill before even attempting to eat anything himself. He watched her stuff her mouth until it was so full that she could barely chew, and he seriously wondered if she was going to choke at some point. He’d never felt more pity in his life as he did whilst watching Grier her eat.
But then, the worst happened.
Grier had eaten more than half of her meat, and many spoonfuls of vegetables, when she suddenly came to a halt. Before Dane could ask her what was wrong, she put a hand over her mouth and tried to stand up when all of the food that she’d so ravenously eaten came back up as fast as it went down. Vomit spewed, and Dane grabbed the chamber pot to try and catch it. She ended up emptying the contents of her stomach into the air.
Still, he hadn’t been fast enough. Most of it was on Grier’s woolen clothing and once she finished expelling everything, she looked at him with such horror that he could feel the physical impact. Her shame was written all over her face and then some.
“My lord,” she gasped. “I am so terribly sorry. I will clean this up, I swear it. I am so sorry.”
She was trembling, upset and ill, and he reached out, grasping her by the arms to steady her.
“Not to worry,” he said calmly, soothingly. “I will send for hot water and a servant woman to help you. Sit down, Grier. Everything will be okay.”
Grier was shaking badly as he gently pushed her down into the chair. God, she looked so pathetic; there was vomit everywhere – her clothing, on the wedding brooch, her face and neck, her hands, the floor, and even part of the table leg. Quickly, Dane moved to the door and opened it again, grabbing the serving wench who was lurking down the catwalk and telling her what had happened.
As Dane sent the servant into a frenzy rushing to do his bidding, Grier sat on the chair and quivered, never more embarrassed or ashamed in her entire life. She could hear Dane as he spoke to someone else, demanding a tub and hot water to wash with, but she was wallowing in her own world of misery.
All of this in front of the most handsome man she’d ever seen, her new husband.
It was a nightmare.
As Dane stood just outside the door and had a conversation with the innkeeper, Grier reached up a shaking hand and took a cloth from the table, gingerly wiping the vomit that had splashed onto her face because she’d put her hand over her mouth to futilely stop the retching. She looked down at herself, seeing the mess, and seeing that her lovely wedding brooch had been caught in the storm. Unpinning it, she wiped it off with the cloth, trying to clean it up. The tears came, no matter how much she tried to hold them back, and when Dane came back into the room, she kept her head down so he wouldn’t see them.
“They are bringing a bath for you,” he said kindly. “You shall be cleaned up and as good as new, so do not fret.”
He sounded so nice and Grier felt all the more miserable about it. “But my clothing,” she whispered tightly. “It is ruined. It must be washed.”
He crouched down in front of her, which made her recoil. Here she was, covered with vomit, and he was putting himself close to her. She didn’t want him close to her, a stark witness to her weakest moment.
“It will be,” he said. “You can wear something else.”
She looked up at him, then, her eyes glistening with tears. “It is all that I have.”
He looked at her in surprise. “But you brought a satchel with you,” he said. “There is no clothing in it?”
She shook her head, unsteadily. “I only have a spare shift, and a comb. Nothing more.”
He stared at her. Then, he abruptly stood up. “Do you mean to tell me that your father supplied you with nothing?”
Grier could hear the anger in his voice and she was afraid. “As I said, St. Idloes was not a wealthy order,” she said. “We took oaths of chastity and poverty. No one had any more clothing than what they wore. We kept it clean and mended.”
Dane couldn’t believe what he was hearing but he was prevented from replying by a knock on the door, which he quickly opened. There were two women standing there with steaming buckets of water, and he quickly ushered them in. As they both set the buckets down near the table, Dane pulled the older of the pair aside, practically yanking her from the chamber. When they were alone on the catwalk outside, he faced her.
“My lady has nothing else to wear,” he said, his voice low. “I need clothing for her. Nothing fine, but something she can wear until I can get her to Shrewsbury. I shall pay handsomely for it. Do you know where I can get any clothing for a woman her size?”
The older woman with wild gray hair and yellowed teeth turned to look back into the chamber, where the younger servant girl was helping Grier wash off her face and hands.
“She looks like a nun, m’lord,” she said. “That’s a postulate’s habit she’s wearing.”
Dane nodded impatiently. “We were married today,” he said. “She was at St. Idloes for many years and that is all she has to wear. Can you help her?”
The woman’s gaze lingered on Grier for a moment. “Aye, I think so,” she said, gathering her skirts and turning for the stairs. “How much do ye want to spend?”
“Return with something for her to wear, and mayhap soap and other things a lady should need, and I will pay you handsomely.”
The woman simply nodded and ran off, down the narrow catwalk and to the stairs that creaked under her weight. When she disappeared down below, Dane returned his attention to Grier as the servant wench continued to help her wash off.
He just stood there and looked at her for a moment. It was odd, really; he’d never felt such pity, for anyone, but it was more than that. Grier belonged to him now and she seemed so… helpless. Like a fish out of water, she was helpless outside of the convent that starved her and permitted her to live in dire conditions, and that realization made him feel extremely protective over her. She needed guidance, and help, and he was going to give it.
By the time the big copper tub was brought upstairs, Dane was already formulating what needed to be done. Leaving Grier in the capable hands of the young serving wench, he went on the hunt for the older serving woman.
He had some things to buy.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was morning.
Grier knew that because a beam of bright light was hitting her right in the eye, so she squinted and rolled over in the feather bed that was like sleeping on a cloud. She’d never known such comfort. She closed her eyes again, so very weary, when abruptly, they popped open.
The events from the previous day came rolling over her and her head shot up, looking around the room as she oriented herself. Muddled from sleep, it took her a moment to filter through the cobwebs, recalling the day before in clarity, and recalling the night. That horrible, horrible night when she regurgitated her evening meal in front of her handsome new husband.
Embarrassment filled her.
Grier couldn’t help but notice that she was quite alone in the chamber. Perhaps all of that vomiting and crude behavior had chased her husband away. In truth, she wouldn’t have blamed him in the least. She wanted to run away, too, but there was nowhere for her to run.
Nowhere for her to go.
She was stuck.
With effort, she sat up in the bed, tossing back the coverlet and noticing the sleeping shift that she wore. It wasn’t hers. A round serving woman with wild gray hair had given it to her to change in to once she’d finished bathing the vomit off of her, an event that had been another rarity. The nuns of St. Idloes believed that bathing was a sin, so the best the population of the convent could do was scrub parts of their body separately, which Grier had done religiously. They had crude soap, made at the convent, and she would scrub her face and arms and legs and body with it, separately of course, She’d never taken all of her clothes off at one time in her entire life until last night.
It had been an uncomfortable experience at first. She was so ashamed, about everything, but the serving wench had helped her out of her soiled clothing and had her sit in a big copper pot that was filled with hot water. Once she was submerged, holding on to the side of it for fear she might slip and drown, Grier realized that sitting in a tub of hot water wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, it had been a rather pleasant experience, especially when the serving girl began scrubbing her with a horsehair brush and soap that smelled of lemons.
Where the woman got the soap, Grier didn’t know, but she surely didn’t care. About ten minutes of scrubbing, including her hair, and she wondered why the nuns at St. Idloes had said bathing nude was such a terrible thing. It wasn’t terrible at all. In fact, it had been a wonderful event. For the first time in her life, Grier was clean all over all at the same time.
And she smelled of lemons.
She loved it so much that she didn’t want to get out of the tub, so she remained in the water until it cooled and she was forced to surrender. The serving girl had dried her off before the fire, including her hair, which she’d rubbed vigorously with a towel that quickly absorbed the water. Grier had never in her life had anyone help her bathe, or help her with her hair. Not even Eolande, who had been the closest to her, so it therefore made her very uncomfortable to have a stranger in the room with her when she was nude and vulnerable.
But the truth was that she didn’t know her way around a bath, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with herself after she’d been washed, but the serving girl did. She combed her hair out before the fire, drying it, as Grier sat there wrapped up in bed linens to protect her modesty.
When her hair was nearly dry, the woman with the wild gray hair had appeared with a sleeping shift, which was worn but clean. Grier gratefully put it on, fe
eling the soft texture against her skin and marveling at it. She’d spent most of her life in rough wool, so the advent of something soft against her skin was as much of a miracle as the bed with feathers. She didn’t know such things existed.
It would seem that her being married to Dane had opened a new world up to her, for many things.
But so far, they’d been good things. Once she’d put the shift on, the younger servant braided her dark hair into one long braid and forced her into bed. Grier climbed into the cloud-soft bed, astonished by something so fine and heavenly, and had fallen asleep nearly the moment her head hit the pillow.
And that was where she found herself now.
Grier had no idea if Dane had even returned to their chamber last night. She didn’t even know if he’d slept in the same bed with her; surely she would have awoken when he climbed in but, then again, she was so exhausted, perhaps she slept right through it. All she knew was that he was gone, and she was alone in the chamber. She wondered seriously if she’d been alone all night, as her husband had been too repulsed by her to even sleep in the same room as her.
Not that she blamed him.
But wait…
The fire in the hearth caught her eye. Someone must have come in to stoke it and she hadn’t even heard them. Over on the small table, which had carried that infamous meal, she saw a pitcher of something that had steam rising out of it. There was a cup next to it. Cautiously, she crawled out of bed and went to the pitcher, sniffing it; it smelled of wine and spices. Pouring herself a tiny measure, she took a sip of it; it was warm and spicy and sweet. Delicious. She poured herself a larger cup and drank it down, thirsty.
Just as she was licking her lips, wondering if the wine would come right back up again, there was a soft knock at the door. Startled, she rushed back over to the bed, realizing she was in the somewhat thin shift, so she pulled the coverlet of the bed in front of her, leaving everything but her neck and head visible.
“Come,” she called hesitantly.